“Why not us, Maverick?” she asks, seemingly genuinely confused by my declaration. “I thank God every day for the fact that you came into my life. You’ve been our savior. But this? What we have here? We’re playing house. It’s not real. Are you going to feel this way next year? In two years when I’m on my feet again? In five years? What about when Grant grows up and doesn’t want to hang out in your shop? Will you still want us then?”
“Oh, so I’m the one who might not want you in the hypothetical situations you’ve just thrown out, but your fucking sperm donor can come in and out of your life whenever he pleases, and you don’t ask him if he wants to be around in five years?” I really don’t get her line of thinking sometimes. “Hell, Scarlett, he can’t promise you the next five minutes. Why do you keep giving him every chance in the world when you won’t give me the first one? What do I have to do to prove that I’m in this? For real. Forever.”
She wants to fire back but doesn’t. Instead, she stands up and bends down to pick up Grant. He immediately nuzzles into her shoulder.
“Where are you going?” How could she just leave in the middle of this conversation?
She moves him to her other shoulder. “It’s his naptime. And he doesn’t need to hear this conversation. You have a half-hour to figure out how to not be angry at me for my decisions.”
The next 30 minutes are the longest of my life. And she was right. I do become angry every time this topic comes up, and where has that gotten me? I’m only pushing her farther away—no closer to making her see why I’m the man she needs in her life.
And she needs to see it. Actions. Not words.
27
Scarlett
I come up 30 minutes later, bracing myself for another round with Maverick.
“Can we have this conversation without yelling at each other?” he asks softly, still sitting on his couch.
“I’d like to.”
I take a seat and notice that his demeanor has changed in the time it took me to put Grant down for his nap. He seems calm. Almost sad. Defeated.
It’s a Maverick I’m not used to seeing.
“Have I ever told you about my dad?”
I shake my head. “Not really. I know that he died when you were young. That’s about it.”
“My dad died when I was four years old because of a drug deal gone wrong.” His words hit me hard. I had no idea.
“He wasn’t in a gang, but that’s who he got his drugs from,” Maverick continues, not able to look at me as he pours out this painful part of his past. “He was never around, Scarlett. He always chose drugs and violence and getting his next fix over us. Kalum was eight when he died, so he remembers a little more than I do. I might not remember much of him, but I remember what it was like to not have a father growing up. I remember what my mom looked like after coming home from the days when she had to work all three jobs. I remember wondering why he didn’t love us enough to not do drugs.”
“I’m sorry, Maverick. I had no idea.”
He takes my hand in his, brushing the tops of my knuckles before he continues.
“I remember when I was in school, there was a ‘Dad’s Day.’ You could invite your dad, stepdad, grandfather, or any other male figure you wanted. They got to spend the whole day with you at school. I didn’t have anyone. My dad was dead. I never knew either of my grandfathers since they’d died years before. I saw kids who had dads, or uncles, or godfathers, or cousins. And I remember being so jealous of them. But more than that, I remember hating my dad that day for not being with us.”
I can’t control my tears anymore. Maverick is always so confident. So sure in everything he does. Every word that leaves his mouth has a purpose. Seeing him now, telling me the heartbreaking story of his childhood, is breaking down the walls around my heart where he is concerned. I had no clue about the pain this man had to go through to become who he is today.
“I didn’t tell you this to get sympathy. Every time I see and hear Ryan tell you that he’ll be there for Grant, all I can think of is: what if he’s not? What if he doesn’t change and misses those days? The moments in Grant’s life that a boy wants his dad around for? That kid is too damn special to wonder why he doesn’t have a man in his life he can look up to. To want to be like when he grows up. And Scarlett, you have to admit, you do not want your son growing up to be like Ryan.”
He’s right. He’s absolutely fucking right.
“You’re right. I don’t.”
He lets out a sigh of relief like he was actually scared I’d have a different reaction. “I just . . . when I went to see him today . . . I wanted to know why he chose to work with a gang over being with us. Was he delusional enough to think that he could have both? Or does he not care about us at all and we weren’t even a consideration?”
“Did he answer you?”
“He did, but I don’t believe him. He said that he was doing it for us. To be able to provide for us. I asked him how he would provide for us when he wound up dead. He didn’t have an answer. But do you want to know the worst part?”
“What’s that?”
“He didn’t even know it was Grant’s birthday. I spent three hours with him and he never once asked about Grant, or his birthday, or anything to do with his son. In the moment, I still felt uncertain, but now . . . now I know I don’t want him in my life. Ever again.”
Maverick moves closer, tucking me into his side. I let out a sigh of relief, because for the first time in weeks, I feel settled.
We sit like that for minutes, the silence allowing the words we spoke to settle in. I know Maverick could be the man I want as Grant’s role model. Maverick is one of the best men I know. He has shown Grant and me nothing but love and security ever since we moved in here.
But does he really care about me? Or does he only see his mother when he looks at me—another single mom he’s trying to help, because he couldn’t help her? Does he look at Grant and see himself? Is he trying to atone for his past through us?
I’m honestly not sure, and I’m in no position to make any decisions right now. To say that today has been an emotional roller coaster is an understatement.
