I've woken up every morning consumed with guilt this past week.
But for the first time, it isn't the usual one—the one brought on by my haste and rash decisions and reactions. It isn't about what I said to Chase—though that still lingers like an old scar that I keep picking at—nor is it the guilt over what I'm doing now. But rather for my judgement and subsequent treatment of Maverick.
Maverick.
Even though I haven't said his name out loud, it's the first time I thought of him like that, rather than referring to him as Parker.
My chest pinches at the thought of calling him something that continuously brought him such pain. I had noticed the clenched jaw and fists that his fingers curled into, and I know I've intentionally wanted to hurt him over what he did to Sam in the past.
But after hearing his side of things, remorse warms every inch of my body. I simply trusted my brother because of our shared history. I didn't want to believe that he could easily toss me aside and lie to me after all the pain we endured growing up.
But he pushed me away the second Maverick showed up. Actually, when I think about it, it started much before him but was exacerbated by Maverick's arrival.
I need to find out what happened. If not for my own sake, at least to provide Maverick with some answers. He's been chasing them for years from his dad, and from the pain in his voice, I sensed that he believed he wasn't deserving of them. I want to prove him wrong. He deserves the truth. And after everything I've done and said to him, I owe him that.
With a hollowness and a pang that weighs heavily on my chest, I slide my round glasses over my head and rub my blurry eyes that strain from staring at my laptop for hours. I flip through the files on the desk before me, trying to get as much information as possible, so I spend less time here.
When the door creaks open, I let out an internal groan. Not bothering to glance at the intruder, I slide my glasses back into place and focus on the words before me, scrolling through my notes. I know who it is, and with his arrival, I don't even want to be here anymore.
I'm just waiting for the paperwork and an opening with another supervisor before I can make the switch. Technically, Elijah isn't my supervisor anymore, but I don't think he's aware of that because I got a lengthy email from him, scolding me for missing a few hours the past few days. I replied while blind copying Jenny so she's aware of what's happening.
I'm not leaving anything to chance.
I'm not one to wait for something to happen and then worry about it after the fact. I'm one comment away from filing an official complaint against Elijah.
What he walked in on with Maverick and I was inappropriate; I completely understand and agree with it. I should have been more diligent, especially in a professional setting. But Elijah's response, as my direct supervisor, was utterly uncalled for.
It's not like I can't do anything with Maverick. There are no rules or policies against it. However, ethically, it doesn't look good. I should have been more careful about it.
Since then, I've been trying to avoid being alone with Elijah simply because he makes me uncomfortable. But today, as I sit in one of the spare rooms, working on my research paper for one of my classes, gathering as much medical information as possible, it seems Elijah has found me.
"Ms. Nicholson," he clears his throat and closes the door. I pinch my eyes shut with an exasperated sigh before I close my laptop in my lap, the files on the desk, and glance toward him.
He's wearing his usual checkered button-up shirt, and his dark hair is slicked back while he slips his hands into the pockets of his khakis.
"Dr. Cassidy."
I shiver when his gaze roams down my fitted floral dress, oversized sweater, and thigh-high socks with my ankle boots. The only sliver of skin I'm genuinely showing is the gap between my socks and the hem of my dress, which is currently covered by my laptop. Yet, the feel of his gaze on me feels dirty. It never has the same effect as when Maverick does it.
I shudder, hating the creepy sensation that settles over me. I imagine it's the same feeling as a bunch of spiders crawling over me.
"You've been missing out on your required hours for a few days." His lips curve up into a smirk, the corner turning up mischievously.
I glare at him from under my dark lashes, "I'm not working with you anymore. Didn't you get an email from my advisor?"
He hums, lifting his hand to rub his chin like he's considering my words, "Must not have seen it."
"That's not my problem. You're no longer my supervisor." I grab my tote bag and slide my laptop into it before looping it over my shoulder, "Now, if you'll excuse me." I turn my back to him, filing away the folders before brushing past him.
But he reaches for me, and I quickly sidestep out of his grasp, "Don't touch me. You're one comment or touch away from me filing a harassment complaint against you."
He chuckles as if the mere idea of a complaint is nothing but a nuisance to him. I rear my head back, making me question his casualness for the matter. He shouldn't be indifferent about it unless he's been through this before.
