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CHAPTER TWELVE

Rumor has it the neighbors heard screams coming from his room.

Maverick

" I s he okay?"

A familiar tingling in my hands has me standing up to pace around my bedroom.

"Yeah, just a TIA," my brother says, sounding amused and slightly distracted.

Good, I can handle brief stroke symptoms. "Are they concerned about another stroke?" I rub at the pain in my chest. "Are they going to keep him overnight at least?"

"I'm talking to Mav, old man. Mind your business and eat your Jell-O," he says, talking to Pops instead of me.

"Maverick? Why is he up at two in the morning?"

I sigh into the phone. I already know what's coming.

"I called him," my brother returns, exasperated. "You're the one making our young bodies lose sleep."

"You weren't losing sleep, you little shit. You had to give that poor girl cab money so we could leave."

Their arguing has me craving a visit home. I miss both of them.

"It's called Uber, Pops, and she was lost. I was looking up hotels for her when you called out that the Reaper was here to take you. "

"Maverick!" Pops hollers, most certainly disrupting other patients at the hospital. "Go to bed! I'm fine."

My brother quickly jumps in. "Funny how you had no concern in waking me up! Where's the concern for my sleep deprivation?"

"You weren't asleep!"

I snort. "Sounds like he's just fine," I tell my brother.

"I told you he was fine in my text."

Thunder rattles the window. "I know, but I needed to hear it from you."

"You mean, you needed to make sure I wasn't lying?" He's not offended; he knows how I am.

"Exactly." No sense in lying about it. I needed to hear my brother's voice to make sure he didn't sound bleak or stressed. With text, he and Pops could say whatever to ensure I did not come home.

"Sure you don't want me to come down and help?"

It's an excuse to see them, but I really do want to help more.

Apart from what Pops thinks, I won't drop out of school and work at the QuickMart.

Sure, I've considered moving home and helping out more, but Pops has been downright vicious in keeping my ass firmly planted at Havemeyer.

It's always been important to him that we boys go to college.

Cooper can beg Pops all he wants about joining the MLB, but he will go to college if Pops has anything to say about it.

"No, Mav. We don't need your bossy ass coming down and telling us what to do, right, Pops? We got it. Stay there, get some sleep and pus?—"

"Boy!"

I grin at Pops jumping in. They are like two old men arguing over a chess game.

"I was just telling him to have a Push Pop, old man. Why is your mind always in the gutter? Is that a side effect from the stroke or?—"

"I will get out of this bed, Cooper Lexington."

I laugh. "Don't make him get out of the bed, Coop."

"The doctor says he needs to move around more," Coop argues, but it's a joke. The fact is, Pops and Coop have a great relationship, one that I miss having with them.

"Stop gossiping to your brother and go home. You and him both should have been in bed hours ago."

Cooper laughs into the phone. "Oh, I'm going back to bed. Don't you worry, Pops."

"I swear on your mother, Coop. You are not too old for me to tear that ass up with my belt."

Pops is so full of shit. He's never spanked nor laid a hand on Cooper or me, but it gets a laugh out of us, just as I'm sure he intended.

"All right, Pops, you scared us. Maverick is already tucked in, and I'm heading out. Behave yourself. I don't want to have to sacrifice my virginity to convince these nurses to let your hateful ass stay here."

Good Lord. "Bye, Coop. Bye, Pops."

Cooper and Pops laugh. "Good night, Maverick."

I toss the phone on my nightstand and stare out at the black skies, watching as the rain pummels the earth with its soothing ointment.

The fire extinguisher I left Ainsley is gone from the patio.

Not that I can see it but because I watched her take it in, right after she set the picture of her and that fucker on fire.

I might have smiled as she watched it go up in flames and flip it off, yelling something I'm sure sounded crazy to the neighbors.

But she was healing, and for that, I was proud to help with.

I don't have experience with breakups, but I can't take watching her cry. This T-named fucker has tarnished enough of her free spirit.

The thunder rumbles again, and I'm positive I won't be going back to sleep anytime soon.

With the news about Pops and all the work still sitting open on my laptop, I may as well get something to drink and burn off this restlessness.

Maybe I can finish a few things, and the ache in my chest will dwindle to something milder.

Knocking out files always makes me feel better .

The kitchen light is on when I crack open the door, and a few steps later, I know why. Ainsley is perched in one of the kitchen chairs, her knee bent with her iPad in her hands.

