Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
MAVERICK
The world is still—shrouded in the night’s calm. The moment before things wake. Before the noise begins.
Mia’s buttery curls radiate from the pillow like the sun’s first rays on a winter morning. Her breath slow and steady, cheeks pink with sleep.
I shift carefully, trying not to wake her. I reach for my cellphone on the side table, knowing I’ll find messages I don’t want to read.
I clench my jaw, scrolling through Grayson’s texts.
Bring Mia back in. Everything’s changed.
“What is it?” the beauty next to me asks, groggy-voiced. Her face is peace and safety. Can’t take them from her yet.
“I’ll make coffee, breakfast.”
Her hand palms my chest, fingers tracing the circle that’s ours now.
“No matter what happens, right?” Her bottom lip trembles.
I press my hand over hers, feeling the weight on my heart. “No matter what.”
She inhales, steeling her expression. “Coffee, then, and breakfast. Sounds good.”
I grasp her hand, bring her fingertips to my mouth, and kiss them slowly. One at a time until the heat rises in her cheeks.
“You’re the only good I’ve found in this world, Mia. In a long, long time.”
She licks her lips, face etched in resolve. Rose and plum linger—a knowing that settles deep. Something I have to hold on to come what may.
I sit on the edge of the bed, regaining my senses and my head.
Last night.
Fuck.
Never should’ve happened. Never will regret it. Hope she won’t either.
Her arms thread around my waist, warm breath nestled at my neck. Wish I had answers.
She kisses my cheek, then let’s go.
I dress in silence as she watches, blanket pressed to her chest, putting distance between us.
“You’re already leaving, aren’t you,” she murmurs. Not a question.
I lean toward her, stroking her décolletage and letting the silk of her hair slide between my fingers.
“If this goes where it’s headed… I won’t be allowed to stay.” The words come out dull but weighted. Thudding hollow in the space between us.
“I know,” she sniffles.
No anger. No recrimination. Resignation. That scares me more.
On the wings of the pre-dawn morning, an owl hoots. My body tenses, and her questioning gaze meets mine.
But she doesn’t name the interruption. Neither do I. A silent witness to quiet pain. A part of the circle, too, though I don’t want it to be.
As I head for the kitchen to work on food, my body strains. Every cell wants to rush in to protect her. Do something dramatic, decisive. But I can’t take away her agency. Or fight her fights … unless she asks.
Not acting wrecks me. A torture I can barely hold, though I do it for her.
Floral, smoky notes fill the air when she shuffles into the kitchen and takes a seat. I push a mug of coffee in her direction, already storming with cream.
She watches it raptly, swallowing hard. Then, she opens her laptop and starts scrolling. I read the fallout on her face, illuminated by the screen’s glow.
Pain. Relief. Fear.
“Fan comments. Influencer reactions and stitches. News outlets, comedians.” She bows her head.
“Want to talk about it?” I ask.
She shakes her head, sniffling.
Silence fills the room. But the grandfather clock still ticks. The crickets still chirp. Life never stops.
“What is this?” she asks suddenly, wrinkling her nose when I hand a plate piled high with eggs, bacon, and golden-fried potatoes to her.
I shrug. “Cowboy breakfast.”
“I’ll blow up like a cow if I eat like this.” She shakes her head, pushing her fork around on the plate. “So many carbs. So many calories.”
Her voice is strong but distant, like she’s falling back into old patterns. My chest squeezes at the thought, so tight I almost can’t breathe.
“Do you want to eat like this?” I ask. A simple question.
She freezes as if she doesn’t understand. Suddenly, mischief dances in her eyes. “Do you have ketchup?”
I rifle through the fridge, then place the red bottle in front of her.
She claps her hands together. “Then, hell, yeah, I want to eat like this, just once.”
Just once. Like last night.
I round the counter, sitting next to her, so our knees touch. “What you want doesn’t have to be just once, you know?”
Her cheeks go pink. “Are you flirting with me, Mav?” Bittersweet threads through her voice.
“Reminding you,” I answer, leveling my gaze on hers.
She nods, feeling the sudden heaviness of the moment.
“I won’t forget.”
I’m counting on that. But I don’t say it. The last thing Mia needs is more pressure.
Grayson sits behind his desk, jaw tense. “The conservatorship hasn’t been dissolved … yet. But an emergency advocacy group has stepped in. They’re citing a conflict of interest. Maybe enough to freeze Crowe’s authority, at least, temporarily.”
Mia shifts in her seat, side-eyeing me before looking down. Hope flickers, though she says in low tones, “He won’t give up that easily.”
“No, but a judge has stepped in, allowing legal counsel for you and housing pending review.”
I straighten, bracing for impact.
Grayson’s forehead furrows as he scrutinizes me. “Not here. At a property associated with the advocacy group.”
“Oh,” she huffs, fingers twisting in her lap. My hands ache to comfort her.
“Holt, take her back to the cabin, help her pack her things. Jack’ll be around in about an hour to collect her.”
Mia’s eyes snap to me, her mouth working.
Grayson’s eyes narrow. “There a problem?”
“No,” I say flatly. “But her safety. Has the court weighed in on that?”
“No longer a Lone Star matter,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “Will need to regroup with you later about … next steps.”
“Next steps?” I ask.
He grimaces, running a hand through his hair. “A new assignment. Away from this.”
Grayson delivers the last words like he knows. Guilt tangles behind my chest, a fast-growing vine thick with thorns.
“So, the judge didn’t rule in Edwin’s favor?” the curvy blonde says next to me, like she’s still trying to process everything.
“No.”
“And I can have an attorney?” She arches a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. Her hands twist. “Edwin still controls my finances, though.”
Grayson clears his throat, glaring at me. “The court will have to sort that out. All I know is the advocacy group has offered representation—pro bono. They’ll be able to tell you more.”
She presses her palms against her knees, stilling them. “Okay,” she says softly. “Then, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe.”
He nods slowly. “Your parents would like to see you at some point, Mia. Be prepared.”
We drive in silence, my heart breaking at the thought of her doing all of this alone. But she doesn’t need a savior. She needs steady, strong, patient. I can be those for her.
Mia doesn’t take long to pack, her overnight bag still full from last night. The clock gives us forty more minutes. Not nearly enough.
I tangle my fingers with hers, leading her back to the bedroom and privacy. The quiet fills the empty spots between us as I hold her, sinking my head into her hair, breathing her in. Trying to remember this for always.
“Need you to be strong, Princess.”
She nods, fingers curling in my shirt and drawing me closer.
Our lips meet, heat and longing pressed between us. “Not Princess,” I say firmly, fingers sliding into her hair, dividing her locks without thinking. “Warrioress. Fighter.”
“Ass kicker,” she says in watery tones.
“Don’t I know it,” I grumble, plaiting her silky strands between fingers that remember.
When Jack comes earlier than he’s supposed to—as I expected he would—I carry her bag to the vehicle. Our eyes say everything our mouths can’t, pulses synced in the space before forgetting.
Only I know I won’t. Ever.
She wears my golden braids as the truck pulls out, sunlight catching in the strands.
I brace against the porch railing, exhaling slowly, as the truck disappears in a red dust cloud.
The consequences of every choice I’ve made since my first bodyguard job settle heavy in my chest.
The screen door squeaks. Floorboards whine as I step back into the cabin, prepared to wash away every trace of Mia—and the man she changed.