But I see his texts and my heart hurts. I text him:
I’m sorry I couldn’t make it
“If he didn’t make his flight,” Brooke adds, “I’ll get you two a pair of plane tickets. You can invite him when we head to finals in New York.”
“No,” I say, my voice raw. “It’s all right. Thank you.”
“Reese, I know you’re scared. I was scared too; I lost my shit. I was yelling for help but not at you. It’s okay.”
“Thank you. I think I yelled too.”
I want to yell right now. Inside, I’m screaming right now.
Maverick hasn’t answered my text when we reach the airport, climb into the enormous private jet, and take the flight to Boston. I sit in my usual seat at the back of the plane with the family, while the team sits in the front club seats. Except Racer doesn’t want to tag on my lap now. I feel desolate as I stare out the window. All I want is Maverick’s chest to lay my head on. I don’t want alcohol, and I don’t want another plane ticket. I don’t want anything but that chest right now.
I want to be sitting in an airliner right next to him right now.
I want to tell him I am in love with you too, because, who knows?
One second you’re playing, and the next, life tosses you around and threatens to take everything from you.
I can tell that the Tate team is worried about how this will sit with me. I feel their glances, and I bet they’re worried I’m going to go and guzzle a bottle of Johnnie Walker or anything in sight. And I won’t. I’m going to breathe and breathe and breathe until I can breathe without consciously doing so.
I’m having trouble believing I’m good at anything now, but I’ll still be something.
I was thinking of becoming a teacher, because I enjoy my time with Racer so much. Now I wonder if I’m even capable of watching over one kid, much less a roomful. But I want to be capable, very much. I want to believe that I’m capable.
I glance at Remy and I want to tell him Maverick is not Scorpion.
Maverick is driven and no bullshit and unique—he’s a guy who can say thank you both with words and with a priceless little IOU of a penny simply because you helped him out.
But as always, I don’t speak because I don’t think I’ll be heard.
I’m mute during the flight. Midway to our destination, Remy kicks me playfully on the ankle to draw my attention. I lift my head, and he hands me his iPod.
I smile shakily and take it, and start playing on shuffle, closing my eyes as the music starts. I exhale and listen to a few songs, some new to me, others familiar. But when “Fight Song” by Rachel Platten starts playing, I’m suddenly back with Maverick. And Maverick is with me.
He’s just . . . with me.
And I’m not alone anymore.
♥ ♥ ♥
WE REACH THE hotel and settle into our rooms. I’m determined to make it up to the Tates. To Racer. To Maverick. And to myself.
Racer is staying away from me, but when I knock on his door and ask him if he wants to play, he comes over and hugs my leg. My heart trembles as I drop to my knees and I squeeze him. “I’m sorry. I love you, Racer. I love you so so much, you have no idea. You’re like my favorite train in the world.” I tighten my hold, and he soon gets bored and squirms.
He smiles devilishly and looks down at my penny. He’s intrigued by the object and reaches out to take it.
I hesitate to let him have it, but I do. I watch him study it.
“It’s a penny, for good luck,” I quietly explain. “But you don’t eat it, you just hold it. And . . . make a wish.”
“Okay,” he says.
He holds it for a little while and squeezes his eyes shut, as if he’s wishing, then he takes it to his train box as he takes out the trains to play. I keep an eye on the penny as he sets it aside and starts trying to build his track.
“What a nice picture.” I glance at the door, and Brooke is grinning at us. “Reese, you haven’t had time to have any fun here,” she says, kneeling. “Go out with the boys, Riley and Pete are going out on the town.”
I shake my head. “Oh, no, I have a blast with Racer.”
“Come on, go out with the adults tonight. There’s another circuit party. Diane’s staying in and she offered to sleep over with the little guy.” She smiles to convince me and settles down to play with Racer, and, reluctantly, I sit back on my heels.
“I’ll meet you guys there.”
She nods.
