Page 94 of A Little Complicated

“Can you drop it, please?” he seethes, but he doesn’t pull away from my touch. If anything, he leans closer, his strained muscles soft beneath my fingertips.

“I’m not going to drop it,” I tell him. “I’m going to call—”

“Fucking hell, Opie,” he grits out, but the words are still woven with exhaustion as he lifts his head from his palms and glares at me. “I said I’m fine.”

My attention bounces around his face, taking in the sheen of sweat still clinging to his forehead and the pale color of his cheeks.

“You’re lying,” I decide.

“I’m not.”

“You are. What’s going on?”

His head hangs off his shoulders, and he lets out another slow, controlled breath. “Will you help me up, please?”

“Only if you promise to tell me what’s going on.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Mav—”

“After our conversation last night, I got wasted and pushed it too hard on my run. I’m dehydrated and exhausted, and I passed out. That’s it.”

I hesitate, a fresh wave of guilt hitting as I consider whether or not he’s telling the truth. He looked like shit this morning when I ran into him in the hallway after my shower. Hurt too. And it isn’t the first time he’s drowned his sorrows in alcohol. I know what it’s like to exercise while dehydrated and hungover.

Maybe he’s telling the truth?

Sucking my lips between my teeth, I push to my feet and sigh. “You promise?”

He gulps and nods. “Yeah, Opie. Promise.”

“Fine.” I offer him my hand. “But you’re done with your run.”

“No shit.” He rubs at the back of his head, winces, and checks his palm for blood. “At least I didn’t split my skull open.”

“This time,” I argue. His weight feels like a thousand pounds as he takes my hand and I help him up. “You can’t do that. You can’t treat your body like shit, then be surprised when it gives out like this.”

“I’ll be sure to keep it in mind.” He brushes his thumb along the back of my hand, lets me go, and clears his throat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go invest in some noise-canceling headphones like you suggested.” He gives me a little salute. “See ya around, Opie.”

He turns and leaves.

And instead of calling him out and correcting his assumption, I let him.

30

MAVERICK

“Hey, man,” Archer greets me as he pushes my bedroom door open.

I’m lying on my mattress, staring up at the ceiling. After sending Coach a shitty excuse as to why I was missing practice, I took a long nap in hopes of resetting my body. My limbs still feel heavy, and my thoughts are foggy, proving the extra sleep didn’t do shit, which is the last thing I need. I still can’t believe I passed out in front of Opie. If she knew what was going on, she’d kill me herself. Lying to her didn’t exactly make me feel better, either. The lies, in general, are becoming so copious I’m not sure how much more I can take.

“Why weren’t you at practice?” my brother asks.

“Migraine,” I lie. Really, I feel like shit all over, and my run kicked my ass, but explaining everything to Archer is more effort than it’s worth.

He nods. “That sucks. Are you feeling better?”

“Sure,” I mutter.

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