Hail Mary (The Mavericks Series)

by Julianna Marley

Raising a brow, Myles took another sip of his beer watching Sara do as she was told. “I really don’t get why they go nuts for your ass.”

  “You know damn well why they do,” Shay chuckled, nodding across the room at one of his team mates. “Did I mention how absolutely ridiculous you look tonight?” he asked, taking in his friend’s black pants, leather jacket and his attempt at combing over what little hair he had left. He and Charlotte had shown up as Danny and Sandy from Grease and although Charlotte looked like the epitome of a Sandy in her skin tight pants and black top, his friend was having a little more difficulty pulling off the gig.

  Pointing his beer across the room at Charlotte dancing with Liv, Myles grinned. “Maybe so, but it’s worth it to watch that woman all night long.”

  Pretending to check out her ass, Shay tilted his head as Myles punched his shoulder. “Ow,” he laughed holding his arm. That one actually hurt.

  “It isn’t half as bad as this douchbaggery,” Myles spat, motioning to Shay’s outfit.

  “Please,” Shay scoffed, “I look like sex on a stick.” Taking another sip of his drink, he shook his head. “But seriously, the shit you guys do just to get laid.”

  Jax and Trevor stood in the corner with a life-size Frankenstein beside them, no doubt talking shop, his captain looking like an ass in a sea captain costume to match his wife as a mermaid. However, he did have to hand it to Trevor. He looked like one badass Indian chief to match Chelsea’s subdued cowgirl costume. But really, they all looked ridiculous. Watching Whitney walk up the steps handing a drink and a plate of food to the DJ, she was dressed in all black. No racy costume or obnoxious makeup, no push up bra or five inch heels. Just a pair of cat ears almost lost inside her wild hair and he wondered what she did for fun. What she did with her time outside of work and Quinn.

  Hours later as the party wound down, Shay sat outside on the patio between a Baywatch babe and a school girl. Most of his friends hadn’t been able to hang tough, leaving over two hours ago. Even the DJ and bartenders had peaced out a while ago, but damn it had been a great night.

  “Nova, I’m too tired to call a cab,” the Baywatch babe whined in his lap. “Can I sleep here?”

  “Me too?” the school girl asked, lazily running her hands through his hair.

  Yeah. It had been an epic night. But it wasn’t over yet. Hearing a noise behind him, he looked over his shoulder to see Whitney standing in the doorway of the deck, her bags hanging off her arms. She looked as tired as he imagined she was. She hadn’t stopped since the moment her phone rang inside the kitchen earlier. Not to mention the set-up, keeping the party going and deliberately finding ways to avoid him for nearly twelve hours.

  “I’m going to head out now,” she said softly, refusing to make eye contact with him. “Y’all have a good night,” she gave a small wave. “Or morning,” she corrected, turning quickly towards the house.

  Watching her for a second, his reflexes slow, he stood up quickly, extracting the schoolgirl’s grip on his arm. “Whitney, wait up.”

  Stopping in the middle of hallway, she turned around not looking at him. “Oh, and the party rental crew will be here tomorrow morning to pick up the rest of the tables and chairs,” she said quickly. “And the rest of the food is in the refrigerator in the garage because there wasn’t enough room in the one in the kitchen so I had to-”

  “Whoa, whoa,” he said, pumping his hands interrupting her. “Slow down, Sunshine.”

  She was rambling.

  And it was cute.

  “Thank you,” he said sincerely, as she looked at him for the first time. “Tonight was… memorable.” No matter what happened with his contract negotiation in a few short weeks, he would always remember this birthday. It would be impossible to forget.

  “Oh,” she said quietly, her lips parting gently. “You’re welcome.”

  She shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. Like she hadn’t just spent the entire day setting up and keeping on top of everything before cleaning up his house into the early hours of the morning.

  “In fact,” he grinned crossing his arms, “my only complaint about tonight would be that you didn’t dress up.”

  Her eyes searching his for a second, they softened a bit and he wondered if he was finally making a breakthrough. Or maybe she was just that exhausted.

  “Well, a half dressed lion really isn’t my style.”

  He didn’t doubt that.