Quickly, I fish up my penny and tuck it back into my pocket, and I’m relieved to spot Pete with his mega-sized leather-bound agenda in the kitchen. “Pete, can I ask you something personal?” I say.
“Shoot.” He’s scanning something in the agenda—the fight schedules, I think.
“You usually know . . . where all the fighters are staying. Right?”
He nods absently.
“Can I see the list of fighters and their hotels?”
He narrows his eyes as he scrutinizes me with brotherly concern, then, reluctantly, he flips the pages and shows me the list and I scan for Maverick. I slide the agenda back to him.
“Thank you.”
“Reese, I don’t need to say it,” he warns.
I know that it’s wrong, that it won’t come to anything, that he’s the Avenger, that I’m in over my head. But I need to see him. I need to talk to him. I need to explain why I didn’t make it and I need to tell him what I’ve decided to do. I can only pray he’ll hear me. And that I’ll have the words to explain.
“There’s something I need to do.”
THIRTY-FIVE
BOSTON
Maverick
On my flight to Boston I google him. My dad. Every rumor. Every bit of news.
Drugs. Doping. Abuse of coaches. Lawsuits. Girls claiming he raped them.
He and his thugs assaulted them.
I turn off my phone and toss it into my duffel.
This is your father, Maverick.
The man you want to make proud.
My mother said he used to be good. He used to want things, good things. But he went into fighting. He didn’t like losing. He became bitter, obsessed, and rather than get things the right way, he chose to get them any way.
This is why I’m poison to everyone.
This is why Reese should stay away. Is staying away.
I’ve got poison in my blood. But growing up without him gave me more will than any father’s pampering or spoiling could’ve given me.
I AM Scorpion’s son.
I AM the Avenger.
I AM a fighter.
I AM after Reese.
She’s more under my skin than my father is. Than Tate is. Than anyone’s ever been. She’s under my skin, in my fucking veins, in my lungs, in my heart, and in my brain.
I will buy a hundred tickets if I have to. One day she’s flying first class with me. Having a nice dinner with me. Sleeping in a nice hotel bed, with slippery sheets and cloud pillows with me. One day she’ll be in love with me.
♥ ♥ ♥
I FIND OZ waiting at the terminal. I cashed one of my six-figure checks, so I set up Oz and me in a nice hotel. Oz is blown away as we wander inside. Two bedrooms, huge living room, a bar, and views of the harbor.
“This is great. Now where’s the girl?”
I drop his suitcase in his room. “Go change. We’re going to the circuit party.”
“Says who? Don’t think so.”
“I say so, Oz.”
“I don’t mingle.”
“Don’t mingle. Sit there, for all I care.”
“Why the fuck will I do that?”
“’Cause there’s a chance Reese will be there.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost it. And yeah, I’ve lost it. I’m fucked-up over her and I’m not denying it. I need a Reese-aholics Anonymous but I’m not ready to sober up, as far as I’m concerned. I’m ready to keep drowning in her.
“If she wanted you, she’d have made it,” Oz says. “I had a fucking SUNDAE
on the plane. You totally missed out.”
“Just get dressed,” I snarl, then I wait and cross my arms, staring out the window. I know what she feels for me. I know she wants me. I know it’s not easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is.
Oz comes out in boxers and a white T-shirt. “Won’t mind hanging around here while you go. Have fun.”
I shake my head at him, then I hit the shower. In two days, semifinals begin. Two nights. Multiple fights. I need to end up second or I’m over.
I need to train harder than ever. Concentrate more than my brain can possibly even accomplish.
But tonight Reese is haunting me.
THIRTY-SIX
MY FIRST BIG CHOICE
Reese
He’s staying at our hotel. At our same hotel. It made it easier to get the room number, since the Tates are known by the hotel staff. But it made me all the more nervous when I rode the elevators to the seventeenth floor, keeping my head down.
Ting.
