“Eat the damn pie.”
“Thank God.” He shoves the huge bite in his mouth and groans so loudly, I blush. Once he gets the first bite down, he reaches across the table and gives my hand a squeeze. “Don’t give up on him. Just talk to him.”
Maverick
I’m leaning against the wall in the gym’s showers, letting the hot water run down my body. I’ve been pushing myself to the limit this week, preparing for the fight along with our first scrimmage game tomorrow. NFL scouts will be in attendance, and just thinking about everything I have on the line kicks up my adrenaline.
I think back to Muffin and what she might do with those text messages she took pictures of. Everything she has is just conjecture, but she’s batshit crazy, and batshit crazy can cause a lot of havoc.
I get out and am drying off when I hear the clank of a door somewhere in the building. Dammit. I thought Carson locked up before he left, but obviously he was leaving that to me since I’m here so late.
Still damp, I toss on my gym shorts then ease out the door and into the darkened gym. The lights are off and the only light is the glow from Carson’s office, which he leaves on all the time.
“Maverick?”
My shoulders sigh in relief—it’s Delaney.
My eyes scan over her, eating her up. She’s wearing a pair of gray yoga pants and a shirt that says I’m Sorry For What I Said When I Was Hungry. Her hair is up in a side knot thing, and strands of blonde hair that have escaped fall down her cheek.
I exhale. Damn, she’s beautiful, but she shouldn’t be here.
“What are you doing here? It’s past eleven.”
She looks around the deserted gym, her gaze ending on the boxing ring. She pushes her glasses up on her nose. “Muffin came to see me at the library last night, and I went to see Ryker today. He didn’t tell me everything, so I’m left piecing things together. I’m not sure what to think, and I’m here to find out what the hell is going on with you.”
“Okay.” I swallow as my entire body tenses. My chest feels like a chunk of ice.
“Who’s Leslie and what does he have to do with a casino?”
Fuck. My pulse kicks up, dread filling my gut as I realize the one person I didn’t want to know what I’m doing is about to find out what a liar I am. I suck in a sharp breath, gathering myself.
“Let me get dressed first,” I say before turning back around to head into the locker room, trying to keep it together. She follows me as I march away and dig through my gym bag, my eyes avoiding hers.
“Is that how you want to play this? By not saying anything?” I look up and her hands are on her hips, her breasts straining against the fabric of her shirt.
I slip a Waylon football shirt over my head and shove my feet into Adidas slip-ons. “I just didn’t want to involve you. The less I say, the better.” My voice is soft.
Her hands fall to her sides and she clenches them. “You’ve been lying to me for weeks. I thought we…had something real.” She swallows, her eyes searching my face for answers. “Don’t we?”
“I don’t know. This isn’t the time to ask me, Delaney.” It hurts to say the words, but I’m reacting on instinct. I need to push her away and just focus on the game tomorrow.
She stiffens. “Who are you?”
I scrub my face. “Look, my life…it’s crazy right now, and I don’t want you caught up in my shit.”
“With this Leslie person?” Her voice trembles, and I know her well enough to know she’s close to tears.
“Yes.”
“What? Is he like a mobster or something? Do you owe him money?”
I push my hair off my face, tugging on the ends. Fuck it—just tell her. “No, I’m fighting in Tunica for him. He owns a couple of casinos. Muffin thinks he’s my bookie, but he’s not.”
Her chest rises rapidly and she looks faint. She sits down on one of the benches.
“I’m just fighting. I get in the ring, go a few rounds, and get paid a flat fee if I win. That’s it.”
She sucks in a shuddering breath as the dots are connected in her head. “That’s why you were all beat up before?”
I nod.
She shakes her head. “But you can’t take money from anyone, not if you want to play football.”
An eerie calmness settles over me. “I know.”
“Why?” She stands and walks over to me, her hands fluttering as if she’s a caged bird who needs to escape but doesn’t know the way out.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I did the fight for Raven, to pay for Pineview.”
She blinks, taking that in. “I didn’t realize you were paying the bill. I thought the state or insurance was.”
“No.” My shoulders slump as I feel the weight of all my decisions. “I’m sorry for lying to you. I’ve been coming here to spar as much as I can. I just wanted to keep you out of it in case the press finds out.”
She stares at me, taking it all in.
I pick up my gym bag. “I need to go. The scrimmage is tomorrow and I have to be rested. It’s late. I’ll see you later?”
Hurt flashes over her face, and her eyes shimmer. “Seriously?”
I nod. “The NFL scouts are coming. I need some space, okay?”
She nods, pain in her eyes as they dart around the room. “Fine. I see what’s most important to you.” She brushes past me and out the door.
Part of me wants to call her back, for her to just…help me through this craziness, but the other part knows I need distance. I need to focus on tomorrow and everything else that may come with it.
Maverick
The next day, I’m on the way to the field to dress out for the scrimmage.
I was up late thinking about Delaney, and I’m beat. At least Eminem is blaring on the radio, and I crank it up. The lyrics to “One Shot” blast out as I tap the beat on the steering wheel. The song feels prophetic. The NFL scouts will be sitting in the stands getting a tight view of me as I manage the defense, and whatever happens will definitely set the tone for next year.
I pull into the parking lot and make my way to the dressing room. Most of the guys aren’t here yet, and more than likely won’t be for another hour. I like to come in extra early, get dressed, and get myself mentally prepared for the game. Every hardcore player has a few game-day quirks, and mine is running my hands along the turf or grass before any other player steps on it. Ryker likes to tell everyone I actually eat the grass, but that’s a lie. Still, I go along with it, let them think I’m crazy. As for Ryker…his is getting bitch-slapped by one of the coaching assistants while I hold his hands behind his back. Says it gets his adrenaline going.
Coach Alvarez comes out of his office and meets me in the hallway. A few inches shorter than me with a bald head and bright blue eyes that don’t miss a thing, he’s in his forties and stocky. A former WU player, he lives and breathes the game. His face is grim most of the time, as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders, but today there’s an extra bit of downturn at the corners of his mouth. Known for his profanity and booming voice, he scares the shit out of most people, and no one wants to get on his bad side. He can rake you over the coals faster than a quarterback sneak.
I nod. “Coach. On my way to the locker room.”
“My office first, Monroe.” He juts his chin in the direction of his door.