Merit (Treasure State Wildcats Book 4)
Merit: Chapter 17

Rush and I walked out of the fieldhouse, backpacks slung over our shoulders as we made our way through the parking lot.

“Heading home?” I asked.

“Yeah. Faye wants to swing by Dolly’s later. I guess Dusty bought Rally a swing or something. We’ve got so much baby shit I can’t even fathom what else we’d need but whatever. We’re going out to the diner to pick it up.”

“Rally already has a swing.”

“I know. But I guess this one is for when he gets older. It’s for jumping or something.”

“Ah.” I snapped my fingers. “A Jumperoo. Bodhi had one when he was a baby. They can jump and bounce around. If he ever gets plugged up, a few minutes in that thing, and it works all the poop out.”

“Seriously?” Rush asked.

I shrugged. “That’s what Mabel always said. Watch out for blowouts.”

“Noted.” Rush used the fob to unlock his Yukon, opening the back hatch to dump his gym bag inside. “No one ever tells you how much stuff comes with a baby. We’re running out of room.”

What didn’t fit upstairs in the nursery or Faye and Rush’s room had spilled into the common areas of the house. A bouncer. Blankets. There wasn’t a single flat surface that didn’t have a pacifier, but when you were actually looking for one to give him when he was crying, they’d magically vanish.

In less than a year, when we went our separate ways and moved out of that house, I was going to steal a few binkies to take as souvenirs. I’d miss all the baby clutter.

Too much was changing. Too much was on the horizon. Too much.

When I thought about the future, it only made me sick. So I didn’t.

“That was a good workout,” I said.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I was tired as fuck but I’m glad we came.”

We’d come here at five this morning, like we had nearly every day since school had ended in May. We’d have a practice later with the team, but this one-on-one time with Rush was something I looked forward to each and every day. A chance to have some time with my best friend. A few hours to push my body to the extreme and shut out the world.

It usually wasn’t hard to drag my ass out of bed.

Until today.

I’d been seconds away from canceling on Rush. My phone had been in my hand, fingers hovering over the screen, to tell him I wasn’t going to make it so I could spend the morning curled around Stevie and sleep for a few more hours.

But then I’d worried it would be awkward when we woke up. That she’d stress over last night. So I’d crawled out of her warm, soft bed that smelled like her floral shampoo and left her a note that I’d gone to the gym.

Rush tossed his bag into the back of his SUV, then closed the door. “You good?”

After Thanksgiving, after Mom’s announcement, Rush had been the person to stay by my side all night. He’d let me get angry. Sad. And when I’d finally broken down, he’d been a better friend than I probably deserved.

He worried. So did Faye.

“Yeah. Why?”

He shrugged. “You just seem a little distracted today. And you didn’t come home last night. I was up pacing the living room with Rally, feeding him a bottle, and saw your room was empty. Not that it’s my business or anything. It’s just been a while since you did that.”

Rush knew me better than anyone—well, except maybe Stevie. We’d been friends and roommates for years. He’d seen me bring countless girls home for a hookup. He’d watched me come in the house wearing last night’s clothes on many occasions.

He probably thought I’d had a one-night stand.

I hadn’t told him about Stevie, mostly because Rush was a relationship kind of guy. When he learned I had a girlfriend, he’d have questions. And when he learned that girlfriend was Stevie, he’d have even more. He knew our history.

It had been kind of nice to keep Stevie to myself, at least outside of our family. In our tiny circle, it seemed easier to put on the façade.

But was it a façade? Maybe before last night. Now it felt real. Incredibly, deliciously real. Even if it had started for the wrong reasons.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” I told him.

“Yeah?” His eyes widened. “Like a girlfriend?”

“A girlfriend.” I nodded. “It’s Stevie Adair.”

His eyes bugged out. “As in the girl you’ve known since you were kids? That Stevie? The volleyball player?”

“That Stevie. Mom really wanted us to make up, so we’ve been going on a few dates. Trying to work through the past. It’s, uh . . . nice. I was at her place last night.”

Rush hummed, studying my face. “So it was your mom’s idea.”

That statement, right there, made my stomach twist. Yes, it had been Mom’s idea. But it wasn’t why it had continued. There was more to this than appeasing my dying mother, wasn’t there? Maybe we wouldn’t have made it to date number two or three or four without Mom’s influence, but it was beyond that now.

