Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  I skirt around the edge of the counter, my goal to get as far from the toxicity as I can, then I hear her voice calling behind me in a singsong tone. “I know something you don’t.”

  I push my glasses up and turn around. “I already know you slept with my ex. Over and done. I’ve moved on.”

  She laughs, but it isn’t a pleasant sound, and by now the group of guys back in the corner openly stare at us.

  “This is about Maverick.”

  She’s toying with me, I tell myself, but part of me—the insecure side of me—wants to know exactly what she means. My old anxieties tug at me, reminding me that Alex cheated and saying maybe Maverick has too.

  “Fuck off, Martha.”

  She rears back in surprise. “Well, you do have claws. I was beginning to wonder.”

  I flip back around and head down an aisle.

  Her parting shot follows me. “Just ask him why he’s been training at Carson’s Gym so much. Ask him who Leslie is.”

  Leslie? Is she someone he’s seeing at the gym? He’s been telling me he goes to the field house to work out…

  But I did see him at Carson’s all those weeks ago when Han was lost.

  I take the stairs two at a time, her comments niggling at me, digging under my skin. I try to pack them away and store them in a back corner of my mind, but when my phone pings with a text from Maverick and I read it, the uncertainty yanks at me even more.

  Rain check on tonight? We’ve got a big scrimmage coming up and I need the rest.

  Fine, I say.

  You okay?

  I type Yes, but then delete it.

  I’m not okay, not at all, and I need time to think. I don’t respond, instead just tuck the phone back in my pocket.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Delaney

  The next day, Ryker opens the door, this time with some clothes on. It makes sense since it’s the afternoon and after classes, but in a dorm with athletes, you never know. I’m here to pump him for information, and I’m not above using food to get what I want.

  “Mav isn’t here. Already left for the gym.”

  I let out a sigh. “Is he at Carson’s with Leslie?”

  Ryker pales—just a hair—and I know I’m on the right track. “He might be at Carson’s, but I don’t know a Leslie.”

  My heart drops at his obvious lie, but I shrug, playing it cool. “I know he’s not here. He texted me this morning and said he had things to do today.” He’s been too busy for me for the past several days, and my nerves are stretched thin. It feels like whatever we had is slowly slipping away and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

  He nods. “So why are you here?”

  I pull a full pecan pie out of my handy little Tupperware carrier. “I made pie, and I do recall you mentioning once that pecan is your favorite. Just thought I’d drop it off.”

  “Man, you’re the best.” He opens the door wider and I step inside, heading to the kitchenette. “It’s been a shit day and I really need this.”

  “Oh? What’s wrong?” Normally he always wears a smile, but now that I’m noticing, there are dark circles under his eyes and his hair is everywhere, as if he’s been rubbing it.

  His lips tighten. “Just girl problems.” Muffin problems, no doubt, but I hold on to that thought and wait.

  “Let me cut you a piece,” I say as I pull open a drawer to find a pie cutter. Alas, these guys are primitive, so I settle for a butter knife. I slice into the flakey golden crust, tossing a look at him over my shoulder.

  “Sure.” His eyes are focused on the dish, and I smile at his interest.

  “By the way, this was my Nana’s recipe, and it’s been handed down in my family for generations. It won a blue ribbon at a fair in North Carolina.”

  He walks in closer. “Awesome, but why are you bringing me pie? Shouldn’t it be for Mav?”

  “Just thought we could chat. Want me to make us some coffee to go with this? Or some iced tea?”

  “I think my mom left some Lipton packets here the last time she dropped off groceries, and there’s sugar in the pantry. I don’t have an iced tea maker though. We can use a pan?”

  “Sure.” I nod and he helps make the tea, immediately turning on the stovetop. There’s a bit of pep in his step, probably excitement about the pie. He fills the pan with water and I drop in the bags as he digs out a pitcher. I mean, I don’t really want tea, but I’m nervous and need something to keep my hands busy because I feel guilty about pumping Maverick’s friend for information. I exhale. I’m desperate, and I just want Ryker to reassure me that everything’s okay.

