by L A Cotton
~
“We should take him to the ER,” I insisted for the third time, keeping one eye on Maverick's bloody and lifeless body slumped in the back of the Jeep.
“I don't know, Cous.”
“Kyle,” I ground out. “Look at him. He's a mess. He needs—”
“No hospitals.”
Relief flooded me at the sound of Maverick's groggy voice, followed by anger. Red hot fury exploded in my chest and I lost it. “You could've died,” I snapped, unable to stop the tears as they rolled from my eyes.
Maverick groaned, his eyes half-closed. “I'm fine.”
“You look like something off the Walking Dead.” Kyle's attempt at humour was lost on me. We'd watched, unable to do anything, while Maverick let a man pummel him into shreds.
“It's nothing a hot shower and some Advil won't take care of. Maybe a beer or two.”
I glared at him through the mirror, but Maverick's eyes were closed again, or swollen shut. It was hard to tell; there was so much blood and bruising. But as if he sensed me watching, he added, “The on-site medical guy checked me over. Mild concussion from the fall. Possible broken rib. Nothing else to worry about.
“Pull over,” I demanded, and Kyle cast me a sideways glance.
“Hmm, Lo, we're in the middle of nowhere, I can't just sto—”
“Pull. Over.”
With a heavy sigh and a string of cuss words under his breath, Kyle pulled the Jeep over to the side of the road and climbed out. “I'll give the two of you some space.”
I shot him a look of gratitude. When he was out of earshot I twisted my body around and traced every cut and bruise marring Maverick's face. There were a lot. A couple looked worse than the rest. Blood seeping from deep gashes. He needed proper medical attention but part of me—the part swarming with rage—thought maybe he deserved to suffer. To feel even an ounce of the pain and hurt churning through my stomach.
“Why, Maverick? Why would you do this?”
He shifted up the seat, one arm wrapped around his waist as if he was holding himself together. Pain twisted into his marred face. His brows knitted tight. Breathing shallow. “You wouldn't understand.”
That's it.
That's all he had?
“Wouldn't understand?” my voice wavered. “You haven't even given me a chance. You shut me out, Maverick. All week, you've been avoiding me. Keeping me at a distance. I thought it was me. I thought you'd changed your mind about us. But it's him, isn't it? Your father did something.”
It was the only thing that made sense.
“London...”
My heart crashed against my chest. I was so conflicted. Part of me wanted to nurse him better. Soothe his cuts and bruises. Tend to his wounds. But another part wanted to finish the job.
How could he go there… for that?
“You need help Maverick. This—whatever you think you are doing by stepping into that ring—it's not working. I want to help you. I want to understand but I can't… I won't stand around and watch you self-destruct.”
His eyes finally snapped open to mine. Daring me to say the words. To end us before we ever got started. But I swallowed them down leaving the threat hanging between us.
Kyle chose that moment to open the door and poke his head inside. “Are you two done? I'm freezing my balls off out here.”
“We're done,” I said holding Maverick's hard glare for another second before throwing myself back against the seat.
We weren't done.
Not by a long shot.
But I meant what I said. I couldn't keep watching him do this to himself. Not when he refused to let me help him.
We rode the rest of the way in silence. Kyle threw me a few concerned looks, keeping one eye on Maverick in his rearview mirror. He was sleeping. Or too exhausted to make a sound. God. Seeing that, watching a man bigger and stronger pound his fists into Maverick's face over and over. It was something I never wanted to see again.
When I'd reached him, unconscious on the ground, everything started to blur. My heart beat so fast I felt queasy, and I went into shock. Kyle later told me it had taken two men to hoist Maverick up and carry him to the 'medical room' which turned out to be some abandoned office where they had a gurney and a sparse first aid kit.
Some good that did.
“Okay, how are going to do this?” Kyle said as he turned off for their house, and I glanced back at Maverick.
“I have no idea. Are your dad and Rebecca home?”
“They were going to some gala. They should be gone for a while.”