“Yeah, it was Mom’s idea.”

“And Stevie knows that?”

“She does.” For fuck’s sake, did he think I was lying to Stevie? That I was leading her on at my mom’s request? I didn’t exactly blame him for asking, but it still annoyed the shit out of me.

Was it really so unbelievable that I could be a decent boyfriend?

“All right.” He rubbed his jaw. “I, uh . . . hopefully we can meet her one of these days.”

He didn’t believe I had a girlfriend, did he? Well, she was my girlfriend. No matter how this had started, she was mine. And if he needed to see us together to prove that this was a real relationship, then I’d bring Stevie to the house.

Maybe that would help win her trust too.

She’d let me go down on her last night. Let me give her that orgasm. It was the best time I’d had in ages. But I was still worried she didn’t want me enough.

If we did this, if we went all the way, I didn’t want her to have regrets. I didn’t want to see the skepticism I saw in Rush’s gaze in Stevie’s too.

“See you at home?” he asked.

“Later. I’m going to visit Mom for a while.”

“Give her a hug for me.”

“Will do.” I jerked my chin and walked to my truck, still irked.

The problem with this whole situation was that there were too many people giving me their damn opinion. My parents. Stevie’s. Mabel. Now Rush.

There were too many people meddling. Too many people with expectations.

I didn’t know what would happen with Stevie. Did we really have to decide right now? The future wasn’t something I wanted to think about at the moment.

All I knew was that I wasn’t going to screw this up for Mom. I wouldn’t disappoint her like that.

I drove across town, my mood shit, and by the time I got to Mom and Dad’s, I had to force my jaw to stop clenching. I knocked, opening the door and calling into the house, “Please don’t be naked.”

“Maverick,” Mom chided, her laughter drifting from inside.

That laughter helped. A lot. My molars stopped grinding.

I stepped out of my slides and headed to the living room, stopping short when I found her on the couch.

With Stevie.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Hey,” she said, her cheeks flushing. She hid the blush from Mom with a curtain of her hair as she stared at my mother’s bare feet and the nail polish brush in her hand.

She’d come to paint my mom’s toes. To spend time with her. Pamper her. Because she loved my mother.

Was that why Mom had pushed this reconciliation? So that she could say she knew my girlfriend? That she wouldn’t feel like she’d missed out on that part of my life? That she could dream Stevie was the woman who’d someday become my wife?

It felt like a lie. For the first time in weeks, this felt like a lie. I fucking hated lying to my mom, but I wasn’t going to stop.

Somehow, Stevie and I would stick this out. Until Mom . . .

My chest felt too tight, the air too thick. I cleared my throat and pointed to the kitchen. “I’m going to grab some water. Need anything?”

“I’m all set.” Mom pointed over her shoulder to the tumbler on the end table.

“Stevie?”

“I’m good.”

I escaped to the kitchen, dragging in a few deep breaths until that pressure in my chest was gone. Then I filled a glass with water and returned to the living room.

“Where’s Dad?” I asked Mom, walking to the couch to drop a kiss on her forehead.

“The grocery store.”

Of course. He’d go on a Sunday morning when it was quieter than a weeknight after work.

I took a seat on the floor, setting my water on the coffee table as I reached for my toes, stretching my hamstrings. My gaze shifted to Stevie but she was entirely locked on Mom’s pedicure.

“How are you feeling today?” I asked Mom.

“Fine. Maybe a little tired.” She finished that sentence on a yawn. “Did you go to the gym at the crack of dawn?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Though it was hard to get out of bed this morning.”

Stevie closed her eyes, pulling in her lips, her face still hidden from Mom by that silky hair.

It would be fun to tease her a bit, to hint at things only the two of us knew. Like when we were kids and had a thousand inside jokes.

Three more toes and Stevie returned the brush to the bottle, screwing it on tight. “Done. What do you think?”

Mom beamed at her feet. “Better than anyone who does it professionally. You’ve always been steady with a nail brush. We all probably should have pushed you to become a surgeon or something.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Stevie reached for the lotion on the end table, squirting a blob into her palm before she began to massage the soles of Mom’s feet. “Is this okay?”

“It’s great.”