I step out, my nervousness and anticipation reaching new levels when I start scanning room numbers. Down the hall, I check the number and I knock on the door. Oz opens the door, squinting.
I exhale. “Is Maverick here?”
He focuses on me. “A little late, aren’t you, little lady?”
God, I can’t get into a battle with Oz right now. “So he’s not in?”
“He’s not.”
Fuck. “Well, do you know where I could find him? Is he training?”
“Look, girl, I’m not a guy who gets up into someone’s business but he’s my champ, and I won’t stand for him being played. So maybe leave a guy with a mission time to focus on it . . .”
“Oz.” I hear an angry voice speak behind him. His fucking voice. So near and so excruciatingly real, I’m trembling as my heart turns over in my chest.
Oz sighs and opens the door, and there’s my Maverick. My rebel. All alone, except for Oz.
And now me.
He’s wearing jeans and a black button-down shirt, and he looks like death by sex, and I feel like dying tonight about a dozen times over.
I stay outside, peering into where he is. The suite is huge, and seeing Maverick among such luxury makes him look like a dark prince of the underworld.
“I came looking for you,” I lamely say.
“And I waited for you.”
His deep, resonating voice sounds lower and more thunderous than ever, and my stomach grips in reply. I wait for him to say something else—to tell me how much I suck.
“I’m sorry, Maverick.”
He comes to the door, and then lowers his voice, one hand on the doorframe as he leans forward. “Did they keep you from me?”
He’s gauging me and I’m gauging him back, not knowing what to do to be let in.
“No.”
“You’re here to tell me we’re a mistake.” He’s searching my expression with a new rawness in his eyes.
“No.”
We stare at each other.
I’m about to ask, beg, “Can I come in?” when he takes my hand in his and starts backing in as he leads me inside. And as he does, he watches me with bare, thirsty, impaling eyes, and my knees feel like rubber as I follow him, ready to tell him what I came here to say.
Maverick stops to look at Oz. A look that says he wants to be alone. With me. And Oz shuffles into one of the bedrooms. He steps out a minute later, clothed, shoes on.
“You don’t have to leave,” Maverick says. “Just give us some privacy.”
“Nah, nah, you two need it,” Oz says, and says he has something to do. And then he leaves, looking at Maverick as he shuts the door.
He cares about him.
And so does Maverick for Oz.
My heart can’t take the heaviness I feel.
I realize Maverick is looking down at me now, waiting, expectant. His hand is still gripping mine. Lightly, almost as if he expects me to draw away. And then, his other hand lifts to my cheek and he cups my face and runs his thumb beneath my eye.
“You’ve been crying.”
Just like that, with his tenderness—so unexpected for such a tough guy—he makes my eyes sting a little again.
“How do you know?” I whisper.
“I just know.” He dries the other corner of my eye, looking sad. “You okay?” he asks.
“I am now,” I croak, and I look at his chest, and up at him, and swallow. “You look very handsome in black. Are you going out?”
His lips pull a little, and his eyes are still full of questions—and tenderness. So much tenderness I feel flooded with it. He shakes his head. “Not anymore.”
I like how silent he is, how every look of his says something. We’re both silent now. And I think he knows why I’m here.
Or does he?
He’s studying me too deeply. Almost tortured. And I realize maybe he doesn’t.
I take his hand and open it, and then I set the penny inside.
His eyes raise to me, questioning.
“I want you to make love to me.”
He inhales sharply and closes his fingers around the penny, his voice rougher. “Only that?”
“No.” My voice is low and very soft, but on fire with meaning. “I want you to love me very hard. Because I’m pretty sure I’ve never loved someone as hard as I love you, Maverick.”
His every muscle tightens when I say it, his shoulders, his jaw, his arms, his legs, and I can see a flash ripple in his eyes as if he can barely keep himself in check.
He’s known rejection, and I almost feel as if acceptance is new to him.
As if he doesn’t know what to do with it.