“Where do we stand, Scarlett?” Maverick asks, breaking the silence.
“I don’t know, Maverick. I don’t know.”
The silence is now thick—not comforting like it was a few moments ago.
“What don’t you know? What can I do?”
I lift myself up from his hold, instantly missing his touch. “We both need some time to think. Process this.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t need time. I want you. I want Grant. Why don’t you believe me?”
“I do. Well, I want to,” I say, standing up, needing to put some space between us. “Today was a lot for me. I do care for you, Maverick, but I need to process. I need to make sure that this is for real, and that you don’t see me as some sort of charity case.”
“You’re not, Scar—”
“I know what you’ll tell me. But I need you to think, truly think, and make sure I’m not. I can’t—I won’t—be that. We should take a few days, because it’s not just our hearts on the line, Mav. It’s Grant’s heart too.”
He gets up and shocks me by reaching for my hips, bringing me into him. He then surprises me again by placing the gentlest, sweetest kiss on my forehead. He lingers more than he should, but I won’t complain.
“You take the time you need, pretty girl,” he says, our foreheads now touching. “I’ll be here, every day, showing you how much I want this. For real. Forever.”
28
Maverick
Me: Are you two still good for today?
Tori: For the 1,384,938th time, yes, we are. You literally don’t need to ask me every five minutes if I’m willing to take my sister to an already-paid-for spa day. For a smart guy, you are an idiot sometimes.
Me: Don’t get sassy with me.
Tori: Then quit texting.
Annabelle: Be nice to him. He’s trying to do som
ething sweet for your sister. And you should be thankful he’s including us. Thank you, Maverick. =)
Tori: Oh shut it, Annabelle. He’s already paying for your massage. But, fine, you’re right. This is sweet and we are 100 percent Team Mavlett. Or should it be Scaverick? We’ll discuss at lunch.
Annabelle: Oooh! I like Mavlett. Scaverick sounds like a skin disease.
Me: I’m leaving this conversation. Thanks, ladies. See you in an hour.
I don’t care what they call us, as long as Tori and Annabelle can help Scarlett see how great an “us” could be.
Unlike my brother’s early days with Tori, I’m not hiding anything when it comes to how I feel about my preferred Brennan sister. Tori had a good idea after our day at my mom’s, which means Annabelle knew shortly after. This has to be the first time in history those two have kept a secret. And of course, Jaxson and Kalum figured it out pretty quickly after how I reacted to everything at Grant’s birthday party.
But considering the fact that all four of them in some way, shape, or form asked me if I was serious about this, if I had thought about all the implications that came with pursuing Scarlett, and if I had thought about Grant in any of this, I realized that Scarlett might’ve had a good reason to question my motives.
I mean, I’m in. All fucking in. But after a few days of letting it marinate, I began to understand why everyone was doubting me.
I haven’t had a relationship since Jenna left. For years, I’d screamed from the figurative rooftop that I would never go down that road again, let alone have a family to call mine. I’d had my chance, and it was taken from me.
After our heart-to-heart following her visit to Ryan, I couldn’t stop thinking about why she would doubt me. Then, after probably my third consecutive sleepless night, it hit me like a bolt of lightning. Of course she would have those thoughts. I’d just told her about my mom, and how similar they probably were in her eyes. How my dad wasn’t around because of drugs and gangs, just like Ryan’s behavior.
Actions speak louder than words, Maverick.
I swear my mother is the smartest woman on the planet. And with those words in mind, I launched Operation Pretty Girl.
It began the day after my revelation, when Grant and I did laundry, washed Scarlett’s car, and had dinner ready on the table after she spent the day studying.
Today, the mission will continue with a surprise, all-expenses-paid spa day for her, Tori and Annabelle, followed by a romantic dinner for just the two of us at a super-swanky restaurant downtown.
Kalum says it’s over-the-top. Jaxson says that Scarlett will argue that I’ve spent too much money on her, which won’t help my cause.
I told them both to leave that part up to me.
I look at the time, 10:30 a.m., which means I have half an hour to get Scarlett ready for her spa day without her figuring it out. I’m surprised she’s not up here already, so I knock on the door to the basement.
“Come in . . .”
Her voice sounds muffled, and when I get downstairs, I understand why. She’s half-asleep on the couch, with her face buried in the cushions, and a blanket covering more of the couch than her.
“Are you okay?” I ask, picking up her legs so I can sit down.
“Dying,” she says, still not looking at me.
“You’re dying? That’s unfortunate. I’ll make sure to let Tori plan your funeral.” When that doesn’t get any sort of response, I know she’s actually sick.
“Where’s Grant?” I ask, knowing I’m going to have to adjust the plans for the day.
“Room. I told him to stay away. I have the death.”
I don’t mean to chuckle, but I can’t help it. She rolls over and indeed, she is clearly sick. Her face is somehow both white and blotchy, her eyes look like they could close at any moment, and her cough sounds like she’s been smoking two packs a day for 20 years.
“Don’t look at me. I’m hideous!”
