Hail Mary (The Mavericks Series) Read online

  Swirling the black coffee inside the plastic cup, Shay glanced up at the clock again.

  6:50.

  He hadn’t felt right leaving Whitney at the hospital all by herself after what she had just endured, so he had stayed. And waited. Waited for Charlotte to finally land in Charleston. Waited for her parents, her family, and hell anybody to show up. But they hadn’t. Not even Adam, her fiancé, which had him baffled above all else. After picking up a screaming pregnant woman and forcing her into his small car, he had practically ran every red light to get her to the hospital; visions of every news report he had ever seen of women giving birth inside taxi cabs or while sitting in traffic crossing his mind. Despite his protests, the nurses had yanked him inside the room as nurses and doctors ran around and blankets and wires were thrown around the room. The screaming and the agony in Whitney’s voice was still echoing inside of him. He didn’t know much about pregnancy, least of all about childbirth, but wasn’t there something they could have given her? It sounded like a form of human torture.

  And he shouldn’t have looked.

  Call it curiosity or a method of self-punishment, he had watched the doctor slide out a baby covered in blood and nothing that he wanted to know about. He had been with his fair share of women, most in similar positions, but he shouldn’t have looked. There was no way a man could recover from that.

  Ever.

  “How ya holding up, handsome?” The thick nurse whom had been in and out of the room since the baby was born came through the door, grabbing his attention. Looking over at Whitney dozing in and out of sleep, she hummed before closing her eyes again. Washing her hands, the nurse chuckled before taking a clipboard off the door. “I was referring to you,” she nodded towards him, fishing a pen out of her pocket. “I need your information for some paperwork.”

  “Oh no, ma’am, I’m not the father,” he corrected quickly holding up his hands. That word would more than likely never be associated with him and he was more than okay with that.

  “Hmm,” the nurse hummed under her breath not taking her eyes off the papers in her lap. “That’s a shame. You’re a real looker.” Slashing her pen across the papers almost violently, she looked up at him. “Great player, too. I’m a big Mavs fan. Husband and I have season tickets.”

  “Good to hear,” he grinned, glancing back over at Whitney in the bed forcing herself to stay awake. He had to admit, he admired her. Despite the amount of pain he had watched her work through and the sheer volume of her screams.

  Jesus, the screams.

  She hadn’t given up even when he knew she had wanted to. Him being no help to her whatsoever. But just as quickly as the baby had been born, all the agony seemed to disappear. Witnessing a pretty incredible moment between her and her daughter, he watched all the suffering and pain in her eyes fade as she cried down into a ball of blanket. It was pretty inspiring. He hadn’t got a real good look at the kid, but she looked cute enough. A lot of hair too. But didn’t all babies look like that? Meeting Whitney’s lazy gaze, he looked away wiping his hand across his mouth. He didn’t know what to say to her. Congratulations, cute kid? Sorry nobody else is here? We barely know each other but I just watched you give birth?

  “It’s just protocol bookkeeping,” the nurse informed before coughing loudly, shifting her weight on the stool. “Full name?”

  Swallowing, he glanced back at Whitney again, her eyes still opening and closing softly. “Uh,” he lowered his voice.

  “Shay Quinn Cunningham.”

  Raising her brow, the nurse hadn’t skipped a beat jotting down his information. He hated his name. Being the youngest of four boys, his mother had been hell bent on leaving her mother’s name to one of her children. Him being the lucky recipient.

  “Here good-lookin’,” she said handing him the papers after another moment, grunting as she stood. “If all the information is correct, just sign at the bottom.”

  Signing the papers quickly, he handed them back to her before she checked a few vitals on Whitney. “There is a cafeteria downstairs on the main floor if ya wanna get yourself something to eat,” the nurse informed replacing a saline bag from the stand beside Whitney’s bed. “You sure do look pale, boy.”

