Page 93 of A Little Complicated

It’s screwing with my mind, and I’m not sure what to do about it.

At least hockey practice is a welcome distraction. The physical strain from Jaxon’s utilitarian coaching has left me sore and satiated. The aches and pains dull my thoughts, along with the banter from the rest of my team. They’re nice. My teammates. Well, when they aren’t talking about hooking up with Maverick, anyway. And they’re not afraid to put in the work to prove we’re ready to make a splash this season, which is all that matters. It gives me hope for something in my future since my personal life feels like it’s up in smoke.

Hiking my gym bag over my shoulder, I make my way toward our duplex across campus. Airpods in place, I follow the winding path, stopping short when a familiar silhouette comes into view on the black asphalt in front of me, though he’s still fifty yards away. My heels dig into the ground, and I squint my eyes.

Nope. Not Archer. I’m not surprised. He’s been so insanely busy with his internship he’s lucky to hit practice, let alone make time for a random run on a Tuesday afternoon.

No, the Buchanan twin in front of me is definitely Maverick. He hasn’t noticed me yet, but it’s him. He seems…off. His chest heaves, and he looks two seconds from passing out, which is weird, considering the bastard’s health and how close we are to our duplex. Sweat collects along his hairline and seeps into his running shirt, the sun reflecting off of him, reminding me of theTwilightmovies, if Edward was sickly and on his deathbed. He looks pale. Really pale. Like a ghost or a walking corpse.

Something’s wrong.

Something’sverywrong.

I start jogging toward him. “Hey,” I call. “You okay?”

It’s like he doesn’t see me.

“Mav?”

Gasping, his pace slows, and his eyes roll back, showcasing the whites while torching my panic and turning it into an inferno.

“Mav!” I yell.

With a skull-cracking thud, he hits the pavement, and I drop my gym bag to the ground, racing toward him.

Once I reach his side, I call out breathlessly, “Mav!” The pavement bites into my bare knees as I lift his head into my lap, tapping his cheek repeatedly. I was right. His forehead is sticky with sweat, and I wipe it away with the hem of my shirt, repeating his name over and over while choking on my own helplessness.

“Mav. Mav, wake up.” Careful not to jostle him too much, I search my pockets but realize my phone is in the gym bag fifteen feet away. Patting Maverick’s gym shorts, I find his phone and pull it out, preparing to call an ambulance when his heavy lids raise. The whites of his eyes are still on full display, as the phone slips from my fingers, falling onto Maverick’s sweat-soaked shirt and clattering to the asphalt. I gasp at the view as he blinks again, his eyes gaining focus.

“Lia?” he croaks.

“Mav? Mav. Hey. Are you okay?”

His brows pinch in discomfort as he closes his eyes again. “Fuck.”

“Are you okay?” I repeat.

“What happened?”

“Y-you fell.”

“Fuck,” he repeats, forcing his lids open another time and sitting up. My hands tremble and ache to pull him into me again, but I fist them instead, placing them in my lap as I watch him helplessly.

Resting his elbows on his bent knees, he takes a few deep breaths, looking utterly exhausted.

“What’s your phone’s code?” I find his cell on the pavement and pick it up again. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Don’t,” he breathes out.

“Mav, you just passed out.”

“I’m fine, Opie.”

“Clearly, you’re not fine. Healthy people don’t simply collapse.”

“I pushed myself too hard. That’s all.”

“Too hard?” I balk. “We’re what? A mile from home?” I scoot closer to him and touch his shoulder. “There’s no way—”

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