  “Really,” he teased, his eyebrows drawing, “I thought she was supposed to be a deer?” The corner of her mouth lifting, a small smile creeped across her face as she adjusted her bags on her shoulder. “But for you I was thinking something more along the lines of a hot doctor, cute nurse,” he trailed off, “MILF?”

  Swatting his arm gently, she smiled for the first time since he had seen her hold Quinn weeks ago, hitting him straight in the gut.

  That smile.

  “Yes, well your originality more than compensated for my lack of creativity this evening,” she grinned pointing to his costume.

  “You like that, huh?”

  He was dressed as Maverick from Top Gun. Not only had he been born to wear this damn costume, but the simile was too good to pass up.

  Nodding, she smiled again before rolling her eyes. “Yes, the irony wasn’t lost on me.”

  Leaning against the wall he watched her closely, her smile disappearing as she looked up at him. There had always been an innate sweetness and endearing presence around her, but the last few times he had seen her she seemed to be carrying around an invisible heaviness. And sometimes, like now, her smile disappeared quicker than it had appeared. “Whit-”

  “-Shay, baby.” He felt small arms wrap around his waist.

  Shit.

  “Take us to bed,” Baywatch whined beside him.

  Standing up straighter again, Whitney’s eyes drifted between them and she didn’t seem too surprised. That bothering him more than it should. Bolting for the front door before he could grab her arm, she turned quickly not making eye contact.

  “Happy Birthday.”

  “I think I want to have a fashion show.”

  Looking up at Charlotte, Whitney watched as she plopped down on the couch beside her. Adjusting Quinn in her arms, she moved over to make more room, before staring at her cousin. “Okay.”

  “I mean I think I need to have one,” Charlotte began running off, “I mean I think it would be a really good idea if-”

  “-Are you tryin’ to convince me or yourself?” Whitney interrupted, rocking Quinn with one arm. Watching her a minute, Charlotte chewed on the side of her nail looking out past the double doors. Sunlight reflecting off her small glasses, she looked dazed and a million miles away.

  “If I’m really serious about this fashion career,” Charlotte paused again. “Then I think I need to take it one step further. I mean nobody is going to take me seriously if I don’t put myself out there, right?”

  It wasn’t really a question. And years and years of surviving everything from first crush heartbreaks to hiding failed math tests from their parents to sneaking out bottles of Crown Royal in high school had taught her well enough to just let Charlotte get all her thoughts out at once.

  “I mean I just finished all those requests for gowns after the draft party when y’all wore them.”

  “And they were incredible,” Whitney interjected smiling down at Quinn, her big brown eyes growing heavy. Charlotte had designed each and every one of them a gorgeous gown for the draft party a few months back and guests had gone absolutely crazy for them. Which hadn’t surprised her.

  “But I think I need to expand. Do more. Show more,” Charlotte rationalized, looking at her for the first time. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she pulled them closer into her body, a reliable indication of complete vulnerability.

  “So are you askin’ me my opinion?” Whitney asked, wiping Quinn’s drool.

  “Well, yeah, obviously. I want your honest opinion.”

  “Honestly, I think it’
s the best idea you’ve had in a really long time,” Whitney smiled because it was the truth. Charlotte was talented, always had been, but her skills had only sharpened over the past few years and she was right. It was time for the world to meet Charlotte Scott, fashion designer. “I do believe that it is time for you to be brave and put yourself out there. No more hiding sketches under paperwork at the office,” Whitney grinned. “Plus you’re not as sneaky as you think you are.”

  Nodding quietly, Charlotte rested her chin on her knees. The thought of Charlotte leaving Save the Date hung between them and the idea that if Charlotte left to pursue her dream meant that she wouldn’t be working with her cousin any longer. She loved working with the maniac. The sassy and crass piece to their perfectly constructed team. It had been one of the reasons she had even considered leaving Louisiana. To be closer to Charlotte.

  “But, what if I just completely-”

  “-Fail?” Whitney finished. That was absolutely ridiculous because there was no way Charlotte would fail at anything. She always reached her goals. Too determined, too direct and too stubborn to ever be unsuccessful at anything she set her mind to.