She doesn't look up when I approach, and it annoys me to the point of grinning. No one is comfortable in my presence. The rumors make sure of that, but not Ainsley, she sees through the mask.

"Couldn't sleep?" I ask her.

She shrugs, still not fucking looking at me. "The storm woke me, and I couldn't go back to sleep."

I nod even though she doesn't see me do it.

"Do you want anything to drink?" I'm already snagging an extra cup from the cabinet. This whole routine feels domesticated.

"Yes, please."

The air around us doesn't feel awkward, but I don't think it ever has.

From the moment I found her begging at my doorstep, it wasn't awkward.

The banter comes easy, and the give and take between us feels genuine.

It feels normal, and for some reason, that worries me.

When have I ever felt comfortable in the past few years?

I pour water for both of us and set it on the table.

"What are you playing?" I can already guess it's a game. She's addicted to them. At least that's what her weekly screen time suggests. Yes, I snooped. Call it a background check.

"Who Wants to Be a Millionaire," she answers, glancing up at me with a faint smile. "It's my favorite."

Another surprise. She's playing trivia and not something mindless.

"Are you winning?"

Just because she plays doesn't mean she's any good at it.

She shrugs. "I'm at two hundred and fifty k."

"Not too shabby." I pull out a chair and wedge in beside her, looking over at her screen.

"Uh . . . What are you doing?"

I hit the button for the next question. "I'm helping you win."

She sweeps my hand off the tablet. "I don't need your help. I can win it on my own. "

Don't care. I want to play now.

"Well, you better hurry then."

She gasps and hurries to read the question. "Which of the following phrases describes a close association with someone?"

I smirk when she mumbles out the answers, seemingly confused.

"Maverick! Help me!"

"I thought you could win on your own?"

The timer is ticking down, five, four—"I can't! Please help me. I've never come this close before."

That'll work.

"C. Hand in glove."

She scrambles to press the button, not questioning if I'm sure.

The button lights up green.

"How did you know that?" Her forehead wrinkles.

"I told you I go to class."

"No, you don't. I've never seen you on campus."

Ah. This is what I needed. My chest is already feeling lighter, my pulse slowing with every sentence. "I've never seen you on campus either. Does that mean you don't attend class as well?"

The lips I kissed mere hours ago purse, drawing my eyes to their fullness.

"Why do you never like to answer questions about yourself?"

I cock a brow. "Why do you always ask so many questions?"

I love getting under her skin. It's better than poker.

"Ugh. You're impossible."

That I am.

"And you're about to lose."

"Shit!"

She hurries and presses the button for the next question. "Which of the following phrases begins a professional dart match? Game on, fire away, or drink up?"

She has no clue. The wide-eyed expression confirms it.

"That's an easy one,” I muse.

"Well then, help me! "

"How much is it worth to you?"

She narrows her eyes, her cheek indenting. The look is violent. "I will cut you, Maverick Lexington. Do not come between me and this game."

She's so cute when she's attempting to be tough.

I close my mouth, pressing my lips together as if I'm not budging until she gives me what I want: a debt.

"Fine! Slide a damn card in my trash can later. Happy?"

"Very."

Too happy. This has been the most fun I've had in months.

"Game on,” I answer.

She clicks the answer and gives a little squeal of delight when it turns green.

"You want to know what I think, Maverick?"

I snort out a laugh. "No, I don't."

"You're getting it anyway."

I always do, and secretly, I enjoy it.

"I think you keep these scary rumors going on around you, so no one will find out you're really a water drinking trivia nerd."

See? Observant little thing.

"Are you making fun of me for being smart?"

Redirect her, Maverick.

"I didn't say that. I'm impressed you're smart. I just don't understand why you try to hide it. "

"Who says I hide it? I've never denied I was smart."

She pauses a moment, and then waves away her comment. "Okay, I take that back. Maybe you don't necessarily hide it, but you keep people from finding out the real you." She grins. "The super-duper smart you."

I nod, rather impressed. "Maybe you're right?—"

"I know I am."

I ignore her comment and finish my sentence from before she interrupted me with her bragging. "Maybe you're right, but how many people know the real you? The you that sleeps with stuffed sea lions and watches aquarium reality shows. "

That smug smile of hers drops.

Not so confident now, are we?

"How many people at Havemeyer know you spend your late nights up playing trivia games?" I add, just to drive my point home.

She's quick to snap back. "You're playing too! And you're up just as late!"