Page 101 of Maverick

I shrug, trying to play it cool despite the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. "My grandpa was a cop," I explain, glancing at Nan who nods encouragingly. "He was incredibly paranoid, and a huge martial arts buff. I've been in classes for as long as I can remember. Between the back-alley stuff he and his cop buddies taught me and all the formal training, I've picked up a thing or two."

“Wait. The cop. At the station. He knew you?”

“Yeah. He used to work at the same station my grandpa did. He always talked about wanting a cush assignment on this end of town in his golden years.”

“Cush assignment,” Maverick repeats with a grin. “How much more is there that I don’t know about you?”

“I am a woman of mystery,” I joke. He nods, not an ounce of humor on his face.

“Yes, you fucking are.”

The way he says it, the awe and appreciation clear in his voice, makes me a little gooey.

Colton pushes forward, his eyes gleaming. "Cadence, do you think you could make her cry?" he asks, jerking his thumb towards Becca.

I burst out laughing, shaking my head. Before I can respond, Becca lunges for Colton, making him squeak like a startled mouse and dance away.

"Or better yet," Colton calls from a safe distance, "can you teach me some moves so that I can make her cry?"

"Maybe Nan can. She's got some serious skills, too."

Nan snorts, her eyes darting between Colton and Becca. "What's with all the crying?" she asks, clearly bemused by the whole situation.

Becca's voice is calm, but her eyes sparkle with amusement as she explains, "Colton's a little bitch."

I watch in amazement as the three hundred pound mountain of a man gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest like a scandalized southern belle. "You're a little bitch," he sneers back, his attempt at intimidation ruined by the glint of fear in his eye.

His bravado doesn't last long. As soon as Becca takes a step towards him, Colton yelps and tries to run. It's a futile effort. Becca's on him in seconds, pinning him to the mat with practiced ease. And yep, Colton whines and even cries a little bit.

"Come on big guy. You can do it. Just get out of it," Becca taunts, grinning. Maverick, Kade, Micah and Jonas all crowd around him, making not at all helpful suggestions. Even Nan shuffles closer, muttering "this looks like a predicament all right".

Ransom's standing at the edge of the chaos, grinning. Sliding up next to him, I lean in. "Are they always like this?"

His grin gets even bigger. "Nope. Sometimes they're worse."

"Lordy, I can't even imagine growing up like this. And it was your job to wrangle them all these years? How are you still sane?"

He laughs, turning to me and crossing his arms, but not in an intimidating way. More like he's had to stand in this stern father pose for most of his life, so it's comfortable and familiar.

"It was different at the beginning. There was a lot of actual fighting back then. Integrating all of these personalities into one unit took a lot of fucking work. When you come from backgrounds like ours, and from that place, you're used to fighting for what you need. It took a while for everyone to realize that we were a team, and if we were going to fight, because we had to, then we'd be smarter to fight together against a common enemy."

"What was the enemy?"

"We had a few. Poverty was a big one. For a while there was also a real possibility that we'd get split up."

"While you were in that group home you mean?"

"Yeah. When I turned eighteen, I got sent out with a handshake and a 'good luck'."

"That must have been scary. At eighteen Nan was still doing my laundry." And at twenty six when I moved back home, but I'm not going to tell him that. "And you were out there, figuring out how to take care of yourself?"

"No honey, by eighteen I already knew how to take care of myself. I'd been doing it a long time, though laundry still drives me to fucking drink. But I'd been preparing to turn eighteen for a long time. The group home wasn't like a prison, exactly. We could leave, and as long as you were in by lockdown, no one really cared what you did." He grimaces. "Well they didn't care what you did as long as the cops didn't show up. So I made sure I kept my business out of their view."

"I don't really understand you," I admit. "How does a teenager decide to build this family? How did you decide who to pick? And I'm really blown away by the fact that they all bought into it. At that age, we're all so stupid. Full of ourselves, and sure that we know what's best. And then you come along and say 'follow me if you want to live' and they do?"

He coughs out a laugh and shakes his head. "Something like that."

"No, seriously, how did you do it?" How does he become a person that had the confidence to pull that family together? How did he decide to do it in the first place? What drove him? I have so many questions!