  “Let’s talk while the tea brews, yes?”

  “Sure.” He shrugs.

  I set the pie in the center of the table and cut it into six large slices, the sterling silver of the knife slicing into the crystallized pecans and down farther into the dark gooey confection.

  “So the recipe is a big secret?”

  “Nana thought it was. Sometimes I think it’s a shame not to tell people about it because I’m the only person in the world that knows it, and I don’t have any family to pass it on to.”

  “You’re not missing much. Family can be a real pain in the ass. Maybe you’ll have a house full of kids someday.”

  I hope so. “Or a bunch of cats.”

  Silence settles between us as we wait for the tea to brew, and I notice the pensive look on Ryker’s face.

  I’m trying to figure out how to lead into asking him details about Maverick when he speaks first. “You didn’t really come here just to bring me this pie, did you?”

  I feel myself blush. “Correct.”

  A gruff laugh comes out of him. “You came to ask me about Maverick and why he’s so…weird lately, right?” His eyes flash down to the gooey goodness that’s spreading out on his plate. “The pie is a bribe.”

  He’s funny, and I smile a little even though I’m worried. “Pretty much.”

  He sighs, but I don’t think he’s annoyed with me.

  My stomach churns and I go all in. “The truth is…Muffin came to see me at the library last night, throwing threats around about Maverick and someone named Leslie. Is he cheating on me?”

  He shakes his head. “No. God, no—Maverick wouldn’t do that. Leslie is a guy, a real piece of work.”

  I sit back, my head spinning with relief. I’d been so focused on him cheating…

  He rakes a hand through his hair, his lips twisting as if he’s deep in thought.

  “But you’re not telling me everything,” I say. “What does Muffin claim to know about Maverick?”

  He rubs a hand down his face. “This whole Muffin thing…shit, it’s my fault. Apparently one night she got my phone while I was sleeping and read a bunch of texts from Maverick. It was on the lock screen but she was still able to take pictures of messages about a casino and this Leslie person. She’s crazy. She even went up to him at Carson’s and took a picture of him with the guy.”

  He says a few other things, mostly about how he’s pissed at Muffin and how he’s tried to call her but she’s not answering, but all I can focus on is the casino bit.

  My heart drops. “He’s been gambling?”

  He studies me and frowns, giving me a rueful look. “No, and I’ve already said too much. I only did because I know you care about him and if anyone can talk to him, it’s you. You’ll have to ask him for the rest of the story.”

  I chew on my bottom lip, my head trying to piece it all together. Ryker’s right—if I want to know the truth, I’ll have to confront Maverick.

  He lets out a sigh as his eyes drift back to the plate in front of him. “Are you still going to let me eat this?” The fork is already in his hand and there’s a huge clump of crust and pecan filling on the tines.

  “Eat the damn pie.”

  “Thank God.” He shoves the huge bite in his mouth and groans so loudly, I blush. Once he gets the first bite down, he reaches across the table and gives my hand a squeeze. “Don’t give up on him. Jus
t talk to him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Maverick

  I’m leaning against the wall in the gym’s showers, letting the hot water run down my body. I’ve been pushing myself to the limit this week, preparing for the fight along with our first scrimmage game tomorrow. NFL scouts will be in attendance, and just thinking about everything I have on the line kicks up my adrenaline.

  I think back to Muffin and what she might do with those text messages she took pictures of. Everything she has is just conjecture, but she’s batshit crazy, and batshit crazy can cause a lot of havoc.

  I get out and am drying off when I hear the clank of a door somewhere in the building. Dammit. I thought Carson locked up before he left, but obviously he was leaving that to me since I’m here so late.

  Still damp, I toss on my gym shorts then ease out the door and into the darkened gym. The lights are off and the only light is the glow from Carson’s office, which he leaves on all the time.

  “Maverick?”

