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Everything I’ve said is true, but I leave out what else happened last time: something shifted between Maverick and me. The hangover lasted a day, but the replays in my mind—of our conversation, of his light touches on my body—they lingered, twisting my stomach up in knots for days afterward.
It wasn’t the first time he laid a blanket over me. It wasn’t the first time he kissed my forehead or held me while I cried. But his words—those were new. And they were wonderful, and unexpected, and a little bit scary.
You are more important to me than baseball. If I had to choose, it would be you. Every time.
You are never going to live in a world without somebody to love you.
That last part—I’ve kept that close to my heart over the past few weeks, every time I find myself in a cycle of anxiety about my father and my family. I believe Maverick when he says that he won’t let me go unloved.
But for the first time—and it really is the first time, despite the teasing from our friends, despite the fact that Drew always hated my friendship with Maverick—I’m wondering how, exactly, he is planning to love me.
I haven’t broached the subject with him, and with everything going on with his mom, I won’t do it anytime soon. And because he’s at home with his family, he won’t be at the parties tonight. There’s really no reason for this to keep me home.
It just seems like I should stay here, where there is minimal opportunity for my world to get knocked off its axis again.
“You’ve got to learn to relax, Azalea.” Callie winds a strand of hair around her wand and holds it there. “Your work will still be there tomorrow.”
“It actuallywon’tbe there tomorrow if I get it done tonight,” I quip.
She keeps complaining, but I ignore her. Now that Maverick is on my mind, I check my texts, wondering why it’s been radio silence from him for two days. He last texted me on Wednesday morning—nothing interesting, justjeez this class is effing boring—and never replied to my response asking about his weekend plans.
I’m about to swipe out of my texts when one suddenly appears from Maverick, as if he knew I was thinking about him. I scan it and balk.
I read it again, more carefully this time.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
“What?”
“Did you know Maverick’s mom is on hospice?”
A long silence follows my question. “She is?” she asks finally, her voice so faint it doesn’t even sound like her.
I hold up my phone, and Callie rushes to my side. Her hair, one side curly, one side straight, falls around her shoulders as she leans over to read his text. I reread it along with her.
Hey, sorry I never answered you. Dad called and I had to run home. Long story, but Mom is on hospice. I won’t be coming to class in person anymore. Could you let Cal and the guys know? I’m not up for a lot of conversations right now.
“Jesus,” Callie says, clutching her hands to her chest. “This is awful. I had no idea she was that sick.”
“Me either.” I poise my fingers over the keyboard and compose a reply.Callie is here with me. We are so sorry. I can let the guys know too.
“I’m calling my mom,” Callie announces. She grabs her phone from her desk.
I send a second text:What can we do for you?
The three dots appear, disappear, appear, disappear. I imagine Maverick sitting in his room at home, trying to figure out how to answer that question—a question they’ve been asked a million times already, I’m sure—and I want to cry. So often recently, I’ve been jealous of everybody I know who has a loving, present mom.
In this moment, I think I would prefer never knowing one than to have her and lose her.
Maverick finally replies.Maybe you and Cal can come down sometime this week and get Lilly out of the house for a girls’ day? Her school is out for break next week, too. Kind of wish they weren’t because she’s having a hard time and I think the distraction would be good for her.
Callie is talking to her mom. By the sound of it, this is news to her, too. I motion for her to come closer to me so I can show her Maverick’s last text. She starts nodding as soon as she reads it, giving me a thumbs-up.
Of course,I reply.She and I will talk about it and let you know when.
Thanks. You guys are the best.
I stare at the screen, gripped by the irrational and impossible urge to conjure up some magic words that will make all of this go away. No such words exist, of course, so I settle for a single red heart.
