Rally (Treasure State Wildcats Book 3)

My sweatshirt was pulled up beneath my breasts, and my jeans were unfastened. I turned sideways in the bathroom mirror, relaxing my belly before sucking it in flat.

Except it didn’t suck in flat, not anymore.

I was almost halfway through this pregnancy. I was at seventeen weeks. And it was slowly starting to show.

The baggy sweatshirts and hoodies I’d taken to wearing every day hid most of the changes to my body, but in this bathroom, there was no concealing that my boobs and belly were bigger.

I ran a hand over the curve in my skin, feeling along my tummy as I stared at it in the mirror.

“Hi,” I whispered.

It wasn’t often and it was never loud, but it was getting easier to talk to the baby. Not that he or she could reply, but I wanted them to know my voice, even if it was quiet.

The door to the bathroom flew open.

“Rush,” I snapped, pulling down my shirt. “Do you mind?”

“Shit. Sorry.” He gulped, his gaze dropping to my stomach. “I, um . . . habit. I’m not used to sharing a bathroom.”

I’d been here for nearly a month. Time for him to break that habit. “The door was closed. Try knocking.”

“Sorry.” He ran a hand over his jaw, his gaze returning to my belly.

I frowned and hiked up my jeans, zipping them up as far as they would go before taking the hair tie off my wrist and looping it through the button hole and over the button. I didn’t have money to spend on maternity clothes, so I was hoping to keep these working for as long as possible.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“You’re, um . . .”

“Showing? Yeah.”

It was normal to be showing at this stage, according to my research. I also had a hunch I’d be larger than estimated simply because Rush’s genes meant I would probably birth a baby giant.

“Do you mind?” I glanced at the doorway.

“Yeah. Sorry. Again.” He jerked into motion, taking a backward step into the hall before he turned and disappeared to his bedroom.

“Thanks for closing the door.” I frowned and pulled it closed only to realize I was done in the bathroom. So I yanked it open again and marched for my room. “I’m done,” I hollered and closed myself away.

God, this was awkward. When was it going to stop being awkward?

I plopped on the edge of my bed, reaching for my phone and the browser I’d pulled up earlier. There was a single rental in Mission that I could afford—barely—on my own. It was the worst trailer in the park where Justin lived.

The idea of being that close to him again made my stomach churn, but I couldn’t stay here with Rush. If we weren’t tiptoeing around each other, then we were bickering.

Add Maverick to the mix, and I avoided “home” more often than not.

I was contemplating Mav’s murder daily at this point. That asshole seemed hell-bent on making my life miserable. And Rush playing Switzerland only seemed to make it worse.

He wasn’t going to choose me. I didn’t expect to be more important than his best friend. But I could be a little bit important, couldn’t I?

It wouldn’t matter if I was out of here. It wouldn’t matter when I lived on my own.

My fingers flew over the screen as I typed a text to the trailer’s owner.

Hello. Is your rental still available?

I waited a few moments, my breath catching when my phone dinged with a reply.

Sorry. It was just taken.

Of course it was. I wasn’t lucky enough to get anywhere first.

“Damn it.” I tossed my phone aside and snagged my laundry basket from the closet to carry downstairs.

The bathroom was empty and Rush’s door open. I kept my eyes glued to the carpet, refusing to let myself glance inside to his bed.

A lifetime ago, I’d been in that bed. It was huge, fitting for the man who owned it. I hadn’t noticed Rush’s quilt the night we’d had sex. I’d been too busy tangled in his gray sheets to care about his bedding.

It was a patchwork quilt made of varying fabrics in an array of colors from rust to navy to hunter green. The edges were worn and corners slightly frayed, like he’d had that quilt for years.

Had Macy made it for him? During the frantic move out of Justin’s trailer last month, she’d made a comment about sewing a blanket for the baby.

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” I murmured as my free hand slid along my belly.

What would be his or her favorite color? Would they have my light brown eyes or Rush’s chocolate?

He was in the kitchen when I made it to the main floor. He had his phone sandwiched between his ear and shoulder as he opened the fridge and bent to take out mustard and mayo and cheese and pickles.

I’d never met anyone who ate so often. Maverick too. These guys were always making something in the kitchen and eating it in the living room while they watched football. Always football.

So much football.

When he saw me walking through the living room, Rush smiled but kept talking. “What are you and Dad doing tonight?”

Macy. I’d also never met a guy who talked to his mom so often.

I eavesdropped on their conversations more than I should, but listening to Rush’s phone calls with his mom was fascinating. He genuinely liked his parents. They spoke more like they were friends.

I hoped I had that. Boy or girl, I hoped my child liked me.

As he laughed at whatever Macy told him, I ducked down the hall for the laundry room. It was beside Maverick’s room so I tried to come down whenever he was gone.

The moment I opened the door, I gagged. “Oh my God.”

It smelled like sweaty feet, ammonia and rotten eggs. The stench burned my nostrils, and I covered my nose with a hand, breathing through the sleeve of my sweatshirt as I moved to the washing machine.

