Page 115 of Maverick

"How many are there?" Zach asks, peering into the carrier.

"Five," I reply, my voice catching. "Three boys and two girls."

Colton frowns, his protective instincts kicking in. "Have they been checked out by a vet yet?"

I shake my head. "Not yet. I found them just before I called you guys."

"They'll need formula," Zach chimes in, already tapping away on his phone. "And probably some kind of heating pad to keep them warm."

Declan pipes up, "What about those little stuffed animals with heartbeats? I've heard those can comfort orphaned puppies."

"I've got most of that already," I explain. "I have formula, and bottles, and heating pads. What I don't have enough of is help…or at least I didn't."

What strikes me most is what they don't ask why someone would dump puppies. They understand the darkness in the world all too well, and other than a few muttered threats under their breath that I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to hear, theyfocus on action, on what can be done right now. Their immediate willingness to help, to dive in without hesitation, brings tears to my eyes. I blink them back, not wanting to worry anyone.

Maverick pushes his - our- apartment door open, and I'm immediately overwhelmed by the scene before me. The spacious living room is a hive of activity, filled with familiar faces all bustling about with purpose. The noise hits me like a wave - excited chatter, barked instructions, and the rustle of bags being unpacked. Everybody is here. All the women, Nan, and even another elderly woman that I don't recognize, but must be Connie, her friend here in the building.

Colton strides in, the puppy carrier held protectively against his chest. He makes a beeline for the center of the room, gently setting the carrier down on the coffee table. "I have the puppies!" he announces like he's a proud dad. He looks at me, brow furrowed. "Where do we put them? Should we make them a bed?"

"The carrier will work for tonight, but we'll need to get them a bigger box that we can line with blankets and puppy pads," I tell him. "It'll help contain the mess."

Kade, who's hovering nearby, furrows his brow. "What are puppy pads?" he asks, genuinely puzzled.

It takes me a second to recalibrate. Of course not everyone knows this stuff. I spend all day every day immersed in it so it's easy to forget not everyone else is. "Well," I begin, "puppies this young can't be potty trained. They pee and poop whenever, wherever, and usually, the mom licks them clean. So we have to take the place of their mom."

The look of horror that crosses Kade's face is priceless. He rears back, eyes wide. "Holy fuck. We need to lick them?" His expression is a perfect mix of disgust and reluctant willingness like he's steeling himself for an unpleasant but necessary task.

I burst into snorting laughter, the tension of the evening finally breaking. "No, no," I manage between giggles. "We can use rags and paper towels to clean them up. We don't have to lick them."

The relief on Kade's face makes me laugh even harder, and thankfully he doesn't seem at all bothered by it. He grins, shrugging good-naturedly. "Hey, I was ready to take one for the fucking team if I had to."

"You're my hero," I tell him, making him roll his eyes at me, then wander away for a closer look at the puppies.

Wiping my eyes, I take in the full scope of the room. Becca and Maya are in the kitchen, unpacking what looks like enough takeout to feed an army. Zach and Declan are setting up a makeshift puppy station in the corner, complete with heating pads and soft blankets. John and Ransom are huddled over Ransom's phone. If I had to guess, they're researching puppies.

Janey appears at my elbow, pressing a warm mug of tea into my hands. "You look like you could use this," she says softly, giving my arm a squeeze.

I nod gratefully, taking a sip. The warmth spreads through me, and I feel some of the tension in my shoulders start to ease. "Thanks," I murmur. "I can't believe everyone's here."

Janey smiles. "Of course we are. That's what family does."

Her words hit me hard, and I have to blink back tears. This is what family does. These people, who I've known for such a short time, have become my family. They've shown up, no questions asked, ready to help in any way they can.

Maverick's arm slips around my waist, and I lean into him, suddenly exhausted. "You okay?" he asks quietly.

I nod, unable to find the words to express how I'm feeling. Overwhelmed, grateful, loved - it's all too much.

"Alright, folks!" Colton's voice cuts through the chatter. "Let's get these little ones settled and fed. Cady, you're the expert here. What do we do first?"

All eyes turn to me, and for a moment, I let myself appreciate each and every one of them, then snap into action. "First, we need to get them warm and comfortable. Then we'll start the feeding process." They all start to move to the carrier, and I raise my voice. "This is going to be a long haul. Trust me, we're going to need everyone's help over the next couple of weeks, and I promise that anyone that wants a turn will get one."

A few shoulders in the crowd relax, and most of the bodies back away. Evie, Mia and Colton all crowd closer as I open the carrier. I carefully scoop up the babies, placing them into Evie and Colton's hands. Maverick and Ransom elbow their way to the front, happily accepting a puppy each. All the adults sink to the floor, cradling the pup to their chests.

Nan moves around our little circle, distributing syringes to the eager adults. She hands out gentle pats on the shoulder, or brushes back a stray wisp of hair, and they all soak it in, every single one of them. "It's easy," she reassures them, demonstrating the proper technique. "You're doing such a good job," she adds, smiling as the puppies all latch on.

I settle onto the floor next to Mia, gently helping her cradle the tiniest puppy in her lap. Nan brings over a syringe, winking at me before moving away, leaving us to our own little bubble.

Mia looks up at me with wide, curious eyes. "Where's their mommy?" she asks, her voice small and filled with concern.