With Mom’s system marinating in so many chemicals, she’d developed some neuropathy in her hands and feet. Every day, she’d get a hand and foot massage, mostly from Dad. But I’d given her my fair share. And her toenails were always painted. Always a new color. Today’s was neon pink.

I hadn’t really thought about the polish. I guess I’d just assumed it was Mabel or Dad. But it was Stevie, wasn’t it? How often did she come over and do this?

That tightness in my chest returned, so I took a huge gulp of water.

Mom pulled the blanket she had draped on her lap closer to her chin and closed her eyes. It took less than ten minutes for her to fall asleep.

“You’ve been doing her nails,” I said.

Stevie nodded. “I try to come over once a week.”

“That’s sweet. Thank you.”

“I like doing it. Want me to paint yours too?” she teased.

“Sure.” I scooted across the floor, lifting a foot up onto the armrest of the couch.

“Seriously?”

I shrugged. “Unless you need to leave.”

“No, I was going to stay for a while.”

“Then go for it.” I lay flat out on the carpet, lacing my fingers beneath my head as I stared up at the ceiling. When her hands touched my feet, I closed my eyes, relaxing into the feel of Stevie’s fingers on my skin.

The sound of the garage door opening echoed through the house as she was finishing up with my last two toes.

Dad came into the living room, eyebrows raised, as he took in my hot-pink nails. “Am I next?”

Stevie giggled, screwing on the top to the polish. “For you, I’d replace a more masculine color, like fire-engine red.”

Dad laughed. “How’s everything going?”

“Fine.” I jackknifed to a seat, then stood, careful not to wreck Stevie’s work and get color on the carpet. “Need help with the groceries?”

“Nah. It was only a couple of bags.” He pointed to Mom. “She okay?”

“Tired.” Given the dark circles beneath Dad’s eyes, he was tired too. “Why don’t you go rest? We’ll get out of here.”

“Oh, don’t leave,” Dad said. “She’ll want more time with you.”

We all wanted more time.

“We’ll go for a walk or something,” I said. “Be back in a bit. Enough time for you to take a power nap.”

Dad sighed. “That’ll work.”

Stevie carefully shifted out from beneath Mom’s feet, covering them with the blanket after checking that the polish was dry. Then she squeezed Dad’s arm as she passed by, heading for the entryway.

She stepped into the flip-flops I hadn’t noticed earlier, then slipped outside, waiting for me on the sidewalk as I carefully put on my slides and closed the door behind us.

We set off down the block, falling into an easy pace through our childhood neighborhood.

There was always a heaviness, a fog, that lingered when I walked outside my parents’ house. It lingered for a few minutes until the fresh air and sunshine chased it away.

A lawn mower hummed in the distance. The laughter of kids drifted from the community park ahead. This was the sidewalk where I’d learned to rollerblade. Where Stevie had crashed her bike and skinned both knees.

We passed familiar houses, some with familiar owners, some with people new to the neighborhood. When we passed a yard where a man was planting a tree, Stevie greeted him good morning as I waved.

“Where’s your Jeep?” I turned, scanning the street behind us.

“Mom and Dad’s. I stopped there first and walked over. Mom made a sourdough loaf for your parents.”

Bread, plain, simple bread, was about the only thing Mom would always eat, if not for the taste, just for some calories.

“Mav?”

“Nadine?”

“Do you want to work for my dad?”

I slowed, forehead furrowing as I stared at her. “I thought you didn’t want me to work at Adair.”

“I want my dad to believe in me. I want him to have faith that I could run the entire business without bringing on help. But when we made this deal, I didn’t ask what you wanted. Do you want to come to work at Adair?”

There was genuine concern and curiosity in her voice. She felt guilty, didn’t she? “You’re not robbing me of a potential career. I don’t want to work at Adair.” I’d only entertained the idea to get a rise out of her.

“You’re sure?”

“Quite.”

“Then what do you want to do?” she asked. “I should probably know the answer to that question already, but I was thinking about it earlier. At dinners, we mostly talked about football and volleyball and Bodhi. Your mom. Everyone knew after graduation I’d go to work for Adair. The last time I remember anyone asking you what you wanted to do after college was years ago, and you said you weren’t sure yet.”

“I guess that answer still holds. I’m not sure yet.”

As much as I loved my parents, I wasn’t following in their career footsteps.

