Worth the Desire

chapter forty-four

Dean beams, "That's great to hear. I actually interned for the Warriors before I got my residency with the Wolves, and I haven't been able to part from them ever since." He refers to the Pittsburgh Warriors, the team Carsen plays for.

"Yeah, I can't imagine what residency would be like or where I would even want to go," I shake my head. There are still so many years left before I even have to consider it. I'll have to do rotations where I might not even be able to stay with the same team for a season.

"Well, when the time comes, I do hope you consider starting off with the Wolves." I try not to let my giddy smile be evident, but from my quivering lips and the expanding grins on both of their faces, I can tell I'm not doing that great of a job.

Billy glances down at his watch again, and I notice him get a little antsy, probably due to how close we're cutting it. He opens his mouth, presumably to suggest we head to the airport, but his gaze dances over my shoulder to the front door—as I'm sitting with my back to it—and gapes. His eyes bulge out of their sockets as his eyes follow someone walking into the bar.

I furrow my brows, "Is something wrong?" I turn around, trying to get a glimpse of whoever has rendered him speechless, when I, too, become silent. Striding into the bar like he owns the place is none other than Maverick himself. It's like the crowd naturally parts for him, which is why it was so easy to pick him out. Wearing an oversized shirt that swallows his figure and joggers, he stalls inside the door as his eyes sweep across the room, looking for someone in particular. As soon as his dark golden eyes meet mine, I turn back around, panic seizing every fibre in my body.

"What is he doing here? He should already be at the airport," Billy mutters under his breath.

"You mean like we should be," Dean scoffs, egging his husband on, but quickly eases his words with a gentle smile.

Ignoring their remarks, I sink lower into my seat, trying to disappear.

It's not like I'm ashamed. But the last time Maverick saw me, I cried, being vulnerable, letting him and a room full of people know how I truly felt about him.

I already checked with Dean that Maverick was okay, with no significant injuries that would make him sit out the season or be rushed into surgery. And the most considerable clarity I got was that there was no head injury. They did the tests and confirmed. He was going to be okay.

That's all I needed to know.

But now, in broad daylight, without the guise of being worried for his health, I'm embarrassed. I put myself on the line for all to see while I know nothing about his feelings. And now he was here, for what I don't know.

I smell him before I see him. Which is weird, but I recognize the woodsy and citric notes that fill my lungs, sending shivers down my spine. The delicious smell of him has the ability to will the most precious of memories. The ones that I'm trying to forget. Like how good it felt to be in his arms, lying in bed together, talking all night long.

I shouldn't be having these memories crashing and bombarding my mind when I should instead be suppressing them, forgetting them so I can move on as he has.

Maverick towers in height as his shadow casts over me. His presence is large and palpable. I can feel him before he's even said a word.

"Maverick," Dean exhales, glancing up. His smile wanes slightly when he studies him, "Shouldn't you be wearing a brace?"

Up until this point, I hadn't had the courage to look at him. But at those words, I can't help but whip my head in his direction, immediately meeting the golden swirls of his eyes. They peer into me, drilling down, wanting to wear and tear me down. He works his jaw as his jawline becomes more defined under his quickly growing stubble.