  “I was going to say completely ass out and look like a fucking idiot-”

  “-Language,” Whitney ordered, pulling Quinn closer into her side. “But, Char what if you don’t? What if you don’t flop and this turns out to be the induction that you need? You’re so much better than just doing side orders when you can get a bunch of us to wear your pieces,” She insisted, checking her phone as it chirped.

  Another text from her mama.

  Lovely.

  Agreeing without a sound, Charlotte stared out the door another moment. “Alright, so on a more important note,” she complained, her forehead wrinkling. “Myles wants me to go home to Cincinnati with him for Thanksgiving.”

  Classic Charlotte. Always running away from anything that required hard and fast decisions.

  “So what is wrong with that?” Whitney sighed, already sure of the answer.

  “He wants me to meet his mama,” her brows rose. “And like his entire family. His very large, entire family.”

  Covering her face with her free hand, Whitney laughed. She couldn’t help it. She wanted to wave the red flag and get off the Charlotte and Myles commitment train. She couldn’t take it any longer and it wasn’t showing any signs of stopping. They had been pretty hot and heavy ever since they went to Florida for Trevor and Chelsea’s joint bachelor and bachelorette weekend and even did everything a normal couple would do; but Charlotte didn’t see it that way. She knew her cousin’s gypsy heart was ready to kick in, convincing herself that she wasn’t entirely committed to Myles. Or any man for that matter. “Okay?”

  “Okay?” Charlotte asked, looking at her like she had lost her everlovin’ mind. “Okay, like that’s crazy talk, correct?”

  “No, it’s not crazy,” Whitney whispered loudly, getting up and placing Quinn in her swing. “But I’m beginning to think that you are. Somehow the idea of producing a fashion show for all of Charleston doesn’t instill the same kind of fear inside of you as meeting Myles’ mama.”

  Waving her off, Charlotte grabbed a Hershey’s Kiss from the candy dish on the table.

  “Well, are you going?” she asked rubbing Quinn’s chubby cheek.

  “Eh,” she shrugged, unwrapping the chocolate before popping it into her mouth. Charlotte was making her head spin today and it was barely noon. “So what are the Hiltons doing for the holidays?” she asked, changing the subject again.

  Shaking her head, Whitney pointed towards the candy dish. Grabbing the entire bowl, Charlotte placed it in the middle of them on the couch. The Hiltons was Charlotte’s favored term to describe her family. Although paternal cousins, their fathers couldn’t have been more different if their grandparents had tried. Her father favored power suits and affidavits, where her Uncle Peter favored Birkenstocks and tall tales from a marijuana high. Her papa represented high profile cases, Charlotte’s papa, represented endangered species.

  “Cabo,” Whitney answered, letting the chocolate melt in her mouth. “To celebrate Georgie passing the BAR.”

  Although two years younger, her sister Georgie had done everything their parents had ever asked of her, even managing to accomplish all the things they had asked of Whitney. Dubbed the shameful and reckless daughter, just a couple of terms her mama reserved only for her during visits and holidays, she knew her first day at LSU that she didn’t want to be in law. Spending her days arguing, conspiring and all that cut throat winning, she couldn’t think of anything more horrifying. She wasn’t cut out for that. Never had been and never would be and that should have been okay, but it wasn’t. After telling her parents that she was dropping out of law school to be an event coordinator, they had laughed at her taking everything with a grain of salt, much like everything else she aspired for growing up. And so she had stayed, met Adam and convinced herself that she could do it. She could be the carbon copy her papa wanted her so desperately to be. But after stumbling upon a charity event online that Liv and Ross had organized, she had fallen in love. Hours spent looking at their work, she had skipped her afternoon exam and got certified in wedding and event planning over the internet and never looked back. But she was happy for her sister; not entirely convinced that the sole purpose of their trip was to celebrate Georgie, but that was just how her parents operated.

  “You mean pawning off Georgie passing the BAR as a reason to go to Mexico over Thanksgiving?” Charlotte snickered. To say Charlotte’s tolerance for her aunt and uncle ran shallow was an understatement. Growing up, Whitney often felt born into the wrong side of the family. Although not particularly partial to cannabis and mantras like Charlotte’s parents, she just never fit in with her own family.

  “Well regardless, I’m happy for Georgie.”