“I know that we still have a lot to learn about each other. But I also know there will never be another Maverick in my life,” I keep going. “I came here to find myself. And I think I did. And I also found . . . you.”
“And I found you,” he counters gruffly, standing suddenly closer, his eyes devouring me.
“So.” I clear my throat and go on, “I want to be with you. For as long as we have. An hour, a week, or just for the summer. I feel things for you that I don’t understand and I want to. You’re not your father, and I’m not my family. And for some reason, Maverick, I think that you’re quiet enough that you can hear me. And with you, I don’t need to wonder what you mean. Because you say what you mean.”
“I fucking want you, Reese,” he growls, impatient.
“Have me then. Right now. And tomorrow.”
“Both of those. And after.” He grabs my waist and lifts me, and I curl my arms around his neck. I see his jaw tighten as he looks at me, studies me. Memorizes me.
His eyes drop to my breasts. His hands shift lower, to my ass.
And he raises his eyes to mine.
“You’re priceless. Gold. Not gold, you’re the whole fucking mine to me. Do you know that?”
God, those eyes. So stormy right now.
“Maverick, Racer swallowed and choked on a little train wheel,” I blurt out. “He wasn’t breathing right, he was purple—”
“He all right?” He sounds harsh and angry, his hands clenching my hips convulsively. And I know it’s because he cares.
“Yes. He’s okay. I just . . .” He sets me down. “I was distracted. Thinking of . . . our trip together. And the next thing I saw was him choking. I didn’t even know it was the train wheel until I realized the train he’d been playing with had only three wheels. Remy twisted him upside down and then tried to pull it out, but it seemed caught. . . . We rushed him to the hospital.” I wipe my tears. “That’s why I couldn’t make it to the airport. I wanted to come. I ended up at the hospital, but I clung to your penny and to thoughts of you. And so I came here.”
His eyes cloud with a mix of sad tenderness. “Reese, what you’re asking me to do—I don’t need you to give me back the penny. It was all I had to give you. But now I have more. And I’ll have even more still.”
“But I want you to have the penny for a while. For luck.”
He
tucks it into his jeans pocket and then raises his hand and lays his fingers on my hair, runs them through the strands as he uses his free hand and gently pulls me into his arms.
I’m knotted up, waiting for his lips, waiting for his skin to touch mine. But he’s running his fingers down my hair as if it’s lovely. As if it’s made of streaks of honey or rays of sunlight or yellow diamonds. When I tip my head up, I feel him place his lips on the bridge of my nose, five times. On my . . . five freckles?
I tip my head up higher, and Maverick finally yields to the impulse and tastes my mouth. I taste him too, soft, hungry. Gripping his shirt in my fists. A shirt I want to take off so badly.
The things this man does have no precedent, will have no predecessors; they couldn’t.
I boost myself up with my fists and curl my legs around his hips, and his muscles ripple beneath me as he starts walking us to the room. My fingers trace the tattoo on his back, over his shirt. He stops walking. Closes his eyes. He holds me tighter, close.
“Reese,” he whispers in my ear.
He tips my head back and clenches his teeth, his eyes raw and violent.
“What?” I pant, pressing closer. My breasts ache, my sex aches, my whole body aches.
“When you do that . . .” he begins, dark and hot.
I run my fingers over his tattoo again, and he presses me against the nearest wall, and crushes my mouth with his in a kiss that curls my toes and makes me clench my legs around his hips tighter as he grinds himself to me.
I touch his face. “You’re the first big decision I’ve made on my own. The first good decision.”
He looks hazy with desire as he gazes hotly at my smile, then frowns at me. “How do you know I’m a good decision?” he asks, his voice rasping in his throat.
“Because I know you.”
His expression flashes darkly with emotion.
“Spend the night,” he says. Nuzzling me.
I nod. “But I need to be back by the time Racer wakes up.”
“Okay,” he concedes, stroking a hand down my bare arm, savoring me. “How long do we have?”