  Taking the nurse’s suggestion, Shay walked through a pair of large double doors watching a family carry balloons and flowers, but requesting to see another patient. He didn’t get it. Where was Whitney’s family? When his sister-in-laws had given birth to any of his nieces and nephews, he vaguely remembered his brothers bitching that their parents wouldn’t leave the hospital. His mother fussed over the baby and his father demanded extra attention to be paid to his daughter-in-law. Passing the all too familiar waiting room, his body shivered. He hated hospitals. He hadn’t been inside one since his friend Liv had gotten hit by a car a few months ago. Shuddering at the memory, he had been forced to watch his captain and friend pace that bleak waiting room pulling his hair out with his wife’s blood stained on his shirt. Luckily she was okay. The strong, stubborn woman that she was had recovered like a champ. Was even carrying their third child and he was genuinely happy for them. They hadn’t always had it easy, but they had persevered. Living the dream. The whole kids, dog and white picket fence shit. The thought of kids bringing him back to Whitney. He wondered what the story was. Where was Adam? Was she in this alone? Who was going to help her get home? Help her recover? Shaking his head, the day was starting to catch up with him. Marriage, kids and all that was nowhere in sight for him. Precisely where he liked it.

  Hearing Myles’ thunderous voice before he saw him, Shay watched his best friend barrel out of the elevator, Charlotte on his heels like a rabid chihuahua.

  “Where is she?” Charlotte yelled, blowing past him, her purse swinging and smacking him before she banged on the nurse’s desk. Myles looked like his nerves were shot as Charlotte yelled past the counter she was barely able to see over.

  “Char, relax,” Shay said lowering his voice. She was concerned for her cousin, he got it, but she was too wound up. And after a front row seat watching Whitney get wrung out, he didn’t want Charlotte getting her worked up again.

  Wait. Why do you care?

  Not ten minutes ago he was hoping that anyone from her family would show up, and now he cared about Charlotte getting her stressed out? Damn, he needed to go home.

  “Room 303,” he called after Charlotte as she sprinted down the hallway ignoring him.

  “Good job taking care of things, Nova,” Myles grinned wrapping his arm around him roughing him up. Shaking his head, Shay squeezed and opened his eyes in exhaustion. “I’d say it made Charlotte feel better that Whitney hadn’t been alone, but that damn woman almost got us kicked off the plane hooting and hollering the way she had.”

  Yeah, finding a woman doubled over in the locker room hallway wasn’t exactly on his list of things to do today, the realization dawning on him for the first time of just what would have happened to her if he hadn’t been in the locker room. If he had decided to sleep through his hangover instead of sweat it out.

  “Dude,” Shay stopped him outside Whitney’s door. “Where’s Adam? The father?” he asked still thoroughly pissed off that the ass hadn’t shown up yet. Or better yet, hadn’t taken over as Whitney screamed through labor.

  Damn it, the screams.

  Grinding his jaw, Myles shook his head and Shay had an idea what was going to come out of his mouth next. “The son of a bitch disappeared three weeks ago. Emptied her bank accounts and nobody’s heard a word from him since. Nobody knows where he is.”

  “You’re shitting me, right?” Shay asked, suddenly feeling angrier than he should. He never liked Adam. Always knew something was screwy with him, but to leave your pregnant fiancée, what man did that?

  “No,” Myles growled tightening his fist. Shay knew one thing for sure that if Adam ever did suddenly reappear, the bastard had better be prepared for the beat down of a lifetime.

  Sounds of Charlotte’s squeals grabbing their attenti
on, he followed Myles into the room he had occupied for the past five hours. Glancing over at the mirror above the sink, he ran his hand through his hair. He looked like shit. Pushing the curtain aside, he stood beside Myles as Whitney sat up, her auburn hair pushed up in a mess on top of head, looking nothing like a woman who had been put through hours of pain. In fact, she looked better than him.

  “Give me my goddaughter,” Charlotte cooed throwing her purse down on a chair reaching for the baby. He hadn’t known they were bringing the kid back to the room. Chuckling with little energy, Whitney handed the baby off to Charlotte and he got a real good look at her. She was beautiful. A small version of her mother for sure. “And I better be the godmother,” Charlotte warned.

  Giving a half-smile, Whitney nodded before glancing over at him. Their eyes catching a moment he wondered how bad of a support system he had really been. How royally he had screwed up. But he was glad that her family was here now. That people were here for her.

