Maverick

“Take the shot, Prince.” Coach’s voice boomed across the court, and I swiped my brow with my arm, lining up the ball. I loved this part. The anticipation crackling in the air. The rush of adrenaline. Just me, the ball, and the absolute self-belief in making the shot. The sweet, sweet sense of relief when it sailed through the hoop wasn’t so bad either.

“Now!” he yelled, and I pushed up in one fluid movement, extending from my knees and through my hips until I hovered above the ground. My wrist snapped at the perfect moment and the ball flew through the air, finding its way home.

“Nice,” Aaron clapped me on the back as we moved into position to run the play again. I glanced to the wall clock as I gathered the hem of my jersey and tugged it up, rubbing the sweat off my face. We’d been at it an hour already. Coach would want at least another thirty minutes before he’d let us go. Which meant at least another hour, more like two, before I got to speak to Lo, or even better, see her.

Today had been torture. Knowing she was close but not being able to touch her. When she'd passed me in the hallway between second and third period, I'd almost caved and dragged her to my car. But I’d laid down these stupid rules, and I needed to stick to them.

Tonight.

I'd find a way to see her tonight.

“Prince, get your head in the game,” Coach seethed as I fumbled the ball and Trey scooped it up and shot an easy two-pointer.

“My bad, sorry, Coach,” I said just as Luke caught my eye. Amusement danced in his expression as if he knew exactly what I'd been daydreaming about. I flipped him off and moved back into position. 

By the time Coach called time and let us head to the locker room, I was restless. My blood simmering with unbound energy.

“Someone needs to get laid,” Aaron smirked in my direction and I mouthed, “Fucker” at him as I toweled off my hair.

“You mean that sweet piece of British arse isn't putting out?”

“Watch it, Bryson,” I said yanking on a clean jersey.

“Ignore him, man.” Luke came to my defense. “He's just jealous you're getting some, and he's not.”

Bryson mumbled something but was interrupted by Coach's voice. “Prince, my office please.”

The guys hollered and cheered as I grabbed my bag and made the short walk to the office. I knocked and waited for a second before slipping inside.

“Take a seat, son,” he yanked off his ball cap and dropped it on his desk, raking a hand through his graying hair.

“What’s up, Coach?”

“I got a call this morning from my contact at Bruins.”

My ears perked up, and I straightened off the chair. But when I saw his grim expression, I knew I wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

Mouth down-turned at the corners, rubbing his jaw, he met my eyes. “It’s not looking good, son.”

The room zeroed in around me. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. But as my stomach plummeted down into my fucking toes, I knew he was serious. “What? I don’t understand… I thought it was looking good?”

“I’m not sure what’s going on over there. My contact didn’t have all the details but there’s been a discrepancy…”

His words became white noise in my eardrums. Bruins was my out. My shot at breaking free from my father’s chains. This was not happening.

“Maverick, son, are you hanging in there?”

“Hmm, what?” I blinked at him, scratching my head. I’d barely heard anything he’d just said, my pulse crashing against my skull like a sledgehammer.

“Look, let’s not assume the worst, yet. I’ll do some more digging. See if we can find out what’s going on. I just wanted to give you a heads up, son. I know how much this means to you.”

“Thanks, Coach.” I stood and gave him a tight nod, but I was numb.

“Don’t give up yet, Maverick. You deserve this; no one deserves it more.” His words bounced off my back, and by the time I reached my car, I couldn’t remember the walk from Coach’s office to the parking lot. Watching your dream evaporate in front of your eyes had that effect. It was so close—so fucking close—I could almost smell it.

Bruins...

Basketball...

Freedom.

It had been snatched away from me in the blink of an eye and now I was stuck in this nightmare with no escape.

My pocket vibrated, and I pulled out my cell phone. Lo’s incoming text flashed over the screen but I didn’t open it. Instead, I scrolled to Kyle’s number and fired him a text asking him to distract her tonight. I needed time to process, to work out my next move, and my mood was worsening by the second.

He texted straight back.

 

Kyle: Anything I should know about?

 

Maverick: Just some shit I need to take care of. Watch my girl for me.

 

Kyle: Your girl?

 

Maverick: Stone!

 

Kyle: Don’t push her away, Rick. Whatever’s going on, she can handle it.

 

I threw my cell phone inside the car and climbed inside, irritated that he saw through my bullshit so easily. Kyle’s intentions were good, but he only knew half the story. He didn’t know that this changed everything. Without Bruins, I was royally screwed. Stripped of who I was, and with no chance of escape.

Fuck.

~

For the next two days, I avoided Lo. It was easier than seeing her and trying to explain. Most girls would have grown clingy, demanding answers. But not Lo. She knew what I needed.

Somehow, she always knew.

“You’re being a dick.” Kyle dropped down beside me as I ate my sub in a quiet corner of the cafeteria. I’d waited until the rush cleared so I could eat in peace—and avoid the dark-eyed angel who saw into my black soul.

“Nice to see you too, Stone.”

“She’s not stupid, you know? She knows something is wrong. Maybe if you just told us, we could help?”