“And Summer and Macey?”
There was no way Summer needed to see Maverick in this state. Macey neither.
“Who knows? But if I park by the garage, we can carry him through the back entrance and straight to the pool house.
“And then what, Kyle?” I hissed. “He needs—”
“I know, I know. Let's just get him inside and reassess the situation. Once he's cleaned up, he'll probably look and feel better.”
Kyle pulled up as close to the back gate as possible. The place was pitched in darkness, no sign of Gentry’s car in its usual spot. He climbed out and came around to my side. I got out and watched as he opened the back door and scrubbed a hand down his face.
“This is fucked up,” he breathed out. “Rick, do you think you can stand?”
Nothing.
“Rick, man, you have to help us out here. C’mon.”
A garbled reply came from inside the car and then Maverick appeared, dragging himself to the door. “Shit,” he groaned. “That hurts.”
Kyle caught him and between us we managed to wrestle him onto his feet. Limp and exhausted, Maverick’s upper body hung forward, pain lingering in every breath. By the time we reached the pool house, beads of sweat were rolling down my back.
“Get the door, Cous.” Kyle shifted his weight to take most of Maverick’s and I slid out from his side to let us in.
Maverick’s pained groans filled the silence as we helped him into his bedroom and guided him down onto his bed. He landed with another groan. Kyle caught my eye and mouthed, “What now?” and I released a weary breath.
“I’ll get the first aid kit. You help him strip out of his clothes.”
“I’m not getting him naked.” Kyle’s eyes bunched together.
“His vest, Kyle. Take off his vest.”
“His vest? You mean his tank, right? I can do that.”
“Keep your fucking hands off me,” Maverick choked out, groaning some more.
“He speaks. He’s alive.”
“Kyle, not helping,” I scolded. “Just watch him, I’ll be back.”
I gathered the first aid kit, paper towels and a bowl of warm water. In less than five months, this was the second time I was cleaning blood from Maverick’s face.
But I never anticipated this.
When I returned to the bedroom, I paused. Kyle had pulled up the desk chair beside the bed and was talking in a hushed voice to his stepbrother, concern written all over his face and I wondered how many times he’d witnessed this over the last year.
But that conversation would have to take place another time before Maverick bled out all over his clean sheets.
“Okay, scoot over,” I said to Kyle, and he moved out of the way.
“This is going to hurt.”
“You could never hurt me, London,” Maverick whispered. He sounded out of it—lost to the pain radiating through his body. But even in his current state, I could have sworn I saw the faintest of smirks on his busted lip.
“Kyle, tear off some towels and fold them into squares.”
He did as I asked, stacking them into little piles on the nightstand. I took the top one, dipping it in the water and squeezing it out and then started wiping. Maverick hissed and swore and, at one point, I thought he had passed out. Blood tinged the water red, but I didn’t stop. Dip. Rinse. Squeeze. Wipe. The cloying metallic tang overwhelmed my senses and a couple of times I had to turn away
just to drag a little fresh air into my lungs. But slowly, Maverick—my Maverick—came into view. Kyle had been right, the amount of blood smeared over his face made his injuries appear worse than they actually were. Aside from a deep gash over his right eyebrow and the jagged split in his bottom lip, it was mostly bruising and surface grazes. There was swelling around his eye, but Kyle dug out ice from the freezer and wrapped it in a towel, and applied it to the area.
“See, almost as good as new,” he joked, but not even his attempt at humour could disguise his concern.
“Okay, I think we’re done,” I said after twenty-minutes of cleaning wounds and applying plasters. I dried my hands on a clean sheet of paper towel and stood up to take everything away, but Maverick’s hand shot out and snagged my wrist.
“Thank you,” he croaked, his eyes flickering in and out of consciousness.
“I’ll get you some painkillers and then you can sleep it off. You might need to get your ribs x-rayed.” There was a lot of bruising.
“Stay,” he said.
