Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
His mom watches us, wide eyed. “You always did keep us on our toes.”
“I am nothing if not predictable,” Maverick laughs.
“You’ve both certainly given us a lot to talk about.” She looks at her husband, then back at us.
“That’s one way to put it,” his dad mutters.
“But,” she continues, eyes locking with mine through the screen. “We’re here. And we’ll support you both however we can.”
“Especially the baby,” his dad adds. “Someone in this family’s got to have a stable moral compass. Might as well start with the next generation.”
“Ignore him,” she says, reaching to swat her husband’s arm off-screen. “We’re just—surprised, that’s all. But you two seem . . .” She hesitates. “Happy.”
“We are,” I agree, because somehow that feels important to say out loud. “Happy.”
Maverick nods, arm draped along the back of the couch behind me. “And we’re figuring it out as we go. Together.”
His parents exchange a glance—one of those long married-people glances that says an entire conversation without words—and then his mom smiles.
“Okay, you two,” she says, clasping her hands. “We’ll let you get on with your evening. Send updates. Pictures, before they show up on SportsCenter—we want to be involved, not just spectators.”
“Deal,” Maverick says, already reaching to click the call off. “Bye, Mum. Bye, Dad. Love you guys.”
“Bye now,” his dad says, squinting at the camera like it personally offends him. “Love you.”
“Goodbye, Annabelle,” his mom adds, warmer this time. “Take care of yourself. And my son.”
I nod, throat tight. “I will.”
The screen goes dark.
We sit in silence for a beat, staring at the blank laptop, basking in the quiet, thinking of what to say next.
Maverick turns to me, brow raised. “That wasn’t terrible?”
“I only sweat through half my shirt.” My giggle comes out sounding anxious. “Could’ve gone worse.”
“See? Total win.”
Chapter 28
Maverick
I push the button on the blender and watch it whirl into motion, my concoction of protein powder, almond milk, spinach, and frozen banana transforming into something healthy and entirely undrinkable.
Gross. I hate how this shit tastes, but . . . oh well. Whatever. This is the kind of smoothie a man drinks when he needs to sober up because he’s about to ruin his wife’s morning by uttering the two most dreaded words in existence:
Press. Release.
The second I kill the blender, my phone buzzes.
Speak of the devil herself.
Kira, Publicist:
Need to talk. Re: official statement. Clock’s ticking.
Yeah. No shit, it’s ticking.
The world thinks it knows we got married.
The world doesn’t know there is a baby on the way . . .
I take a sip of the green regret in my shaker bottle and head into the living room. Annabelle’s curled up on the couch, under the throw blanket she brought from home, eating saltines straight from the sleeve and reading a book with a pink cover and illustrated couple on it.
I stop in the doorway and look at her for a second to enjoy the peace and quiet before I wreck it.
She’s barefoot, as usual. Her hair’s in a high pony. She’s wearing leggings and a cropped T-shirt, and she has no idea that in about ninety seconds, I’m going to drop a bombshell.
“Hey,” I say, casually dropping next to her on the couch. I grab one of her feet and get to work, massaging the heel.
She doesn’t look up. “If you’re about to tell me you finished all the pickles, don’t. I’m not emotionally stable enough.”
“Worse,” I say. “We need to talk about a press release.”
That gets her attention. The book lowers. “A what?”
“A press release.”
She blinks. “You mean, like an announcement?”
I nod. “Exactly.”
“To the public?”
“To the public. My team’s asking. They want to get ahead of the tabloids and rumors that you’re a gold digger.”
She gapes at me. “Can’t we just, I don’t know—not?”
“Babe, I’m a professional athlete who reappeared in the media married, from a wedding no one saw happen. You think silence is going to clear things up?”
The internet is going crazy, and the fewer details that are provided, the worse the lies get.
She crosses her arms and glares at me like I just suggested we live stream the birth. “You want to PR spin our relationship like it’s a scandal. We just told your parents. We haven’t even had the chance to both sit down with mine yet.”
That’s today’s agenda—her parents. She’s been on the phone with her mom several times, but they have yet to officially have a chat with me. Her dad began blowing up her phone the second the news broke after Evy’s social media post, but we haven’t told them about the baby either. Only that we’re hitched . . .
“I’m not trying to spin anything,” I tell her, palms out. “I just want the truth out there before someone with a YouTube channel decides you’re a gold-digging fame chaser with a secret Maverick McBride fan account.”