  “Hi, pixie,” Charlotte smiled, caressing the baby’s cheek. Charlotte had never struck him for the whole maternal bliss type, the stark difference of the delicate baby blanket pressed against her hard leathered jacket, but she sure looked happy holding her goddaughter. Myles on the other hand, looked like a pile of mud making him sick with his baby talk. “What’s her name?” Charlotte’s head popped up looking at them.

  Clearing her throat, Whitney pushed herself up again struggling a bit. Resisting the urge to help her, he dug his hands deeper inside his pockets. “Quinn,” she answered softly, her voice rough. “Quinn Avery Scott.”

  Quinn.

  The air got caught in his throat a moment and she smiled quietly at him, her eyes warm and soft. She named her baby after him? Well, after his grandmother, but still. The name he had spent his entire life hating and being on the receiving end of jokes now belonged to a beautiful little girl? A little girl he had just watched take her first breath.

  12 weeks later…

  “Charlotte, I swear if you take one more selfie.”

  Narrowing her eyes on her cousin, Whitney looked at her over her coffee cup. The girl had been at it for over ten minutes already.

  “No you won’t,” Charlotte pursed her lips snapping again. “You don’t swear.”

  This was true. She didn’t swear. Three years of etiquette class and finishing school had only left her with a no cussin’ rule and knowledge on how to properly set a dinner table when hosting over thirty guests. Picking up her plate from the table in the kitchen, Charlotte dumped it into the sink draining the last of her own coffee before dumping that into the sink as well.

  “Could you please put that in the dishwasher?” Whitney asked. She loved her cousin, she really, really did, but she was a slob. She often found herself tidying up after Charlotte more than her own three month-old daughter. Paired with Whitney’s slight obsessive cleanliness, it hadn’t been the easiest transition when she had moved into Charlotte’s condo right before having Quinn.

  “Well, if I did that than I wouldn’t have enough time to shave my body for Myles’ game,” Charlotte shrugged, running her hands through her short, platinum hair.

  “And why do you need to shave your body for a football game exactly?” she asked, fearful of the answer. Her cousin was forward. Many times too forthcoming when it came to her sexuality.

  “Because when the Mavericks win today, he’s going to be looking to celebrate.” Looking at her as if she was silly for not thinking of that on her own, Charlotte leaned against the kitchen counter. The vision of Myles and Charlotte doing any kind of celebrating was enough for her to put her coffee down. “What’s up with you today?” Charlotte asked. “Not get enough sleep? I didn’t hear Quinn up too many times last night?”

  No, Quinn hadn’t woken up much. Instead of her usual three nighttime feedings, her sweet girl was beginning to sleep longer, allowing Whitney more precious hours of sleep. But despite her best efforts, she hadn’t taken advantage of the time. Tossing and turning all night long doing what she did best these days. Mull things over in her head. And worry. Lots and lots of worrying. Shrugging her shoulder, she made her way into the kitchen rinsing off both of their dishes. She didn’t want Charlotte worrying about her. She had already opened her home, sacrificing what little space she had left for them. Her precious wine fridge shoved inside the small laundry room and her sewing table elbowed inside her room. She appreciated Charlotte. Knowing for certain that she wouldn’t have been able to get through the last few months without her.

  “Come to the game with me today,” Charlotte said picking up Quinn from her swing, sucking on her round cheeks. “We can take pixie here with us and get some of those badass headphones for kids to protect her ears.”

  “Language,” Whitney chimed putting the dishes into the dishwasher, closing it with her hip. “And no. I’m going to work on some details for a large rehearsal dinner Ross and I have coming up.”

  She had been working more than usual lately. Mostly in part to keep her mind busy and to replenish her savings account that Adam had depleted the day he had taken off. Although it also didn’t help that they were low on staff at Save the Date. Her boss Liv, the owner, had stepped down on daily duties, focusing most of her efforts on the design aspect of each event and charity functions, giving her more time to focus on her family and relinquishing some obsessive controlling tendencies. Which left Ross, Liv’s partner, and Whitney the bulk of the work. Charlotte ran the office and handled the phones in between secretly designing sketches for her fashion line.