  My shoulders sigh in relief—it’s Delaney.

  My eyes scan over her, eating her up. She’s wearing a pair of gray yoga pants and a shirt that says I’m Sorry For What I Said When I Was Hungry. Her hair is up in a side knot thing, and strands of blonde hair that have escaped fall down her cheek.

  I exhale. Damn, she’s beautiful, but she shouldn’t be here.

  “What are you doing here? It’s past eleven.”

  She looks around the deserted gym, her gaze ending on the boxing ring. She pushes her glasses up on her nose. “Muffin came to see me at the library last night, and I went to see Ryker today. He didn’t tell me everything, so I’m left piecing things together. I’m not sure what to think, and I’m here to find out what the hell is going on with you.”

  “Okay.” I swallow as my entire body tenses. My chest feels like a chunk of ice.

  “Who’s Leslie and what does he have to do with a casino?”

  Fuck. My pulse kicks up, dread filling my gut as I realize the one person I didn’t want to know what I’m doing is about to find out what a liar I am. I suck in a sharp breath, gathering myself.

  “Let me get dressed first,” I say before turning back around to head into the locker room, trying to keep it together. She follows me as I march away and dig through my gym bag, my eyes avoiding hers.

  “Is that how you want to play this? By not saying anything?” I look up and her hands are on her hips, her breasts straining against the fabric of her shirt.

  I slip a Waylon football shirt over my head and shove my feet into Adidas slip-ons. “I just didn’t want to involve you. The less I say, the better.” My voice is soft.

  Her hands fall to her sides and she clenches them. “You’ve been lying to me for weeks. I thought we…had something real.” She swallows, her eyes searching my face for answers. “Don’t we?”

  “I don’t know. This isn’t the time to ask me, Delaney.” It hurts to say the words, but I’m reacting on instinct. I need to push her away and just focus on the game tomorrow.

  She stiffens. “Who are you?”

  I scrub my face. “Look, my life…it’s crazy right now, and I don’t want you caught up in my shit.”

  “With this Leslie person?” Her voice trembles, and I know her well enough to know she’s close to tears.

  “Yes.”

  “What? Is he like a mobster or something? Do you owe him money?”

  I push my hair off my face, tugging on the ends. Fuck it—just tell her. “No, I’m fighting in Tunica for him. He owns a couple of casinos. Muffin thinks he’s my bookie, but he’s not.”

  Her chest rises rapidly and she looks faint. She sits down on one of the benches.

  “I’m just fighting. I get in the ring, go a few rounds, and get paid a flat fee if I win. That’s it.”

  She sucks in a shuddering breath as the dots are connected in her head. “That’s why you were all beat up before?”

  I nod.

  She shakes her head. “But you can’t take money from anyone, not if you want to play football.”

  An eerie calmness settles over me. “I know.”

  “Why?” She stands and walks over to me, her hands fluttering as if she’s a caged bird who needs to escape but doesn’t know the way out.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I did the fight for Raven, to pay for Pineview.”

  She blinks, taking that in. “I didn’t realize you were paying the bill. I thought the state or insurance was.”

  “No.” My shoulders slump as I feel the weight of all my decisions. “I’m sorry for lying to you. I’ve been coming here to spar as much as I can. I just wanted to keep you out of it in case the press finds out.”

  She stares at me, taking it all in.

  I pick up my gym bag. “I need to go. The scrimmage is tomorrow and I have to be rested. It’s late. I’ll see you later?”

  Hurt flashes over her face, and her eyes shimmer. “Seriously?”

  I nod. “The NFL scouts are coming. I need some space, okay?”

  She nods, pain in her eyes as they dart around the room. “Fine. I see what’s most important to you.” She brushes past me and out the door.

  Part of me wants to call her back, for her to just…help me through this craziness, but the other part knows I need distance. I need to focus on tomorrow and everything else that may come with it.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Maverick

  The next day, I’m on the way to the field to dress out for the scrimmage.

