Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
MAVERICK
What if the bravest thing a man can do is not save a woman—but stand beside her while she burns down the cage?
I side-eye Mia as we drive in silence toward headquarters. Her face is a passive shield. But her hands work in her lap again, twisting, trembling, carrying everything bottled up inside.
She asked if I’d stay.
The one thing I can’t guarantee. Only I said I would. And I mean to.
I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking.
Her phone vibrates, and she pulls it out of her purse, holding it like it could sting her. The look on her face tells me it does.
“That Crowe?” I ask, already knowing.
“Unknown number.” She sniffs.
“And what’s he saying?”
“That medical professionals agree. It’s time to end this. My making a scene, going to the public, only strengthens the conservatorship claim.” She swallows loudly.
“It only has power if you believe it, Mia.”
“Yeah,” she sighs. I don’t know if it’s exhaustion or if she’s second-guessing herself.
The red Texas clay rolls by, fence-lined pastures with horses and cattle on either side. I long to reach out, grab her hand and calm her all over again. But not now.
Time to be a professional. To play things by the book, attempt to salvage what I can. Not push Mia into a situation she’s not ready for. One she may be clinging to, just to feel safe.
At the compound, I round the vehicle, grinding my teeth against the chronic ache in my hip. Concentrating on not limping, though the joint’s stiff and hurts like hell.
Grayson meets us at the door, arms crossed. His face is cut from marble, not an emotion in sight. But I can feel the agitated energy pouring off him as he ushers us back to his office.
“Ms. Love,” he says with a hand gesture toward a seat.
“Lowell,” she corrects, straightening her posture. It means more than my boss can understand.
Leather squeaks as Grayson sits behind his desk. The air smells of gun oil and old leather.
“I’ll keep this brief and to the point,” he says, resting his forearms on his desk. “Ms. Lowell, Lone Star’s legal team, received a call this morning from Edwin Crowe informing us of an escalation.”
A puff of air escapes her soft pink lips. Her eyes dart to me, searching. The corners of my mouth tip up. But my mind’s going too fast for meaningful pleasantries.
“He’s petitioning the court for an institutional review. Claiming your current behavior is linked to a complicated string of psychological diagnoses you’ve wrestled with for years.”
She shakes her head, a low hiss escaping her. “Of course. Let me guess. Manic depression, borderline personality, suicidal ideation…”
Grayson says, “I can’t speak to the medical side of things. But Crowe’s definitely making moves to get you back under his … supervision.”
Her voice shakes. “You mean, his control.”
“Your parents are concerned. That’s why they hired Lone Star Security. To get to the bottom of things.”
“What do you mean?” she sniffs unimpressed.
“They came to us with concerns about your security,” he explains. “Your relationship to your manager. A close call in Rhode Island before the incident here, and the fact Crowe may have taken out life insurance policies on you.”
“Standard for performers,” she counters, going pale.
“Maybe,” Grayson grumbles, unconvinced.
She stares at her fidgeting hands. “Don’t let my parents convince you they care or that they’re doing this for me.”
Ice threads her voice.
Grayson counters, “They seemed very concerned about you when we spoke.”
“Yeah, they’re good at that,” she spits out.
My boss grimaces. “After the shooting at the arena, they asked us to buy time, to try to get to the bottom of what’s going on. But you haven’t been very forthright.”
Her head jerks up, and she eyes me, confused. Hurt stings her eyes, pales her cheeks. “Did you know about this?”
Her question throws me off. “Your parents hiring Lone Star? Of course.”
“No. Did you know my parents wanted you to spy on me?”
I shake my head.
Her bottom lip quivers. “They’re money grubbers. That’s all they are. They don’t care about me. Don’t care about what I’ve done with my life—my achievements. They just want to rob me blind.”
I straighten, placing my palms on my knees. “Those words don’t sound like they came from you.”
Her eyes flash with anger. But then, something deeper, sadder overtakes them. “Because that’s what Edwin would say.”
“Have you ever thought about why Crowe says those things?” I ask.
Grayson’s eyes dart between us. “I can step out?” he offers.
“No,” Mia and I say at the same moment, then look away from each other awkwardly.
Silence.
Finally, Grayson asks, “Do you have any other questions for me, Ms. Lowell?” Mia shifts uneasily but shakes her head. “In that case, we should probably wrap this up.”
We stand.
But then, Grayson adds, “Holt, I need to speak to you privately for a moment.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mia, there’s a conference room at the end of the main hallway with drinks and lunch. Please make yourself at home.”
Her eyes flick to the door. Calculating. Bracing. Alone again.
Then, she glares at me for one breathless moment, like she can’t make sense of any of this.
I step back, open the office door, and she passes through, body language stiff, silence brutal. I close it behind her and wheel back around, crossing my arms.
“Crowe’s pulling out all the stops now.”
“What else is there besides a psych eval?” I ask, head churning.
“He’s floating a temporary injunction and a guardianship compliance review.”
My hands fist at my sides.
“Her parents and their legal counsel might be able to buy her a few more days…”
I stare at the wooden desktop as if it holds the answers to the universe.
“But if she posts again—or speaks publicly—we may have to withdraw protection. If this becomes adversarial, Lone Star can’t legally remain neutral.”
“Understood.”
He scrutinizes me, mouth twitching. “Anything else you need to tell me?”
Guilt washes over me like a tidal wave. Her journal entries. The communications she keeps getting. The statement I proofread and encouraged her to post. I should tell Grayson everything.
“No, sir.”
“Alright.” His face is dark, conflicted.
I remain silent—not because the details are unimportant, but because they are not mine to give.
Mia hungers for agency. Freedom to make her own choices. How can I take that away from her without losing pieces of myself?
Still, I can tell by my superior’s face that there will be hell to pay when Grayson finds out.
A weight bears down on me as I leave his office.
I just lied for Mia. No turning back now.
But I didn’t break her trust.
I chose her.