My eyes widen at the sudden thought.
It would explain why he's unbothered by the threat. It might explain how easy this is for him, how he could approach me without worry.
Disgust crawls up my spine.
"I don't think you want to do that." He studies me with a glint in his eye. I cross my arms over my chest, stepping away from him and keeping a healthy distance.
The last thing I'll allow him to do is intimidate me. He may have gotten away with it before, but I'm diligent in ensuring Jenny, my academic advisor, knows what happens between us.
"And why is that?" I grit.
He bows his head, chuckling, "Because you don't want what you're doing with Maverick Parker to come out."
That's what he's threatening me with? Did he think I was ashamed of sleeping with someone, for being open and outwardly sexual? I let out an exasperated laugh that bellows from low in my belly, "We're both consenting adults, asshole. There's nothing wrong with what we're doing. And you can't shame me for that."
"Are you sure?" He cocks his head, and I get the feeling that I'm missing something.
My smile instantly falls from my face, "Yes."
He pinches his lips together, protruding his bottom lip as he nods thoughtfully, "You're forgetting that I caught you in a compromising position at work."
"And I don't officially work here," I counter.
He hums, "But you are contracted out by the school to represent them."
A resigned sigh escapes me, hoping he'll get to the point already, "There's nothing against me having relations with a player."
"True, but you don't want that rumour to go around, do you?"
I furrow my brow, confusion colouring my thoughts as I wonder where he's going with this. "What are you talking about? What rumour?"
He chuckles, running his thumb along his bottom lip as he eyes me down to my shoes and back up, "You're trying to work in a man's world, Ms. Nicholson. As a woman, do you know how hard it'll be trying to get into the industry with that alone? And then add on top of that the rumour that you're prone to sleeping with your players to get on top," he tsks.
I inhale a sharp gasp as I stumble a step away from him.
His chuckle grates on my ears, "Wonder what that'll do to your career. It'll be over before it even starts. I mean, no one would want to hire someone who'll stoop that low."
I open my mouth to argue and repeat that there's nothing wrong with what we're doing, but he interrupts me, "Doesn't matter that legally and ethically, there's nothing wrong. No one will want to hire you for their medical team if they think you're just going to sleep with their players and distract them."
I balk at the absurdity. It's the twenty-first century, yet it's still a real threat that I need to worry about.
"Fuck you," I seethe.
A wave of calm anger simmers through my veins. Cold sweat drips down my spine as I contemplate my options. I could stop sleeping with Maverick, but I won't ever let a man dictate my life—much less someone like Elijah Cassidy.
I could continue and not care, hoping that I could get on top of it if it were to get out.
But once a rumours out, there's no way to extinguish that fire.
There's a lot to consider here, but most importantly, I need to talk to Jenny. She'll know what I can do and if Elijah has any prior complaints on his record.
"That's exactly what I'm asking you to do."
I blink up at him, my mind jumping from thought to thought, wondering what he's talking about. And as it clicks, my features twist with revulsion. "Excuse me," I'm appalled by his insinuation.
"How about we strike a deal, Ms. Nicholson?" He exhales, his lips curving into a crooked sleazy grin, causing my insides to churn.
His words caress my skin, and I feel dirty again, disgusted. I take another step back, but he follows me, eliminating the distance. "What do you want?" I hiss through my clenched teeth, hating that I am in this position.
"Tit for tat, you scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours," he runs his tongue along his lips, and bile rises up my throat. "I won't say anything about you and Parker if you consider this. Also, if you don't file that complaint, obviously." His tone suggests that it's the most obvious thing in the world, that his proposition makes sense, and I would be an idiot for not considering it.
But I guess that must mean I'm an idiot because there's no way I am.
"And what is this?" I want him to say it aloud. I want him to materialize the words, so he knows how vile and disgusting he sounds.
He laughs, so throaty and guttural, "You don't need me to say it, Ms. Nicholson. You know exactly what I'm asking for."
"Are you really bartering with my reputation?" I bristle.
This guy is supposed to be my mentor and ally in helping me complete my master's degree. Instead, he's being a sick pervert praying on me simply because he wants something he can't have.
Sickness consumes me at the thought of him taking pleasure in my vulnerability.
"I wouldn't have to if you do what I ask."
"That's blackmail."