  “It’s Sunday, why are you going to work?” Charlotte asked swinging Quinn on her tiny hip, wiping the bubbles from her mouth.

  Do you want your half of the rent this month?

  Charlotte didn’t get it. And of course she wouldn’t because she hadn’t told her just how bad a financial position Adam had left her in when he disappeared and she refused to take any money from her mama and papa. They would enjoy the chance to remind her of all the wrong choices she had made in her life far too much. Ignoring her probing, Whitney took Quinn, kissing her sweet girl’s dark hair, smoothing it out. “Just a girl’s day today, right angel?”

  “Alright then,” Charlotte shrugged grabbing her phone off the table. “Suit yourself.”

  Watching Charlotte disappear down the small hallway, she let out a breath grateful that she hadn’t put up a fight. Truth was, she didn’t want to work on her only day off. She had been putting in so many extra hours lately, she really didn’t have a lot left to accomplish. But she also needed to avoid all things Mavericks for a little while longer. And twelve weeks had not been enough time to do just that. Grabbing a bottle off the drying rack, she could still feel Shay’s hand tightening around her own while she pushed inside the delivery room in both pain and fear; could still picture his eyes on her the moment she announced Quinn’s name. Shortly after Charlotte and Myles had arrived that night, the entire delivery room had filled quickly with friends and their children and she noticed Shay had disappeared somewhere in the middle of all the chaos. She should have reached out to him. Should have found him and thanked him a hundred times over for getting her through the scariest and most beautiful moment of her entire life. But she hadn’t. Ashamed of herself and for her lack of manners, she rested the wide bottle inside Quinn’s mouth as Shay’s piercing blue eyes flashed inside her head again. Yes, as much as she wanted to thank him for all his help that record breaking hot day in July, she was mortified. Humiliated. Women didn’t deliver their babies in front of super athlete Shay Cunningham. They offered to have his babies.

  Yes, for now she needed to avoid Shay Cunningham. Every magnificent, blonde-haired, blue-eyed part of him.

  Pivoting down at the four yard line, Shay ducked around a cornerback out for blood. Jumping past the lug, he caught a beauty of a pass that his quarterback, Jax, had sent down the field. Twisting around the safety, he fell over the goal line.

  Fuck yeah!

  Spiking the ball, the stadium ign
ited as the announcers yelled his name over the loud speakers. The beautiful play had given the Mavs the six points they needed and he watched Colbie kick a perfect field goal giving them the extra point. Tennessee was wound up today, but they were slow on defense, giving Jax enough time to calculate inside the pocket. Their chemistry was on point this afternoon and he knew the Titans didn’t have what it took today to break that. Slamming down on the bench he let the water boy splash water inside his mouth, before spitting it out between his feet. Taking a towel from him, he wiped his eyes, getting rid of the sweat stinging them.

  “You keep this up,” his coordinator Nolan ordered, cupping his neck. “You and Monaghan, you keep this up.” Lifting his Bose mouthpiece up higher, Nolan yelled over the noise of the crowd. “One more catch like that and we got this, you hear me.”

  Banging down on his shoulder pads, Nolan headed down the sideline. Looking up at Tennessee’s quarterback back down on the ground again courtesy of Myles, he grinned. Slipping his helmet back on, Nolan’s words echoed in his head again. Yeah, he needed Monaghan to keep lining them up for him in the end zone. Just like they had practiced all week. Running onto the field inside the huddle, he listened carefully over the thunderous screams, the fans’ energy only fueling him.

  “686 F-Stop on two,” Monaghan screamed clapping his hands. “Let’s finish this.”

  Lining up at the line of scrimmage, Shay eyed the cornerback before shooting him an arrogant kiss just to piss him off. The oaf better be ready for him because there was no way he was going on his ass. Not today. Not with management watching his every move. He was in the zone. He owned this game.

  “Set. Go. Ottawaaa!” Monaghan called out, changing the play as the ball snapped. Faking left, he twisted free from the safety speeding down the field. Going wide, he was mindful of staying inbounds as he caught Monaghan’s bomb, the ball crashing against his chest. The hit stalling his breath a beat, the crowd went nuts again.