Raw (22 page)

He stops hitting.

Exhales.

And slowly frowns, as if deep in thought.

Did he sense me?

He’s starting to turn.

He
sensed
me.

Because as he turns, his gaze slides, without stopping, and pins me in place. His eyes smolder the instant they connect with mine. And I smolder inside.

“I’m on my way back to the hotel, I just wanted to say hi,” I nervously say. Even my voice sounds soft when I talk to him. All of me goes soft.

I wait a beat, and while I wait, this gorgeous smile starts to pull at the sides of his lips.

“So hi,” I finish, awkwardly lifting my hand.

He pulls off his gloves with the opposite arms, never taking his eyes off me, and I slowly lower my hand.

He starts approaching.

“Hi,” he says. He walks with that swagger and that look in his eyes that says, without apology or hesitation or remorse . . .
I remember you in my arms last night, Reese.

Inhaling sharply at the memory, I need to cant my head back to meet his gaze, and when I do, he’s still smiling that powerhouse smile at me.

I thought I wanted to be loved. But now I realize, I don’t just want to be loved. I want to be loved by one man. This man.

He doesn’t look anxious or worried at all. He looks pleased, like a guy who’s just worked out as if he was born to sweat, and punch, and kick other men’s asses. Like a guy who knows he’s getting the girl at the end of the day—or like a guy who knows he already has her. Even if she hasn’t said “I love you” yet. Even if she’s with the Tates. And Miles is still out in the world somewhere.

“When are you leaving for Boston?” he asks me, taking my chin—just like that—and kissing me on the lips—just like that.

I gulp. “Tomorrow.”

My knees.

My poor tingling
toes.

“Would you come with me?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Come with me to Boston, Reese. For semifinals.”

“Like . . . travel with you?”

He nods.

My eyes widen. “I . . . YES.”

“Text me your traveling info when you get to the hotel. I’ll get us both on the noon flight.”

Me and him, together.

I don’t even know how I’m going to make this happen. I just know I’m
making
this happen. Brooke is always so understanding, and Racer always sticks by his dad when they’re on the plane. I can’t even fathom the Tates denying me.

He strokes the back of my head, then fists my hair in one hand as he draws me an inch closer. “I’ll take you to dinner, someplace nice. And I’ll drop you off at your hotel after.”

I find myself nodding. “Okay.”

“I’ll send you the confirmation.”

“I’ll send you my info.”

I should really probably stay away, but instead I lean forward and he steps closer, lifts me in his arms so that my mouth is leveled to his. And he kisses me, a toe-curling kiss that twists up my panties.

He sets me down and pats my butt. “Go then. Text me.”

“I will.”

I head to the doors. And I steal one last glance at him over my shoulder. Maverick is standing in the same spot, and when I catch him staring possessively at my ass, it makes me start to love the Himalayas like never before.

When I get to the hotel, I wait in the living room for the Tates to come back from their run. I hear Racer chattering outside and swing the door open.

“Hey, guys,” I say with a broad smile.

“Reese.” Remy brushes past me, carrying Racer up over his shoulders. Brooke pushes in the stroller and I help her fold it.

“Hey, is it okay if I go to Boston on my own? I’m meeting up with a friend,” I tell her.

She carries the stroller to lean it against a corner wall. “When do you get there?”

“To the hotel? By ten p.m. Maybe we’ll grab early dinner too.”

“It’s fine with us. Just tell your mother and it’s absolutely fine.”

“No,” Racer decrees from the kitchen where he and Remy are scouring for food.

“Racer, come on, let Reese enjoy her friend,” Brooke says, then she smiles and eyes me speculatively. “A boyfriend?”

“I . . . no. Just a friend.”

She smiles knowingly. “The guy back home?”

“Wee comes with me on Wemy’s plane,” Racer keeps protesting.

“Dad,” Brooke specifies. She groans and sends me a what-will-I-do-with-this-kid? look. “He hears us all call him Remy and he’s determined to call him that too. I’m going to have to start to call my own husband Daddy to see if it sticks.”

I laugh.

“Right, Daddy?” she calls as Remy lifts his head.

“That’s right,” he says as he fishes out a gallon of milk and pours Racer a small cup and himself a big glass.

I smile when Brooke joins them, then take out my penny and head to my room, kissing my lucky penny like a dope before I pull out my cell phone and text Maverick my info.

Maverick

I
’m wired today. Couldn’t sleep. Spent all night making our reservations, then picking the perfect restaurant in Boston to take Reese out.

I texted her the confirmation number and flight times, and she replied,
I’ll see you there

My cock’s on fire today. My whole body is on fire today. My brain is on fire, my whole body buzzing in anticipation of fucking holding her, fucking looking at her, fucking making her mine again.

I read the text again while I wait at the airport and wonder if she got held up at the security checkpoint. “You masturbate daily, Mav?” Oz asks to my right.

“Yeah.”

I’m hard. So what. She does that to me.

“Do it more often.”

I clench my hands at my sides and exhale, trying to get it to come down. We’re at the boarding terminal, Oz and I.

I want to be alone with Reese, but I’m keeping a close eye on him too. Him and his “water.” I know it sure as heck isn’t water. But at least he’s cut it down some, now that I’m watching him so closely.