"Tomato, Tomahto." He steps closer, enough to feel his chest brush against mine. Thick sweat and intense deodorant fill my nose. Even his scent makes me sick, "What do you say?"
"What I say is hell. Fucking. No."
He tuts, kissing his teeth, stepping back and finally allowing me room to breathe, "Sleep on it, Ms. Nicholson. I think you're being a little rash."
"I don't need to, you pig. My answer is no." I head towards the door, slipping out but not before I hear a sharp chuckle from him, "We'll see about that."
I see red.
My limbs shake as I stumble through the hallway. Who the fuck does he think he is? Even after Jenny's extensive email about workplace harassment, he has the audacity to approach and proposition me.
And he actually expected me to agree.
My temple throbs with fiery anger as I pull out my phone and craft a new email to Jenny. I need to get ahead of this.
His threat of 'we'll see' looms over me, wondering if this will reach my supervisors or future employers before I even have the chance to apply. I just submitted my Ph.D. applications, and my chest clenches at the idea of him reaching out to them to somehow influence my application process and decision.
But I have to give the adjudicators the credit they are due. I must trust that this won't just be swept under the rug with how vocal I have been about Elijah's advances. By both the application adjudicators and the UNC harassment committee members.
I may not have proof of what he just asked of me, and past history may not be on my side for such cases, but it's enough for me to file that complaint.
Fuck him and trying to ruin my career.
I always knew that the sports industry was, unfortunately, a man's game. I always hated it, but that hasn't stopped women before. And it sure as hell won't stop me. I've worked twice as hard as anyone else, and I'm not letting Elijah fucking Cassidy take that away from me.
In haste to get all my thoughts and anger written in this email—without even trying to sound polite—I may not have been watching my surroundings or which direction I'm heading. Because a few seconds after I send the email, I crash into something, or rather someone, harshly.
My nose stings, and my eyes water. But before I have a chance to fall back on my ass. An arm reaches out, circling my waist and keeping me tucked into their chest.
Rubbing my aching nose and blinking away the tears, I find Maverick smirking down at me. That delicious dimple on display. "Whoa, where you off to in a rush?"
My anger and frustration douse immediately at his presence. Like cold liquid rushing through my veins. My lips part in an exhausting sigh as I slump forward, leaning my forehead against his shoulder, needing a moment to calm the raging storm in my head.
"What's wrong?" Maverick runs his palms in circles on the small of my back, under my sweater. His voice shifts as I hear his smile fall.
My hands find purchase on his arm and fist the soft material of his flannel button-down. I take a few calming breaths against his shoulder, not yet ready to say anything, in fear that I'm going to curse Elijah out some more. And I don't know how Maverick will react.
Chase initially would have been so angry that he would have wanted to confront him, but he also would have wanted to fight my battles for me. Eventually, over time, he trusted me enough to know that I could fight them on my own and if I needed him, then I'd let him know.
And I don't want to compare the two, but I don't know what it'll be like with Maverick. I know he saved Ryan last year from Jonah. He stepped in and helped her without her asking. But I really want to put Elijah in his place.
And it has to be me because I want him to know that he should never mess with another woman again just because of their gender.
And since Maverick is also being named in this supposed rumour Elijah is threatening me with, I know he will want to do something about it.
I shake my head against his shoulder, the frame of my glasses digging into the bridge of my nose, "Nothing I can't handle."
"Alright," he accepts my answer and starts to sway me slightly. It's almost like we're dancing.
A light chuckle escapes my mouth at how ridiculous we must look. I lift my head to stare up at him, parting my lips to ask what we're doing, but I'm again struck by the sheer image of Maverick's smile. The unrestrained joy that emulates and lightens his golden eyes, the slight flush on his high cheekbones. And that single dimple that's still forming an indent on his cheek. It's there for me, just for me right now.
I remember his birthday gift for me. After leaving him in a rush, I ran to my room and locked the door. I had completely forgotten about it until a few days later when I went to grab something from my nightstand and found the wrapped box untouched.
It was when I avoided Maverick, so I didn't want to open it.
But now, I'm scared to open it and see what it could mean for us. I like our dynamic at the moment, and I'm terrified of changing it.
"I don't see you wear glasses often. What are they for?" He pinches the centre frame and slides them off my face before gazing through the lens at a distance before slowly sliding them up the bridge of his long nose. "Whoa, wait, do I need glasses? Because I can see clearly."
