17. Clara #2
Maverick turns off the stove and carries both pans over to the island counter where black silicone trivets await the scorching cookware.
He sets them down and stares at me, his expression full of concern.
“Will you be okay if I head into the office today? He doesn’t know where you are; you’re safe here, I promise. But I can stay if you want me to.”
The full weight of his attention is unnerving—almost as if he can see right through me. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Still, I’m glad he didn’t push when I said I haven’t been sleeping well. “I’ll be okay.”
He makes a disbelieving sound before reaching for plates and coffee mugs from the cabinet above the sink. After piling my plate with eggs, bacon, and buttered toast, he slides it in front of me. “Eat. Want coffee?”
“So bossy,” I mumble before digging in. Maverick quirks a dark brow, and I recover quickly, offering him a sheepish smile. “Er, I mean… Thank you for breakfast. It’s really good. And yes, please. I’d love coffee.”
“You’re welcome.” He shakes his head, trying his best to hide a smirk before grabbing the coffee pot and filling both mugs to the brim. “Black, no cream or sugar.”
He remembers. I don’t know why that does something to me, but it does.
“Thank you. Truly.” I carefully lift my mug and blow into it, watching the rising steam disappear. “When are you heading into work?”
“In about an hour. I’ll bring dinner. And there’s food in the fridge when you get hungry.”
“Burgers?” I ask hopefully, unable to hide my little shoulder dance when he nods.
We finish breakfast in comfortable silence. Before Maverick can reach for my plate, I hop off the stool and make a beeline for the sink. “I’ll wash the dishes.” As expected, he starts to protest, but I cut him off with the same look my momma used to give me. “You cooked. I clean. It’s only fair.”
An exasperated sigh leaves him, but he doesn’t argue. “Thanks, Clara. I’m going to get ready and put a call in for an unmarked car to sit outside while I’m gone.”
“No,” I rush out. “That’s not necessary. I’ll be okay, I promise.” It’s not like he didn’t get past the protective detail posted outside of my apartment last night, anyway.
Maverick gives me a long, searching look then nods. “Text me if you need anything today. Anything at all, you hear?”
“I will.” Not.
I spend most of the day on the couch, curled up with my new best friend and binge-watching a TV series about a lone survivor of a race with black blood.
The female lead is fierce—strong, independent, and takes zero shit.
She makes me want to be more like her. Halfway through season one, my phone vibrates.
Tamara
Hey best friend. Want company?
Clara
I’d love some! But I’m at Maverick’s.
Instead of responding to my text, Tamara immediately video calls me. I roll my eyes and hit accept. “What the hell are you doing at Maverick’s?”
“Well, uhm... He came to get me last night. Or I guess it was early this morning.”
“That’s fucking obvious, sister. And you know it’s not what I meant.”
I sigh, dragging a hand down my face. I’ve been good today. I haven’t thought too much about what happened. I haven’t even checked the locks and windows obsessively—not with Juno next to me.
My voice is shaky and quiet as I walk Tamara through everything—from the moment I woke up to the second I stepped into Maverick’s house. A few times, I have to pause when she shrieks, “Oh my god!”
“So, here I am,” I finish, forcing a smile. But Tamara knows me too well; she knows it’s fake as all get out.
“Why the fuck didn’t you call me?!”
“I’m sorry, Tam. I panicked and called him.”
“I meant today. You didn’t call me today. How can I be there for you when you don’t tell me this shit, Clara?”
A wave of guilt crashes into me, threatening to drag me under with its weight. The feeling is only amplified when I see her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry, Tamara. I swear, from now on, I’ll tell you everything right away.”
“You better, damn it.”
“I will. I love you, Tam.”
“I love you, too, best friend. Call me later, okay? I work tonight, but I’ll answer when I can.”
Hanging up the phone, I set it on the armrest, then lean down to rest against Juno’s warm body.
Talking to Tamara always lifts my spirits, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little envious that she’s still herself—she’s still free.
I miss working and being around other people, but the thought of exposing myself to the outside world—knowing he’s still out there—is utterly terrifying.
After dinner, I watch Maverick make his rounds through the house, ensuring the garage is closed and checking the locks on the doors.
Once he heads into his room to shower, I move through the house to make my own rounds.
The feel of my fingertips gliding over the locks and handles soothes the anxiety coiled tight in my chest. I know they’re secure—I’ve already checked multiple times, and Maverick just did the same—but my brain won’t let me stop. Not yet.
At the front door, I test the deadbolt, twisting it back and forth to be sure it’s locked.
Then I jiggle the handle once, twice, three times.
It doesn’t budge. The garage and back doors are next.
I keep my breathing slow and measured, counting the seconds before forcing myself to step away and move on to the living room windows.
I pull back the curtain just enough to peek outside before running my fingers along the latch.
Locked. I test it anyway, my stomach knotting at the thought of it somehow, impossibly, coming undone.
It holds firm. I exhale, but the tension in my chest doesn’t ease.
It wasn’t this bad earlier today—the darkness is making it worse.
I don’t know how long I spend going through the motions, checking and rechecking every entry point, every possible vulnerability. The only room I leave untouched is Maverick’s.
A sound behind me makes my pulse stutter. I whirl around, breath catching—only to find Maverick standing in the dim light of the hallway, arms crossed. He doesn’t say anything at first; he just watches me, his expression unreadable.
“It’s all locked up, sunshine,” he finally says, voice low and even. “You’re safe here.”
I hold his gaze, his warm brown eyes steady on mine, before I nod automatically.
But I don’t think he buys it. Hell, I don’t even buy it.
Because no matter how many times I check the locks, no matter how solid these walls feel around me, the fear lingers—curling in my chest, whispering that nowhere is truly safe.