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“Hey, Mav. Wait up. Can you give me a ride home?”
He has hair so dark it’s nearly black and eyes so green they appear luminescent. I recognize him from pictures on Maverick’s phone as his best friend, Kody. His piercing gaze lands on me for a second and slides past, like he sees me, but not really.
“Have a good swim, Professor,” Maverick says.
“You too. I mean, have a good evening.” I rush off, not looking back, and push through the door to the women’s changing room. I head straight for the individual stalls, lock myself inside, and sink down on the bench, fighting with myself to stay calm.No one heard him. No one knows.
Once I stop shaking, I spend an hour and a half in the pool, swimming laps, warring with myself and questioning what I’m doing and whether this is fair to Maverick. He’s said he’s okay with the secrecy, but I worry about how long that’s going to last, and how long it reasonably should.
I take a long shower after my swim. After rinsing the chemicals out of my hair, I tuck it up in a beanie and huddle into my winter coat as I rush across the athletic facility’s parking lot. It’s dark already, and fat snowflakes swirl around in the air, the promise of a storm coming. I parked under one of the lights, so it’s easy to find my car in the half-empty lot. It isn’t until I’m behind the wheel that I notice something tucked under my wiper blade.
I glance around the lot. A few students are walking down the sidewalk, heads bowed against the biting winter wind and snow flurries. I open my door and quickly nab it, expecting it to be a flyer or something. I drop back into my seat and hit the lock button on the door, then tap the interior light. It’s not a flyer, though. It’s an origami crane made from the cellophane wrapper on a soda bottle. The number eight hundred seventy-three is written in silver marker on the wing.
It’s like he knows where my head goes before I do.
* * *
Two days later,I work late, marking essays in my office. When I finally leave the building, I step out into a blizzard-level storm. The snow has been nearly constant over the past week, and we must have gotten more than eight inches this afternoon.
Plows are out, trying to keep the roads clear, but the snow is falling fast, the black asphalt disappearing under a fresh blanket of white as soon as they pass. The sun has long since set. I can’t see more than a few feet in front of me and trying to locate my car in the parking lot proves to be a feat.
I end up hitting my panic button, setting off the car alarm so I can find it among the snow-covered cars. I’d be embarrassed about how loud it is, but there’s zero chance I’d be able to find my Prius otherwise. When I finally reach it, I deflate. The entire driver’s side is covered in a drift of snow that’s waist high. Add to that more than eight inches of snow blanketing the rest of my car, and I have no idea how I’m going to clean it off, let alone drive it out of here.
A vehicle comes down the aisle, moving slowly, headlights illuminating me and the road ahead. As it gets closer, I realize it’s a black truck. It slows and comes to a stop beside me, and the passenger window whirs down.
Maverick is alone behind the wheel. “You on your way home?”
“Eventually. When I’m done digging my car out.” I thumb over my shoulder.
“Might be better to do that in the morning. I have practice at six thirty. I can come a little early with a shovel. It’ll be a lot easier to manage when the snow has stopped. Hop in, and I’ll drive you home.”
I glance around the parking lot, which is close to empty. Anyone left on the sidewalks is rushing with their head tucked down, desperate to get out of the storm.
“No one is paying attention to us, Clover. Let me drive you home.”
I know I’m being paranoid, but I’m struggling to find the balance. “Okay.”
I climb up into the cab as Maverick rolls the window back up. It’s warm inside, and I breathe in the scent of his deodorant mixed with cologne and a faint hint of cinnamon and cloves. There’s an empty travel mug sitting in the center console, and it’s clear Bengal Spice has become Maverick’s new favorite tea as well.
I buckle my seat belt, remembering the last time I was in his truck. The drive home from Pearl Bay felt like a punishment, like I was losing something important. Despite Maverick offering to give me space upon our return, I hadn’t been inclined to take it. But with our schedules being what they are this semester, some of that space has been forced on us. Hockey takes up a lot of his time, so with the need for secrecy, we’ve only seen each other a few times since we returned. It was so much easier at the cabin . . .
Maverick shifts into gear and heads for the parking lot exit, driving cautiously. I slouch in my seat, feeling conspicuous despite the fact that the snow is falling so fast and heavy that he can’t see more than a few feet in front of him, so there’s no way anyone can see inside.
“You doing okay? Kind of feels like you’ve been in avoidance mode since I ran into you in the athletic facility the other day.” There’s no accusation in his tone, just concern. He takes his foot off the gas and touches the brake. The back end starts to fishtail, so he eases off until it evens out. Then he rolls to a stop in front of a sign that’s nearly completely covered with snow, except for a hint of red on the top left corner.
“I’m okay.” I don’t know how true that statement really is.
“Hold on.” He puts the truck in park and opens the door. He rushes around the hood, uses his forearm to clear off the stop sign, then returns to the driver’s seat and buckles himself back in. “Talk to me, Clover. What’s going on? It doesn’t do either of us any good if you’re holding stuff in.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “This is harder than I thought it was going to be.”
He glances over before he focuses on the road again. “Which part?”
“I barely ran into you on campus last semester, but I see you all the time there now. It’s just . . . conflicting.”
“Because I’m your dirty little secret?” he asks.
“You’re not a dirty secret, Maverick.”