I opened the lid, about to dump my clothes in with a couple detergent pods, when I realized it was already full.

The smell was worse, making me dry heave.

My hamper landed with a plop as I bolted for the door, only breathing when I was back in the living room.

“Bye, Mom,” Rush said, ending his call and setting his phone down. “Hey, sorry about barging in on you.”

I pointed in the direction of the laundry. “Are your clothes still in the washer? It reeks in there.”

“Oh, damn. I forgot to run it last night.”

“Well, can you run it? Or take out your stuff so I can use the machine?”

“Yeah.” He picked up his sandwich and chomped a huge bite.

I stared at him.

“Now?” he asked, cheeks bulging.

“Yes, now. Have you smelled it in there? It’s disgusting.”

He scowled as he chewed, swallowing the bite. “What do you want me to say? Sorry? I sweat when I’m playing football and work out twice a day. Can’t exactly stop it.”

“No, but you could not leave your sweaty stuff in the washing machine so it gets worse.”

“I forgot. It was a fucking mistake, okay?”

“Fine.” I held up my hands.

Fighting again. Fighting always. Every argument seemed to come out of nowhere. We were fine one moment, civil, and then boom. Now he was pissed, I was annoyed, and I didn’t want to keep doing this.

Why couldn’t we just get along like we had been weeks ago? Why was it like this? He’d stopped coming to the diner. I missed those days. We wouldn’t talk much during his visits, but it would at least be pleasant.

He ate another bite of his sandwich, so big his cheeks bulged. With his mouth full, he couldn’t really talk. We couldn’t fight. Maybe that was the point. Maybe I should start eating more too.

He walked with angry strides from the kitchen, breezing past me for the laundry room. Then came the sound of the washer’s lid slamming shut and running water. “Leave your stuff,” he said when he returned. “I’ll swap it out when mine is done in an hour.”

“Okay.” I sighed, going to the stairs. Except before I could disappear to my room, the front door opened and Maverick walked inside.

He wore a smile. It diminished the moment he spotted me in his house.

I was under no illusion that any part of this place was mine.

“Hi.” His gaze shifted to the kitchen, and he jerked up his chin at Rush. “Hey.”

“What’s up?” Rush asked.

“Nothing. While you’re both here, I need rent checks. I’m taking them to the office tomorrow. I got Erik’s already.”

“I’ll write it tonight,” Rush said.

“Can I give you cash?”

He shrugged and closed the door. “Cash works.”

I walked to the dining room table and the backpack I’d left downstairs when I’d been studying earlier. As much as I wanted a desk in my room so I’d never have to spend a minute downstairs, I wasn’t buying furniture until I knew where I was going to live.

My wallet was in the front pocket, so I took it out along with the money I’d gotten after cashing my paycheck last week. Taking out three hundred dollars, I held it out for Maverick. “Here you go.”

He took it, fanning out the three bills, then blinked. “And the other seventy-five?”

Wait. The other seventy-five?

Rush had told me their rent before I’d moved in was four hundred apiece. That made it twelve hundred total. With me as a fourth roommate, that was three hundred each. That was how much I’d paid him for last month.

“Maverick,” Rush clipped, “Faye’s rent is three hundred. I told you that.”

Faye’s rent. Meaning mine was different.

In the kitchen, Rush’s arms were crossed over his chest as he glared daggers at Mav.

“How much is rent, Maverick?” I asked him while keeping my gaze glued to Rush.

“Fifteen hundred a month total,” Mav said.

I tore into my wallet and ripped out another hundred. “Here.”

“Uh, I don’t have change.” Mav took the money.

“Keep it,” I said, then turned and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“Damn it, Mav,” Rush barked.

“I forgot, okay? Sorry.”

“Sure you did,” Rush said, and I felt more than heard his footsteps hustle through the house to follow me.

But I kept moving until I reached the threshold to my room. With one hand, I grabbed the door, flinging it backward and expecting it to slam. Except it bounced instead, off the towering man who was clearly faster than me.

“The rent is three hundred,” Rush said.

I whirled, pointing to my chest. “My rent.”

“Yes.” He planted his fists on his hips. “Your rent is three hundred.”

“And yours?”

His jaw worked but he stayed quiet.

“That’s what I thought.” I huffed. “All I asked was that you not give me special treatment. But we keep having this conversation over and over again.”

“It’s not charity.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s seventy-five bucks.” He held out his hands. “So what? Let me help.”

No. Never. I had to stand on my own two feet. Because in the end, it would always be me. And this baby.

His gaze locked with mine as we stared at each other. A crease formed between his eyebrows as his scowl hardened. His jaw clenched and the corners looked sharper than knives.

He had a great jaw. A night months ago, I’d had a great time fitting my palm to its edge to feel it flex beneath my skin.

The idea of all we’d done that night, of touching him, brought a flush to my face, and damn it, I broke first, dropping my eyes to the floor.

“Let me help, Faye.” His voice was gentle. “Please.”