She tries to cover her face, but I grab the pillow from her. Right here, right now, I’m 100 percent sure I’m falling hard for this woman. Despite her apparent fever and cough, and the fact that she just blew her nose so hard I thought the tissue would rip, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
“You’re gorgeous,” I say, pushing some of the hair away from her forehead. “But you are sick. So what do you need? Medicine? Juice? Soup?”
“Everything,” she says, right before sneezing so hard she nearly headbutts me.
“Okay,” I say, quickly putting my plan of action together. “I’m going to take Grant so he’s not around to catch it. We’ll get everything you need.”
“I don’t want to die, Maverick.”
If she didn’t sound so helpless, I’d be able to contain my laughter. Apparently, Nurse Scarlett doesn’t do well when she’s the patient.
“You aren’t going to die, pretty girl,” I say, placing a kiss on her forehead before standing up. “You get some sleep. I’ll take care of you.”
I get Grant from the bedroom, and by the time I walk back in, she’s passed out. She’s probably run herself ragged trying to balance everything in her life, and it’s finally caught up with her.
As I walk up the stairs with Grant, I think back to one of my first thoughts about Scarlett, and how no one takes care of her, but she takes care of everyone else.
That changes today.
“Come on, buddy. Let’s go get some stuff to make your mommy feel better.”
29
Scarlett
“Maybe she’s really dead?”
“Nah, if she were dead, she wouldn’t be drooling so much.”
I force my eyes open, which is a feat in itself, because I’m pretty sure they’re permanently crusted shut. My throat is dry, I feel like I got hit by a truck, and I don’t know if I’m hot or cold.
Oh, wait. Hot. Definitely hot.
“Hey, she’s awake!” my sister says, unceremoniously plopping down on the couch by my feet.
“And you’re really fucking loud,” I grumble, pulling the blanket higher to my chin. I’ve decided I’m now cold.
I hate being sick. Like really, really hate it. I don’t get sick often, but when I do, it knocks me out for a few days. Tori knows this, given that we shared a room for 15 years. That also means she knows how to annoy the hell out of me, in sickness or in health.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to sit up, which is pointless because my head weighs 9 gajillion pounds.
“Maverick called us because he had to cancel—”
Tori cuts Annabelle off. “He had to cancel going to the gym with Kalum and Jaxson because he needed to watch Grant. We then offered to bring over supplies and company.”
I grab my phone and freak out for a few seconds because it’s six at night. I remember Maverick coming down earlier when I was still trying to convince myself I wasn’t sick and could get my day going.
I failed. Miserably.
“Have I been sleeping this whole time?” I honestly don’t remember much. I know Maverick came down. Asked me if I was okay. Told me he’d take Grant. I remember him kissing my forehead. Because I could literally be dead and feel when he does that.
“He woke you up once so you could take some medicine, but he said you were barely conscious,” Tori says.
Annabelle stands next to my head, gently peeling the hair from my clammy forehead. “Here, you need some fluids. And it’s time to take some more medicine.”
I sit up a little, sipping the orange juice and swallowing some cold medication.
“Thanks, but you guys don’t have to stay here. I’ll probably be passed out again in a few minutes. Though I should probably go upstairs and check on Grant.”
I try to stand up, but Annabelle and Tori simultaneously push me back down to the couch.
“You will do no such thing,” Tori says, sitting on the couch with me, and putting my feet on her lap so she can hold me down.
“We just saw them when we came over,” Ann
abelle continues, sitting on the recliner next to the couch. “Grant is fine. He was eating dinner when we got here. The house isn’t on fire and Maverick looked like he had everything under control. In fact, he was going to come down here himself if we hadn’t shown up.”
That thought makes me smile. Maverick is so . . . I don’t have the words to express it. Most men would probably run from something like this. And I’m not just talking about a single mom with a felon for a baby daddy who is balancing school and work and is basically broke.
But he didn’t have to take Grant today. He knows I could’ve called Tori. He didn’t have to get me medicine. But he did.
And he hasn’t had to do half the things he’s done for me these last few months. Watching Grant for me the times I’ve needed to study. Cooking me dinner. Rubbing my feet after work and a long day at school.
But he’s done all of that, because he’s Maverick. And he’s in this. Just like he said he was. It’s like today was the fever-induced smack across the head I needed in order to really see it.
“That smile makes me think someone likes the idea of Maverick upstairs playing daddy daycare?” Tori says, giving my feet a squeeze.
I shake the smile off my face. I didn’t mean to reveal how I was feeling. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“It’s okay if you have feelings for him, Scarlett,” Annabelle adds. “Maverick is a good man. You could fall for much worse guys. You have fallen for much worse guys.”
“Exactly,” I say, and damn this fever, because I’m giving away all kinds of shit I don’t mean to be letting out in the open.
“What’s that supposed to mean, exactly?”
“Nothing. It means nothing. I have a fever and I don’t know what I’m saying. I should probably sleep.”
I try to lie down, but my asshole sister steals my blanket. I don’t know how I’m related to her.
“What are you doing?”
“We are going to talk, because I have a feeling you need your head adjusted. And it has nothing to do with your fever. If you agree to this mini-therapy session, I will give you your blanket back. If you don’t, then you will suffer.”
Wrecked: South Side Boys-Book 3 Page 11
