AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My brain snags on the phrase ‘ahotel room’, as in singular, but I push past it. I’m sure there will be two beds, and it’s not like we’ve never slept in the same room. We’ve even fallen asleep in the same bed a couple of times. “That’s probably not what they intended for you to spend the money on.”
Maverick raises his brows at me. “A road trip with my best friend to help me through the throes of grief?” His voice is an odd balance of amused and strangled. I can’t quite read his expression.
I breathe out, defeated. “Okay. Point taken.”
He’s already reaching for his phone. “Which day should we go?”
Chapter Fourteen
Maverick
“OhdearGod,”Isay when Azalea gets into my car, dropping her overnight bag at her feet. “What the hell are you wearing?”
She glances down at her t-shirt with a frown. “What? I won it in a raffle at the dorm freshman year. It’s comfy.”
The shirt is navy blue, plain except for the all-capital letters spelling out DES MOINES: FRENCH FOR THE MOINES. “That’s what tourists wear.”
Azalea looks at me skeptically. Her hair is pulled into two long, thick braids. Every time she wears her hair like that, I have to resist the urge to trace my fingers along the grooves. “Tourists? Really?”
I undo my seatbelt and lean into the backseat, rifling through my things. “Okay, Miss Ski Town Snob. It’s all relative. To someone from Keokuk, this is the big city.”
“Where’s Keokuk?”
“Exactly.” I find what I’m looking for and sit back down, tossing the shopping bag into her lap. “Here, I bought you this. Is it the right size?”
Azalea reaches inside and pulls out a blue Cubs t-shirt. “Oh!” She shakes it out, then checks the tag. “Yeah, it should fit. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. One condition: when we stop for gas, you have to go inside and change into that. You can’t wear ‘French for the Moines’ in Chicago.”
She makes a face at me. I make a face back, then turn to back out of her driveway.
I’m in a good fucking mood. It’s been forever since I felt this light.
Azalea fiddles with the radio dial, and I don’t stop her. Some days I feel like she’s the only reason I’m able to get out of bed, so she can listen to whatever she wants in my car.
It’s terrifying to be so reliant on another person when you realize how easily a twist of fate could have kept your paths from crossing. Like with Azalea—what if her dad hadn’t been relocated here? I never would have met her, and at this point, that’s a thought I almost can’t stand. Mom still would have relapsed and died, and I wouldn’t have Azalea to help me pick up the pieces. Sure, I’d have Callie, who is a great friend; I’d have Grant and Pax and my friends on the team. It’s not like I’d be alone.
But none of those people lift my mood simply by walking into a room. None of them are the first person I want to tell about everything that happens to me. None of them make my heart speed up with a single glance.
I’m in love with Azalea. I know I am. It took my mom spelling it out for me to realize it, and now it just seems…obvious. Like the truth was right there in front of me the whole time, but I was looking down instead of straight ahead. People might not buy it because I’m twenty-one or because I’ve never been in a real relationship or whatever, and I wouldn’t blame them. I’ve downplayed my own feelings for the very same reasons.
But I was wrong. It was never a crush. Never a passing infatuation. I know that now.
But that doesn’t mean she wants me back, and it doesn’t mean I’m good for her. Nobody ever accused me of being overly in touch with my feelings, but I’m emotionally aware enough to understand that I’m not in a good place. Azalea has been my number one support over the past few months. I’ve tried, but I know I’m not pulling my weight in reciprocating. She deserves more than that.Betterthan that.
There’s no way I could handle starting something with Azalea right now. I would fuck it up in a million different ways. I would lose her.
I don’t know what I would do if I lost her, too.
“Maverick.”
She sounds impatient, like she’s been trying to get my attention. I realize that we’re already on the highway, and I don’t even remember getting here. I’ve been too lost in thought. “Sorry. What?”
“I said thank you. For the trip.” She looks so earnest, like she owes me this gratitude. Like she’s not doing me the biggest fucking honor in the world by sitting shotgun in my car.
I peel one hand off the wheel and reach over, tugging lightly on a braid. Just once. A single moment of indulgence. “Thank you foreverything.”
Bythetimewe’vearrived at our hotel and dealt with a clusterfuck of a parking situation, there’s only a couple of hours to spare until game time. Azalea can’t do elevators with her claustrophobia, so we trudge up four flights of stairs to get to the room. Now that we’re actually here, I’m starting to feel a little bit of trepidation about this whole thing—namely, the part where I’m going to be alone in a hotel room with Azalea.