  Rolling her eyes, Charlotte popped another chocolate in her mouth. “Please, you’d be happy for that girl if she contracted chlamydia.”

  “Charlotte.”

  “Well it’s true,” she defended. “And let’s just point out that your mother is charting off to Mexico, but has she even visited Quinn once since the hospital?” Charlotte asked, peeking over at Quinn in the swing. “Hell, has your papa or Georgie even met her?”

  Shaking her head, Whitney let out a half smile. No, her mama hadn’t made the trip out to see her or Quinn since those few short hours in the hospital. Her disappointment in her choices trumping the relationship with her only grandchild.

  Snickering, Charlotte crossed her arms across her chest. “And the ass wipe?”

  “Language,” Whitney warned, looking away. “And no. I’ve heard nothing from him.”

  She hadn’t heard a sound from Adam and she would be lying if she said it wasn’t freaking her out. He was a powerful man back in Louisiana, only because of the job he had secured at her papa’s firm, but Adam was ruthless. And had connections. The idea of him suddenly reappearing with a court order to take Quinn kept her up at night.

  “You don’t think he’s working with Papa to come and take Quinn away?”

  “-No,” Charlotte cut her off, her face slowly turning red. “You know I would never let that happen.”

  Agreeing, silence filled the house, the hum of the baby swing the only noise as they both looked over at Quinn. She loved Charlotte. Knew that she would do all that one hundred and ten pounds of her could do to keep Adam away from both her and Quinn. But the idea of Adam working alongside of her papa was monopolizing her thoughts. And she was absolutely terrified.

  Sprinting up the field before coming to a halt, Shay turned to catch a fast ball, making it the ninth in a row.

  “Now you’re just showing off,” Nolan yelled catching the ball back from Shay with one hand. Chuckling, he jogged back to the start line. It was a typical Monday. The day starting off inside the training room before he spent two full hours inside team meetings reviewing the gaps and inconsistencies from their last game, which after their bye week had bee
n about eight days ago. And he was itching to get back on the field. Every day that passed was another missed opportunity to be front and center with management, reminding them just how badly they still needed him. And all the reasons they should keep him on the Mavericks.

  “Damn man only knows one speed,” Myles spit, standing on the sideline, his helmet pushed up on his forehead.

  “Don’t hate, baby,” Shay shouted before shooting down the field, bringing the ball to a startling stop between his palms. “Accelerate.”

  Practices during the week were predominately light. A walk through of plays, but not for him. No. If he wanted to be the best than he needed to give it his all every single day. It’s what set him apart. What was going to keep him in Charleston. After another run through of the offensive strategy for Sunday’s game, him and his teammates headed to lunch before chatting with the media to answer questions and approaches for Pittsburgh.

  “Yo Cap,” Shay nodded towards Jax in the locker room, the two of them always the last to leave. Not for nothing, the media liked hearing from the dream team as they had been dubbed, which was fine with him. He wouldn’t be half the receiver he was if it weren’t for Monaghan’s arm and he was man enough to admit that. Redirecting questions about a potential trade with media every day was wearing on him though. What if he did get traded? Leaving him stuck with some unseasoned quarterback throwing interceptions and spending half the game on his ass for a lack of defense? Shaking his head he refocused. “How’s Liv feeling?”

  Clenching his jaw, Jax threw some shit in his bag not taking his eyes off him.

  “Hey, no bullshit man,” Shay chuckled holding up his hands. “Just asking how’s she’s doing.”

  “She’s great,” Jax mumbled, grabbing his keys and nodding curtly. “See you tomorrow, Nova.”

  Laughing to himself, he did feel bad. He hadn’t been around much to see Liv and their two small daughters. Liv had been through hell and back and he considered her a sister. Not just because they looked like siblings, but because they just understood each other. Kindred spirits or some shit she had called it. Pulling out a pair of brown sunglasses, he rubbed the lens between his fingers. Whitney had left them at his house the night of his party. He could have given them to Myles or probably should have dropped them off at her work. Tossing them back into his bag, he grabbed his keys. Nah, she did such a great job with his party, all before darting off quicker than he could say twenty-nine, he should at least make the trip to return them. Sending off a text to Charlotte for her address, he headed across the large open locker room.