  I was up late thinking about Delaney, and I’m beat. At least Eminem is blaring on the radio, and I crank it up. The lyrics to “One Shot” blast out as I tap the beat on the steering wheel. The song feels prophetic. The NFL scouts will be sitting in the stands getting a tight view of me as I manage the defense, and whatever happens will definitely set the tone for next year.

  I pull into the parking lot and make my way to the dressing room. Most of the guys aren’t here yet, and more than likely won’t be for another hour. I like to come in extra early, get dressed, and get myself mentally prepared for the game. Every hardcore player has a few game-day quirks, and mine is running my hands along the turf or grass before any other player steps on it. Ryker likes to tell everyone I actually eat the grass, but that’s a lie. Still, I go along with it, let them think I’m crazy. As for Ryker…his is getting bitch-slapped by one of the coaching assistants while I hold his hands behind his back. Says it gets his adrenaline going.

  Coach Alvarez comes out of his office and meets me in the hallway. A few inches shorter than me with a bald head and bright blue eyes that don’t miss a thing, he’s in his forties and stocky. A former WU player, he lives and breathes the game. His face is grim most of the time, as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders, but today there’s an extra bit of downturn at the corners of his mouth. Known for his profanity and booming voice, he scares the shit out of most people, and no one wants to get on his bad side. He can rake you over the coals faster than a quarterback sneak.

  I nod. “Coach. On my way to the locker room.”

  “My office first, Monroe.” He juts his chin in the direction of his door.

  My first thought is Shit, he knows, and a wave of dread washes over me. He’s been nothing but kind to me, a good coach who saw right away that I had no father figure at all, and freshman year, he made sure to check in with me from time to time.

  My second thought is that this is a pep talk. He knows how much I’m hanging on to the fact that the scouts are interested in me, especially since I didn’t go out early. They want to see if I’ll live up to the hype.

  I follow his broad frame into his office. Boxes of equipment, helmets, and padding are stacked against the walls, and a white board and a projector sit in the back surrounded by several desks and chairs. This is the coaching headquarters where the assistants meet to decide how we’re going to be playing the game. He leans against his desk.

  “Shut the door.”

  I c
lose it as quietly as I can, suddenly a ball of nerves.

  “Take a seat.”

  His voice is hard as nails—the usual.

  His eyes bore into mine, that deep frown on his face, making his chin triple as it digs into his chest. A long stretch of ten seconds goes by as a myriad of emotions cross his face, ones I can’t read…don’t want to read.

  My hands shake as I clasp them in front of me. “Sir? Is everything okay?”

  “No, Monroe, everything is not fucking okay.” His voice is deadly quiet.

  That’s when I know it’s bad. He’s not yelling, and this is even worse than if he were.

  “I want to know why the motherfucking hell I got a call from the athletic director this morning about an anonymous tip that you’re somehow involved in gambling.”

  It’s not just my face that pales—it’s my entire body. I feel my skin grow cold. I lick my lips.

  “I don’t know anything about that, sir.”

  “Don’t fucking play with me, son. Have you been gambling?”

  I feel faint.

  I tell the truth. “Sir, I have not been gambling. I would never gamble on a game or throw a game. Winning—this team—means everything to me.”

  He squints at me, a scrunched up look on his face as if he’s tasted something sour. “Then where the hell is the AD getting this from?”

  “A girl, Coach. She thinks she knows shit and she doesn’t.” I grip the edge of my chair. Part of me wants to tell him everything…

  Tell him, my inner voice screams as nausea washes over me. Let out the guilt you’ve been carrying.

  But…I’d never play for him again.

  “Son, are you sure you’re telling me everything? The AD says I’m supposed to question you, but if you got nothing, I’ll let you play today. It is a big fucking day.”

  I feel the weight of his stare and it makes my heart jerk.

  What I’ve done is so goddamn wrong.

  I should just quit football and get a job and support me and Raven. I can live at the trailer with her and take care of her. I can get a job.