“I can’t.” I shrugged out of his grip and started gathering up the bowl of water and bloody towels, forcing down the tears and bile burning the back of my throat. “I’ll check in on you tomorrow. If you need anything Kyle will be here.” My eyes shot to my cousin’s, and he nodded.
“Sure thing. I’ll be right here on Prince duty.” He gave me a two-fingered salute.
“Try to get some rest.” My fingers itched to touch him, to reach out and trace the lines of his broken face but I was barely holding on and I didn’t want to break. Not here.
I rushed out of there with Kyle hot on my heels. “Cous,” he called.
“I have to go. I’ll call a taxi from the house. Stay here, in case he needs you.”
“He needs you, Cous.” Kyle narrowed his eyes.
“I can’t…” I couldn’t explain it, but I had to get out of here. “I’m fine. I just need some air. I’ll text you when I’m home. He should be fine but if anything changes, don’t risk it and take him straight to the emergency room.”
“I think we both know the only way I’d get him there is if he’s de—” His face went pale as he realised what he’d been about to say. “Shit, Cous, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. Goodnight, Kyle. I’ll text to see how he is later.” I turned, and all but ran out of there.
Maverick
Pain radiated through me, jolting me awake. “What the fu—”
“Welcome back, Prince.” There was an edge to Kyle's voice that had me searching my foggy mind for some memory of why he sounded so pissed at me.
“Wh- what happened?” I tried to sit up, but my ribs exploded with blistering heat forcing me to stay down.
“You don't remember?”
Remember?
Memories flooded my mind like a bad home movie. The warehouse. Bobby's grimace as I told him to put me on the roster. Some hulk of a guy more than willing to step up to the plate.
Lo...
Lo?
Fuck, Lo was there.
“Oh, shit,” I whispered, bringing a hand to my face to inspect the damage, because from the agony splintering around various parts of my body I knew there had to be a lot.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Kyle spat, pushing from the chair and jamming his fingers into his hair.
“Lo was there? You let her—” Fuck, it hurt to talk. Everything hurt. But the ache in my chest at the idea of her seeing me like this was worse. She wasn't supposed to be there... to see me like that.
“You think I wanted her to go there?” he seethed. “To see that? But I didn't know what else to do. Luke called me...”
Fucking Taffia. Traitorous motherfucker.
I slowly swung my legs off the edge of the bed. My fingers curled into the mattress as I breathed through the pain. My face was sore, the skin across my cheekbones and around my eyes tight and tender. And from the stinging across my ribs, I knew if I looked down there would be bruises.
“I get it. You need to exorcise whatever demons haunt you, man. And I've tried to be understanding, but last night was fucked up. Lo didn't deserve that. Hell, I didn’t deserve that.”
More memories came. Hazier this time. Her gentle touch as she cleaned my wounds. The brokenness in her voice as she said goodbye.
“I need to see her,” I rushed out and tried to stand but my body crumpled back down.
“This is what you're going to do. You're going to take a shower.” He gave me a pointed look adding, “You're on your own there, bro. Then I will drag your sorry ass to get your ribs looked at. Coach will shit a brick when he sees the state of his star player. You will not call Lo, or text, or try to see her. Handle your shit first. Give her time. And then you and I are going to have a little chat.”
“Fine,” I groaned as I tried to test the waters again, standing slowly. Finally upright, I loosened my hold on my midriff. The pain was immense. Burning and deep. And when I breathed in it stung like a bitch, but I was upright. And for as much as I hated to admit it, Kyle was right.
“I’ll go do damage control. There’s no way you’ll be able to hide this one but maybe I can lay a few breadcrumbs.” He gave me one last look and turned to leave but I called out, “Stone.”
“Yeah?” He glanced over his shoulder.
“Thanks, I owe you.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you do.”
I shuffled unsteadily around my room. When I found what I was looking for, I located Lo’s number and started typing.
Maverick: I’m sorry. For everything. Kyle said I need to give you space, so that’s what I’m going to do. But don’t take too long, Lo. I need you. I will always need you.