Mom had worked as a secretary at the Oaks for fifteen years. She’d smiled and waved any time I’d passed the office. She’d been beloved by the students and my friends. But she’d taken that job to be close to Mabel and me during our childhood, and for the tuition discount.

She’d loved her job at the Oaks, but I always wondered if she’d wanted a career that hadn’t centered around her children.

Dad worked as an investment broker. He and a partner ran their own business, each managing their own portfolios. It was a great job now, but he’d put in a lot of years to get to this point. To bring on enough clients that they could afford for Mom to quit.

He’d offered to bring me into the business after graduation, to help me get my license and build out my own clientele. But I’d never had an interest in managing retirement money or insurance policies.

Just like I wasn’t interested in managing a landscaping company.

I was getting a degree in business because it seemed like the most prudent choice. It would give me the most options when I finally made a decision.

“What about football? Will you miss it?” Stevie asked.

“Yes.” I’d miss my teammates. I’d miss the coaches. I’d miss the game itself. But Stevie and I were alike in our collegiate careers.

Both would end at Treasure State University.

Rush had the talent to advance to the NFL, and if we had a stellar season this fall, if he made it through without an injury, chances were good he’d get drafted. I was a solid kicker and punter, but I had no delusions of a professional career.

“Would you want to get into coaching?” Stevie asked.

I shrugged, turning a corner to round a block. “I’ve thought about it.”

A lot, if I was being honest with myself. I’d thought about taking over as the coach at the Oaks. Maybe someday, going to work at Treasure State.

“For the record, I think you’d be a great coach.” She tapped her elbow to mine. “I’ve seen you with Bodhi. You’re patient. You’re good at teaching, breaking things down. Keeping it fun while pushing him to do better.”

I stopped, pressing a hand over my heart, feigning shock. “Had I known that all I needed to do to earn such high praise was give you an orgasm, I would have done it years ago.”

“Maverick.” She smacked my arm, and shot me a scowl, but there was no venom behind it. She knew I was just teasing. “Pig.”

“I’m kidding.” I slung an arm around her shoulders, hauling her close for a moment before letting her go and resuming our walk. “Thank you.”

“Welcome.”

“Honestly? I’ve thought about being a coach. But I feel guilty planning a future when Mom can’t. I don’t want to think about what happens next. So I just . . . don’t.” It was a truth I hadn’t been brave enough to voice to anyone.

Stevie’s hand slipped into mine. “She’d hate that.”

“Yeah, she would.” But it didn’t change the reality. I couldn’t plan a future knowing Mom wasn’t in it. I couldn’t process that reality in my mind.

We kept our hands linked as we rounded the block, slowly making a loop to head back to the house. When we passed the park, Stevie pulled me into the grass, leading me toward the playground.

“Returning to the scene of the crime, huh, A Cup?” I teased.

She reached up and flicked the tip of my nose. “Shithead.”

“You know I’m sorry, right? For the stupid stuff I said when we were kids.”

“I know.” Her hand flexed in mine. “I’m sorry too.”

“And you’re sorry for telling Leah McAllister that I kissed Heather Olson?”

“Seriously?” She groaned. “Can we never talk about that⁠—”

I slammed my mouth on hers, cutting her off.

She scrunched up her nose, holding my gaze, but didn’t pull away. She rolled her eyes when I licked her bottom lip, and no matter how hard she tried to hide it, I could feel her smile stretching wider.

God, I loved teasing her. I loved the fire that sparked in those hazel eyes.

We could make it. We could figure out a way to stick this out for a while, right? Convince people it was real.

I pulled away, smirking down at her pink cheeks. Then I pulled her to the swings, each of us taking our own to kill some time so my parents could nap before we made our way home again.

“Will you come to dinner at my place tonight?” I asked.

“It’s not Saturday.”

“Nope.” Maybe she only wanted to keep our once-a-week dates. Maybe that was the smartest idea. But damn it, I wanted her to come to my house, meet Rush and Faye and Rally.

Show them all I could be a boyfriend.

The five steps she took to think about it were agonizing. “Okay.”

Thank fuck. “Six o’clock work okay? I’ll make us all dinner.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“I’m a nice guy.”

“The jury’s still out on that one,” she teased.

It was only a joke. There was laughter in her voice. But if there was even a shred of doubt in her mind that I was the guy who hadn’t been all that nice for the past decade, well . . . I guess I had some work to do.