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I consider tossing the glass of wine down the drain, but it’s my favorite, and it seems like a terrible waste. Dinner already went in the garbage. The flowers will go to my neighbor across the street in the morning.
The moment I retrieve my phone from my purse and take it off silent, it pings with multiple missed messages. There’s an excited one from my mother, wanting to plan out meals for my holiday visit. But the one that catches and holds my attention is from a vaguely familiar number.
Only a few students have reached out via my cell this semester, and usually because they needed clarification on an assignment that was due before I had office hours.
I stare at the screen until it goes blank. I have a feeling it’s Maverick, especially after everything he witnessed with Gabriel this morning. I check the piece of paper with the gym information he left for me and confirm my suspicions.
I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. Gabriel thought it was cute that my student clearly has a crush on me. I brushed it off, but it left me with an uneasy feeling that’s carried through the day.
I debate whether I should check the message or let it be. The final paper for the creative writing course is due in a week. After that, I have an additional week to submit final grades, but I’m aware that as soon as those exams are in my hands, I’ll be passing his and several others to my TA to be marked.
After two gulps of wine, I open the message. I can’t read the tone, but I imagine he’s either hurt or angry. Probably both. And this is my fault.
I shouldn’t have gone to the self-defense classes. I shouldn’t have said yes to the coffee. I’m the one who turned this into a complicated situation.
I don’t want to respond by text, so I hit call instead, unsure if I’m about to make this better or worse.
He answers on the second ring. “I can’t decide if it’s a good or bad thing that you’re calling me.” His words are heavy and a little slow.
“I felt a call would be better than a text, all things considered.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re married? Why lie?”
I sigh. Sophia would probably tell me to hang up. But Maverick deserves an explanation. “We’ve been separated for more than a year. He’s refusing to sign the divorce papers. I’m not married to him willingly anymore. I haven’t been for a long time. He’s holding me hostage by withholding his signature.” I close my eyes. “I have office hours first thing tomorrow morning. Why don’t you meet me there and we can talk? I think this is a better discussion in person.”
“I have a morning skate at six thirty. I’ll be there for about an hour.”
“I’ll be in my office before eight.”
“You sure you want me to come to your office for this conversation?”
“Gabriel is being difficult and unpredictable. So yes, my office is best.”
“Are you safe there?”
“I’m safe.”
“Okay. If that changes, I’m a phone call away.”
“I’ll be fine. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Okay.” He ends the call with a quiet click.
I’m already in so deep, I don’t know if there’s a way to dig myself out of this hole anymore.
Eighteen
The Last Straw
Maverick
Iwake up with a splitting headache. I remember the Uber ride home and sending a text message, and I have a very vague memory of a phone call.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and check my recent messages. I sent one at eleven thirty last night, and not long after, I received a phone call from the same number. I think I’m supposed to meet Clover at her office.
Drunk texting is never a good idea.
I drag my ass out of bed and get ready for morning skate. I’d back out, but I could use the extra ice time, even though I feel like a bag of shit, and I don’t play much better. At least it’s just a few guys looking to run drills. Kody asks if I want to grab breakfast with him, but I make up an excuse and tell him I’ll catch up with him later, like we planned.