“I’m dealing with it,” I snapped.

He glanced around at my pity party for one and arched his brow. “Well, if this is what you call dealing with it, looks like you’ve got it covered.”

“Stone.”

“Prince,” he mocked. “Just talk to her. She’s put up with enough of your bullshit so far. I’m sure she can handle whatever it is that has you eating on your own like a sad, lost puppy.”

He held my stare. Daring me to disagree. To reel off any one of the numerous excuses I used when I needed to shut someone out. 

“It's complicated,” I said, earning me an over-dramatic eye roll.

“Of course, it's complicated, this is you we're talking about.”

My cell phone vibrated. It was Lo. I knew without even looking. “Getting that?” Kyle said, and I scowled at him.

 

Lo: I missed you last night

 

 

Maverick: Coach pushed us pretty hard, I crashed when I got back to the house

 

 

Lo: It's fine, Kyle and Laurie dragged me to The Shack to play pool… again

 

 

Maverick: I hope you kicked his ass

 

 

Lo: Of course 

 

 

Maverick: I have a thing with the guys tonight, but tomorrow?

 

 

Guilt swarmed my chest.

 

Lo: Maverick, is everything okay? You've been, I don't know... distant

 

 

Maverick: Everything is good, it's just a crazy time with classes and practice 

 

 

Lo: Okay 

 

 

The word stared back at me. Taunting me. I was a bastard. I hadn’t so much as looked at Lo all day—well, not in plain sight. But I felt her everywhere. In the hallways, at lunch, in the parking lot. She haunted me, and all because I was too cowardly to do the right thing.  But things were already spiraling out of control.

One day.

We’d managed one fucking day before my shit caught up with us. So, I did what I did best, pushed people away. It was for her own protection while I figured shit out.

When she didn’t text again, I sent her another one.

 

Maverick: I miss you

 

It wasn’t a lie. I missed her like I needed air to breathe. But it wasn’t the answer she wanted or deserved either. Another text came through, but it wasn’t the name I’d hoped to see.

“What's wrong now?” Kyle said noticing how rigid I’d gone. 

“I'm not sure, but I intend on finding out.” I rose from the table and shoved my tray at him. “Lunch is on me.”

“Rick, come on,” he pleaded, but I was already gone.

Five minutes later, I was back inside Coach Callahan’s office.

“Take a seat, son.”

“I think I’ll stand.”

“Suit yourself.” He leaned back in his chair and let out a heavy breath. For someone who coached basketball for the last fifteen years, he was surprisingly out of shape. “I spoke to my contact again. It would seem the board received some additional information regarding your application.”

“I don't understand... what are you saying?”

He looked me dead in the eye as he said, “They know, son. Bruins know.”

~

“We need to talk.” I barged into my father’s study and stormed straight over to him. He looked up from his desk and went back to his stack of papers.

“Nice to see you too, Son.”

I bristled, my teeth grinding. I hated it when he called me that. As far as I was concerned, he lost that right a long fucking time ago.

“Tell me this wasn’t you. Tell me you didn’t screw me over, your son. Your own fucking son.” Anger burned through me and I clenched my fists. If he was affected, he didn’t show it as he placed his papers down and regarded me.

“Why don’t you calm down, take a seat, and tell me what it is that has you so worked up?”

So he wanted to play it that way?

Fine.

I took a seat on the leather sectional opposite his desk and leaned forward on my fists, propped up by my elbows. “I heard from college today.”

“East Bay, I presume?” His mouth curved into a smug grin and he leaned back in his chair. “I didn’t think acceptance letters were issued until March. But then, we know you’re a sure thing. I spoke to the Dean myself, only last week.”

How convenient.

“He’s very much looking forward to welcoming you in August.”

My mouth soured as I absorbed his saccharine words. The lying piece of shit was baiting me, trying to trick me into confessing.

“You think you’re so fucking slick, don’t you?” I stood up, eyes narrowed on his face, fists clenched at my side. “Well you can go to hell for all I care.”

His unforgiving gaze flickered there, and he cocked his head to the side, rubbing his jaw. Did he remember?

Because I sure as hell hadn't forgotten.

We were at an impasse. He refused to bend, and I refused to concede. It was a mistake coming here, I realized that now. Alec Prince didn’t apologize or own his mistakes. And he certainly didn’t compromise. He was infallible, and I was screwed. 

As I stormed toward the door, his voice halted me. “I suggest you re-evaluate your attitude, Maverick. I’m handing you your future on a silver platter. Don’t screw it up. There’s a lot at stake here, you’d do well remembering that.”

I slammed the door behind me, the wood ricocheting off its frame. My blood boiled and before I could stop myself, my hand collided with dry wall. Every step away from his office, was like another fuse to my anger and a wildfire swept through me. My fingers trembled as I dug out my cell phone and found the number I needed.

 

Maverick: Call Bobby, see if I can get on tonight.

 

Luke: Tonight? You’re sure?

 

Maverick: Just do it.

 

I waited, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts. And then the answer I needed was there.

 

Luke: It’s on.