I sighed. “Just let me pay rent.”

When I dared meet his gaze again, there was disappointment in his chocolate-brown eyes, but he nodded. “Stubborn.”

“So are you.”

Rush scowled and spun away, leaving the door open on his way out.

“This sucks,” I whispered as my hand splayed across my belly.

If only I could find a freaking place to rent. Every time I talked to a potential landlord, they told me I’d just missed the spot. I was perpetually too late.

A friend from class had suggested I try campus housing, but it was too expensive. They required residents buy a meal plan at food services, and even then, with record enrollment at Treasure State, the only vacancies meant sharing a cramped room. If I had to spend most of my time hiding in a room, at least this one was my own.

Since Chuck’s mom had moved in with him and Gloria, they didn’t have a spare room.

I was out of options until a rental came up.

Living with Maverick was bad, but living with him was better than living in my car.

Should I just move in with Dusty? The idea of her snakes made my skin crawl. So did the cigarette smell. Which was worse for me and the baby? Secondhand smoke? Or constant, stressful arguments?

Every day there was some sort of spat. It wasn’t full-blown screaming and yelling, but the tension was crippling. I was tired of fighting. How much could one woman take?

I guess I’d find out. My only option tonight was to suck it up and deal. And since I couldn’t do my laundry like I’d planned, I’d finish studying for the night and go to bed early. Except my backpack was downstairs, the last place I wanted to go. “Grr.”

I headed along the hallway, but at the top of the landing, Maverick’s voice stopped me.

“Dude, this is not going well.”

I blinked.

“No shit.” Rush let out a dry laugh as the sound of a stool at the bar slid across the floor. “This is hard.”

“What happens when all that hard work turns out to be for nothing because this isn’t even your kid?”

I flinched, nearly falling backward. Was that Maverick’s problem? He didn’t believe me? My hands balled into fists.

“I’m not making her do a paternity test,” Rush said. “For the last time, fucking drop it.”

“I’m not going to drop it. This is your future, Rush. She’s using you. It’s already starting. Seventy-five bucks off rent. Takeout runs for dinner. What’s next? That piece-of-shit car of hers gets replaced. She’s using you. Everyone can see it but you.”

I shut my eyes as the tears flooded. Angry, hot tears. Is that what the locker room talk was about these days? How I was trying to take Rush Ramsey for every penny?

Fuck these football players. I swallowed the lump in my throat and raised my chin. Then I walked downstairs and into the living room, refusing to pretend I hadn’t been eavesdropping.

Maverick’s gaze flicked my direction.

Rush twisted to look over his shoulder.

“I’m getting the test,” I ordered as I came to a stop beside the couch. “Then you’ll know I’m not lying.”

“I know you’re not lying.” Rush turned back to Maverick.

“Not you.” I stabbed a finger at Mav. “Him.”

Maverick had the decency to look sorry.

If he wasn’t such an asshole, he’d actually be handsome. Not as good-looking as Rush, but Maverick was hot. Except his personality meant that his face did absolutely nothing for me.

I hurried to the table, grabbing my backpack, then, my heart racing, started for the stairs when Rush’s voice made me stop.

“I’m not getting tested,” he said. “You can go to the doctor if you want, but it’s a waste of your time. I’m not doing it. And this is the last time I’m going to talk about it. Understood?”

Maverick’s sigh filled the room. “Fine.”

The tears came back. It was the hormones. I’d cried more in the last four months than I had in the past four years. Except I couldn’t seem to stop. My eyes flooded fast, but I wouldn’t let Maverick see me cry, so I kept my back to them, blinking furiously and breathing through my nose until the sting was gone.

Footsteps echoed at my back. Then they grew fainter down the hallway until a door shut. Maverick’s door.

With him gone, silence settled, thick as fog.

“I hate how this is going,” Rush said.

“Me too.”

The stool slid across the floor, then came more footsteps. I felt the heat from his body before a hand landed on my shoulder. “Want to get out of here? Go to dinner or something?”

“You just ate a sandwich.”

“So?”

I shook my head. “No, thanks. I went to the store yesterday. I’ll just eat here.”

“It’s my treat. Dinner.”

I closed my eyes and as much as I tried to hide it, the reaction was almost automatic. I tensed.

He felt it.

His hand dropped, and I missed the touch immediately.

“Don’t take that as charity. I’m just offering to buy you dinner. Think of it as a date.”

My heart trilled. Damn it. That shouldn’t happen at the idea of a date. Maybe it was just hunger pangs.

I turned enough to look up at him over my shoulder. “You’re asking me on a date?”

“No.” He scoffed. “It’s just dinner.”

Ouch. Was the idea of dating me really so awful? “Don’t sound so appalled. I wouldn’t have accepted anyway.”

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “Wait. What? I’m not appall⁠—”

“Forget it.” I walked away, refusing to look at him as I climbed the stairs.

Then like I did most nights, I curled into a ball on my bed and fell asleep with tears sliding down my face.