I chuckle, "No, you idiot, they're for reading only, and when I stare at a screen for too long."
I study his profile as he squints through my round glasses. They fit him so perfectly, the slight bronzed colour of his skin, the contours of his features, they all work really well, and if he were ever to need glasses, I know he'll still look good with them.
"So, what are you up to?" He takes the glasses off, handing them back to me.
I let out an exhausted sigh, "I'll probably head to Coffee Bean and work on my paper."
Since freshman year, my friends and I have studied at Coffee Bean, the most frequented campus cafe, to satiate Ryan's coffee addiction. It became a familiar spot over the years, despite the bustling crowd and loud environment. In contrast, silence became too unbearable for me, so the library was never my place, even if I begrudgingly go there now to finish my online classes.
"Alright, lead the way. I parked my car in the cafe parking lot."
As we step outside, a shudder runs down my spine as a brisk draft sweeps by us, curling and lifting strands of my hair from my shoulder. It's late October, and the leaves have changed colours and fallen from their place on the branches, leaving trees bare and bleak. I wouldn't be surprised if we see snowfall soon, the air smelling crisp as it nips at my reddened cheeks.
I step along the stoned pathway, my shoulder brushing against Maverick's. Glancing around, I scan the few that have dared to study outside despite the chill that sticks permanently in the air. I notice some people I recognize from my intermural volleyball team that wave toward me but do a double-take when they see who's standing next to me.
A few have seen us argue in the past, but only our closest friends knew how deep those words really ran, how they were never really surface level.
"Imagine what our friends would think if they saw us right now." A chuckle slips past my lips.
He smiles, running a finger over the scruff on his jaw. It's a wonder that I find it attractive on him but revolting on Elijah.
"Mine would think they were drunk or high because they would never believe it, but yours, specifically Ryan, her poor little heart wouldn't be able to handle it."
I toss my head back with a spirited laugh, "She'll probably look so lost and confused."
"And perhaps pass out, and then Blake would kick my ass."
I scoff, "If she does pass out, I'll probably kick your ass first."
He whips his head towards me, wrinkling his nose, his lips curling, "What? Why mine?"
"Because it'll be your fault."
He genuinely looks stunned as he blinks, formulating logical reasoning before he sputters, "How? If anything, it's your fault for making your friend pass out."
"Nope," I bite my lip, "Just yours."
"You're such a bitch." His lips twitch. There's no conviction in his tone.
Pinching my lips to conceal my smile, I hold up my middle finger, "You make me wish I had more middle fingers."
My gaze drops to his lips that spread into a wide grin, causing my heart to flutter, "Don't be stingy, you have another one, and you're still asking for more."
I shake my head, "Did it hurt when you fell?"
He bristles as he cracks his neck, "From heaven? Are you calling me an angel? I think that's the first compliment you've ever given me, even if it's a cheesy one. But come to think of it, I don't think I've had anyone say that one. I don't think I've even used it. I feel honoured."
"You're so full of yourself, no," I shove him away, "I meant when you fell from someone's ass, you piece of shit."
"That's—Alright, that was a pretty good one. But you made out with me; what does that say about you?"
I cock my head, "I see what you're trying to say, but that doesn't make me one either."
"Pretty sure it does, Blondie."
I kick a pebble down the pavement. The skin between my dress and socks breaks out with goosebumps as a chill works its way through my body. I roll my eyes, "Whatever."
"So," he clears his throat, grabbing hold of the straps of his gym bag, "Any plans for tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow?" My brows furrow as I gaze up at him.
"Yeah," he peers over, and upon seeing the confusion on my face, he chuckles, "Don't tell me the queen of parties forgot about Halloween."
"Ah shit," I slap a palm to my face.
In all the commotion of work, school, and everything else going on, I completely forgot about it. Last year, my friends and I made a big deal out of it since we all thought it would be our last year together. Mia didn't know if she was staying since she was still scared to bring it up with her mom, and Ryan didn't know which grad school she would go to, although she was hoping to stay in the city.
But, ironically, this year would truly be our last because I don't intend to stay here much longer. Especially when I was the only one that was certain of my whereabouts the following year.
And now, I have no idea what my future plans are.