When I caught sight of my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I realized now why Kyle was so pissed. It looked like I’d survived the end of the world. Dried blood clung to a deep cut in my lip. My right eye was almost swollen shut. And my ribs were an ugly patchwork of black and blue. Shit.
It was a feat, but I managed to shuck out of my sweat pants and turn on the shower. Steam misted up the glass screen as I stepped inside, wincing when the hot water slid over my tender spots. It hurt so damn much, I had to press a hand to the tiles to keep myself from buckling. Last night was a blur. I couldn’t even remember the guy’s face. But I remembered his fists. The feel of them hammering into my ribs, into my face. It had hurt, but the pain was good. It switched off everything else—gave me something to focus on. It made me forget.
My failures.
My fuck ups.
Him.
It made everything pale into insignificance.
But she wasn’t supposed to be there. I’d told Lo once, when she’d asked me when she would get to see me in the ring, she should be careful what she wished for. And I’d meant it as a warning. To her and myself. Because I knew if she ever saw me fighting it would change everything. She’d already seen too much. If she saw that part of me as well, I’d have nothing left to protect myself with.
Too fucking late now.
She’d been there. Watched as I got my ass handed to me. It wasn’t about the losing or winning for me. It was about power. About fighting back.
About reminding myself that although I was a pawn in my father’s games, I still had some control over my life.
Unable to withstand the pain anymore, I turned off the shower, grabbed a towel and patted myself down. My cell phone vibrated, but it wasn’t the name I wanted to see, so I ignored it. Getting dressed was a different story. Every time I tried to lift my t-shirt over my head the pain was so intense, I had to stop.
In the end, I gave up. Swiping two Advil from the nightstand, I washed them down with the glass of water from the night before and lay down on the bed. The day after a fight I usually felt renewed. Calmer. Today was different. I felt on edge. Guilt tight around my heart like a vise.
And I didn’t know what the hell to do with that.
~
“Oh my god, Maverick,” Mom breathed out, pushing off the stoo
l. She came to me; her eyes dull with despair. “Why? Why would you do this to yourself?”
“Maverick,” Gentry said but Kyle shot him a look and he backed off.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she took in my injuries. “This has to stop. Tell him, Gentry, tell him this has to stop.”
Gentry’s mouth opened but Kyle stepped between us. I couldn’t see what he was mouthing to his dad but whatever it was, it worked. Gentry came and put a hand on Mom’s shoulder and squeezed. “Come on, Rebecca. Let’s give Maverick some space. I’m sure he’s had an exhausting day.”
“But…” she started to protest, but he was already guiding her back to the stool.
“I’m fine, Mom. The pills they gave me are the good kind. And nothing's broken.” Thank fuck. I don’t know how I would have explained that one to Coach. “I just need to rest for a couple of weeks.”
“Go on.” Gentry met my heavy stare. In the past, he’d been the first one to lose his cool with me. but something was different. “I’ll have Loretta make you something to eat before she leaves. We’ll talk about this when you’re feeling more up to it.”
Okay then.
I had nothing, so I gave him a tight nod and followed Kyle out to the pool house. After letting me sleep off the pain for a couple of hours, he’d woken me up, insisting I get checked out at the medical center.
“Have you spoken to her?” I asked once we were inside. Lo hadn’t texted me back, but I’d noticed Kyle texting someone while we waited.
“I let her know you were okay, yeah.”
“Is she… is she okay?”
He dropped into the chair and I sat down on the couch. “What do you think?” The protective edge in his voice reached some deep part of me and I bristled. He wasn’t supposed to be the one protecting her, I was.
“Stone, I’m—”
“If the words ‘I’m sorry’ leave your mouth so help me God, I will finish what that loser started. We had to drag you out of that place barely breathing. Can you even imagine what that did to her? It hit me hard, Rick. But Lo,” he hesitated. “She’s still hurting. You know what she went through…”