Page 84 of Maverick

"He had the best laugh."

"Yeah honey, he did."

"What would he think about Maverick? Do you think he'd like him."

Nan flicks the burner off under her sauce, and lifts the lid on her pasta, giving it a quick stir. Then she turns, giving me a thoughtful look. "That's a hard one Bunny. On the one hand, George didn't much care for lawyers. But there are a lot of things he would like about Maverick. He'd like how family focused he is. He'd like how giving he is of his time. But most of all, Cady? He'd love how Maverick takes care of you."

She's right. Grandpa always complained about lawyers undoing all his hard work. He'd complain that he'd arrest em, then they would be out before the end of his shift. None of the guys on the force much cared for lawyers, but he would put that aside if he met Maverick. It helps that the only criminals he seems to help are his brothers after they've rampaged through a convenience store.

"You're right. He would like him."

The front door swings open, and Maverick saunters in, his presence effectively ending our conversation.. "Evening, ladies," he says, grinning. He always looks so damn happy to be home. Scratch that. He's happy to come home to us.

My poor heart.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the aromas wafting through the kitchen, and lets out an appreciative groan as he tugs at his already crooked tie. "That smells absolutely incredible. Tell me there is enough for me too?" Unable to resist, he makes a beeline for the stove, pausing to press a gentle kiss to Nan's cheek before leaning over the pot, his nose practically touching the surface as he inhales deeply.

Nan chuckles, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks, and waves him away with a mock stern expression. "Of course I made enough for you. I've learned my lesson." Maverick’s cheeks redden at her little dig. We only had to sit through one meal with Maverick sighing, looking longingly into the empty pot for Nan to realize she needed to double all her recipes. Since that day, we've never run low…at least when it's just the three of us. If any other brother shows up though - which they do - we're fucked.

Maverick straightens up, his eyes finding mine across the kitchen. The intensity of his gaze sends a shiver down my spine, and I feel my breath catch in my throat. He crosses the room in two long strides, leaning in to brush his lips against my cheek in a kiss that's both tender and full of promise. The warmth of his breath lingers on my skin as he pulls away, flashing me a quick wink before disappearing down the hall to change.

I make it halfway through my supper before the exhaustion comes back. I rest my chin on my hand, fork dangling and close my eyes, letting Maverick and Nan's conversation float around me. They get along so well. This situation, this man is not something I ever imagined. Yet after only a month, it feels like home. He feels like home.

And we've only been on three dates. This is happening so fast, my head is spinning. And okay, maybe some of the spinning is thanks to my exhaustion. I can't blame it all on him.

"I think I'm gonna turn in early," I mumble, standing up on wobbly legs. "I'm not feeling great."

"Oh," Maverick says, disappointment clear in his voice. He studies my face, brows furrowing with concern. "I thought…well, it doesn't matter. Good night, Cady. Feel better."

I take a shaky step, and suddenly Maverick's there, his hand gently cupping the back of my head. The warmth of his touch is comforting, but it can't quite chase away the growing discomfort.

"Hey," he says softly, "what's wrong? You look pale."

I lean into his touch, grateful for the support. "Just feeling worse and worse," I admit, closing my eyes against a wave of dizziness. "I probably just need to rest."

Maverick's thumb strokes my hair, a soothing gesture that makes me want to curl up right there. "Let me help you to your room," he offers, worry etched across his features.

"It's right there," I mumble, feeling silly for taking the help, but I think I need it, so I let myself dig my fingers into his forearm as we shuffle to my door.

"Are you sure you're alright? Do you need a doctor?" His worry makes my heart twist.

"I'm okay. Today was a shitshow, and I might be coming down with something. Hopefully, I can sleep it off." It's not just wishful thinking. In my experience, sleep can cure almost anything.

He doesn't look convinced but lets me pull away, gently closing the door behind me. I stumble into pajamas — it doesn't matter how tired I am, I'm not taking this much dog hair into my bed — then crawl under the covers. I'm almost out when I feel Nan's cool hand on my forehead.

"You can't be in here," I mumble, pulling away. "If I am sick, you can't be here."

Nan grumbles, but thankfully leaves. The last thing I want to worry about is her getting sick again. Yeah, she's healthy, but the chemo and radiation destroyed her immune system and even though she’s healthy now, I live in fear of her catching a cold or flu and ending up in the hospital.

As long as she stays out of here, I can let myself rest. Everything will be better in the morning.

I wakeup the next morning feeling like I've been hit by a truck. My head pounds, my throat's on fire, and every muscle aches. But I drag myself out of bed anyway. The rescue needs me.

Luckily, when I arrive, some of my volunteers are already there. I barely make it through the morning, stumbling through tasks in a feverish haze, my vision blurring at the edges. Every bark, every squeak of a cage door sends shockwaves through my pounding head. By noon, I'm completely spent, my body screaming for rest. With a twinge of guilt and frustration, I hand off the remaining duties to my most trusted volunteer and head straight home.

I stumble through the front door, my head spinning like a merry-go-round from hell. The drive home is a terrifying blur, and I silently curse the universe for putting me in this position. Thank god something was looking out for me on the road, because I sure as hell wasn't. It's a miracle I made it home in one piece.

I fumble with my phone, my trembling fingers barely able to set an alarm for five hours from now. Sleep. I just need sleep. But even as I drag myself towards my bed, a nagging voice in my head reminds me of all the work left undone at the rescue. Theendless responsibilities, the constant need for my presence - it's suffocating. For a fleeting moment, I resent the very thing I've poured my heart and soul into. Why does it always have to be me? Why can't someone else shoulder this burden, just for one damn day?