Boston would just remind me of a life Chase and I would have had. I don't want to live with a reminder of what could have been, but everything seems set for Boston. I don't even know where else I would go. I applied to a few schools in California, Boston, and here, but I still don't know where I'll go.
Shaking my head, I turn back to the conversation with Maverick. Chuckling to clear my mind of horrible memories and thoughts, I ask, "What are you going as?"
"Morty," he grins.
"From Rick and Morty?"
He nods, "Easiest costume idea I could have thought of, and it works out since Sutherland was already going as Rick."
I let out a sigh, keeping an eye on the pebble I kick along with me, "I might have to recycle an old costume."
"What did you go as before?"
I tilt my head, bringing my hands up to my mouth to nibble on a nail, recalling my past costumes as I recite them for him, "A purge character last year, one-third of the Powerpuff girls for junior, one of the blind mice for sophomore and Dwight from the Office for freshmen."
"Let me guess; you were Buttercup."
"You would think," I pause when he yanks on my bag before I crash into a group of guys walking towards us. He circles a hand around my wrist and pulls my finger from my mouth but doesn't let go. Instead, he presses his arm into my shoulder blade, breathing into my ear.
Despite the chill that runs down my spine at the proximity, I continue, "But I went as Bubbles for my blonde hair, but I'm more surprised you know the names of the Powerpuff Girls."
He lets me huddle closer to him, curling an arm around my shoulder, the other one still firmly wrapped around my wrist. The heat radiating from him warms me down to the bone, sending shivers of pleasure through me.
"I have a younger sister who was obsessed with it." He scratches his jaw, "What did you do for Dwight? Maybe you can do that again?"
"I wore a tan coloured dress shirt with a brown tie, wore silver-framed glasses like his and handed out business cards that said Assistant to the Regional Manager but whited out the 'to the' part."
"Wait, you actually handed them out?"
I nod, "Yep. I printed about 50 cards, and with help, I whited them out and gave them to a few people. They thought it had my number, but it was actually to Pizza Hut."
"Savage."
I wiggle my nose in thought as I glance up at him, "Well, I could go as Dwight again, but I don't have the cards, and I don't think I have the time to print them and white them out again. The cards made the costume. What about you? What did you go as before?"
He bows his head, his chin brushing the top of my head. "I went as my namesake in freshman year with the aviators and everything," he smirks, his eyes rolling upward as he hums in thought, "Harry Potter in sophomore and then a baby daddy last year."
I stall, pausing on the stoned pavement, making Maverick crash into my back. I can see Coffee Bean just a few steps away, a few students coming and going as the door stays permanently open. "A baby daddy?" My parted lips quiver as a chuckle threatens to consume me, "How the hell did you do that?"
He walks around me, swivelling to face me. He lowers his gaze, staring at me through his lashes and brow. He tugs on my wrist until I'm pressed against his chest. His lips turn up into a sly smirk, "I got this cutout of a baby and hung it around my neck."
"Clever," I mutter.
"So, will I see you tomorrow?" He cranes his neck and bends his head, invading my space, almost sharing the same breath.
"Maybe, if I figure out a costume," I cock my head, studying his distinct features, the dip of his bow and his sharp cheekbones.
"Well, I hope you do. Can't wait to see what you go as." He leans down, his lips slightly brushing the corner of my lips before stepping away. My entire body goes cold at his retreat, "I'll guess I'll see you around, Blondie."
I watch him walk away backwards before turning around and jogging towards the lot where a few cars idle and a few groups of students mingle. The wind picks up, sweeping through me, fluttering through my sweater as I watch him.
I don't know why I don't turn away and head into the coffee shop to work on my paper, but I can't seem to take my eyes off him, even when he pulls out of the space and drives off.
I know things have shifted between us after all the revelations from the last time we spoke, but I didn't think we would be this open with one another.
I can't determine if that's good or bad, especially if I'm too scared to open a simple gift from him.
But now more than ever, I need to figure out Sam's reasoning behind his hatred for Maverick.
And I hope it's a sound one because, for the life of me, I can't discern why he would hate Maverick without so much as saying anything to him.
Even I've come to like him.
I lift my tote higher on my shoulder with a deflated sigh and trot inside, relishing the warmth that hugs me like a blanket and the smell of coffee.