I want him to be well. I want him to
want
to be well.

“You won’t be able to take your hands off her. You need to woo a woman with your head, not with your cock.”

“I’m bringing my best game, Oz. Really. I’m taking you both out to dinner. Someplace nice.”

“So.” He pats the water bottle he mysteriously brought back from the men’s restroom a while ago, as if to make sure it’s in his jacket pocket. “Does Tate know she’s coming with you?”

I remain silent.

Tate is a touchy subject now. Oz hates that I train with him. He can go on for hours on what a bad idea it is to get in bed with the enemy, yada yada.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he answers himself. “Tate can go fuck himself. Or his hot wife.”

“Oz . . .” I shoot him a warning look. “We respect Tate. And his wife. Right?”

“Me?” Oz asks.

“Come on, Oz; we’re professionals.”

He frowns. “Tate’s gonna bust your face when he knows you’ve got it hard for his wife’s cousin.”

“Tate fucking knows, all right? And he’s not stopping me.” I rub my palms on my jeans and I glance at the clock.

The speakers flare up again for the second time: “Now boarding flight . . .”

The line is diminishing by the second.

I want to text her.

I’m too proud to text her.

I’m aware of Oz staring at me with an I-told-you-so look.

I get up and pace, then lean against a pillar, hands inside my jeans as I scan the walkers heading in our direction. I wait a little longer.

I text her.

You ok?

I call her. Voice mail picks up. “Reese? You all right? Call me.”

I check my phone for messages, nothing. I check my ticket and I stare out at the plane window.

Oz looks at me, the last man boarding.

I shake my head.

He sighs and heads inside.

And I watch the plane taxi out. Watch it head to the line, and then watch it take off.

The plane disappears on the horizon. I wait for two more hours. Dragging my hand through my hair, over and over. Then three hours.

Four hours later, I head to the ticket counter and change my ticket to coach.

Flying first class on my own just isn’t on my agenda.

Reese

I
’ve cried so much that now I’m hiccupping, curled in a blue chair in the hospital waiting room. Hiccupping and then, softly, to myself, crying again. There are a couple others in the waiting room. All much more composed than me, reading magazines and pretending they can’t hear me.

I’ve been waiting here for an hour, or maybe two. I don’t know. All I know is that it’s been Groundhog Day for me for the past few hours. Except I’m reliving the same ten minutes over and over in my head.

Racer.

Us, playing with the trains while Brooke finished packing and came to relieve me and I could leave for the airport.

More trains. Me, getting restless, looking at the time, the penny in my pocket.

Racer, getting mad that one of the trains kept charging off the track.

Me . . . fixing the track.

Racer . . . very quiet behind me.

Too quiet behind me.

Not breathing
behind me.

“Hey.”

I hear Remy’s voice and I jerk upright, wipe my tears, and set my feet down on the floor.

He comes over. “He’s all right,” he says, low and even.

He looks down at the penny in my palm, the penny that I had been staring at like some lost soul staring at a door that leads back home.

I jam my penny into my jeans pocket—still haunted by the sight of the train with three wheels that had been sitting next to Racer as he choked on the fourth wheel.

My hand trembles as I let go of my penny and pull out my hand, feeling my eyes start to water again. “I’m so sorry, Remy.” I force myself not to cry, but the stupid tears are slipping.

When I yelled for help, Remy had turned Racer over but the train wheel seemed stuck in his windpipe. The ER was three blocks away, and I don’t think I breathed until we got here.

“He’s all right. Okay?” He pats my shoulder in a fatherly way and heads back to check on Racer and Brooke.

They come out soon, the three of them, and Racer sees me, then he turns away and buries his face in his dad’s neck. As if I’m some Judas. As if I failed him. Because I did.

I can hardly look Brooke in the eye.

“Brooke, I’m sorry.”

She nods, her face red from all the tears she cried too.

I wipe my tears and follow them outside, where Pete is pulling the SUV into the driveway. When they bring him into the car, I notice Racer’s not purple anymore, but his face is all red like Brooke’s and probably mine are.

I want to squeeze Racer to me, but he still curls against his father’s chest and avoids my eyes. I think of Maverick’s chest for some odd reason, at a moment like this, and I would give his penny—the one he gave me that I never wanted to let go of—to have that chest right now for me to curl up against too.

“I’m sorry you missed your flight,” Brooke says softly after a moment.

I nod quietly.

“Call Miles and meet him later,” she says.

I realize at this moment that Brooke thinks I was traveling with Miles.

“I don’t think . . .” I shake my head. “I just don’t know.” I don’t know about me and Miles.

But what about me and Maverick?

I’m disappointing the Tates, who’ve been nothing but good to me, over and over.

I’ve been lying all this time, hiding behind their backs, because I’m so scared of anyone or anything taking Maverick away from me.

Suddenly it all feels so dreary, suddenly I feel hopeless, and undeserving, and foolish to hope there could be something amazing and unexpected for me.

“Did he take the flight to Boston?” she asks.

“I . . . I don’t know. I left my phone at the hotel when we rushed to the hospital.” I look at my phone, now that Pete and Riley fetched our belongings from the hotel, and I really need to see him in person to say what I want to say.

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.