20. Clara #2
Maverick moves to lie on top of the comforter—like last time—but I quirk an eyebrow at him. “I’m not going to bite, Mav. You can get under the blankets.”
A chuckle rumbles in his chest. He slides beneath the covers, shifting onto his side—his front to my back. Inches separate us, but I need him closer. I scoot back, silently hoping he gets the hint.
He does.
The tension in my body unravels as his arms wrap around me, pulling me against him. Between Juno’s warmth and Maverick’s solid presence, I’ve never felt safer—even with the low lighting.
“Thank you for this, Mav.”
“You don’t have to thank me, sunshine.” He presses a soft kiss to the back of my head, then runs his hand down my arm three times before tracing slow, soothing circles.
“You do that a lot.”
“Do what?”
“Things in threes. You tap three times, knock three times… it’s always in threes.”
“Huh.” He’s quiet for a moment, and I revel in the feel of his fingers continuing their gentle pattern on my skin. “My mom… She used to say the number three is a symbol of completeness. I guess it helps me feel balanced when I'm feeling unsteady. Didn’t realize I did it enough for you to notice.”
I notice everything about him. It’s hard not to. But I don’t tell him that.
“Are you feeling unsteady now?”
“I’m… uneasy. Knowing he’s still out there puts me on edge. I need to keep you safe.”
“You do.” I adjust my head on his arm. “I hope you know that.”
Finding myself curious about his family, I ask, “Are you close with your mom?”
“I was.” His voice tightens with emotion, and I immediately regret asking. “She passed away a few years ago.”
I suck in a breath. “I’m so sorry, Mav. That must’ve been hard.”
He nods against me. “It was. My parents had me later in life—I was their only child. My dad passed away about two years before her, but they were both in their eighties. They died in their sleep.”
The pain of losing a parent—both parents—is a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I say nothing, just reach up until I find his hand, intertwining our fingers and resting them on my shoulder.
“What about your family?” he asks after a beat. “Tamara mentioned you’re estranged. Do you have any siblings?”
I stiffen. I knew this was coming. I didn’t want to talk about my family with Ash, but I opened this can of worms by asking about his.
“You don’t have to answer,” he adds, sensing my hesitation.
“No, it’s okay.” I clear my throat and swallow hard. “I don’t have any siblings. It was just me. My mom and my stepdad. My dad, too.”
I haven’t talked about my family since I told Tamara a couple of years ago.
It’s a crushing weight, bearing down on me, threatening to pull me under.
I have good days and bad days. On good days, I can think of my mom without an overwhelming sense of sadness—I can acknowledge that I miss her, then continue with my day.
But when those bad days hit? I feel as though I’m drowning.
Images of my mom and the sound of her voice fill my head, making my heart ache—all the memories of what was and the longing for what could’ve been.
On those days, I can’t shake the sadness.
I start to think that maybe I can talk about it without crying, but the moment I feel the sting behind my eyes, I know it’s a lost cause.
Clearing my throat, I continue in barely a whisper, “I miss them, you know? Especially my mom. I have to tell myself she’s dead because it’s the only way I can cope. ”
A tear escapes before I can stop it. I cover my eyes, taking a shaky breath. “Crap.”
“It’s all right, sunshine. I have you.” Maverick squeezes my hand.
“It’s been years since we’ve spoken—I don’t think the grief ever goes away, you know?
” And I know he does; I know he understands how I’m feeling because we share a similar loss.
“But I do miss her. I miss her lumpia,” I confess with a rueful chuckle.
“They’re these Filipino egg rolls, and they were my favorite.
She’d cook any Filipino dish I asked for.
I can never make them as good as she can; it just doesn’t taste the same.
And I miss the way she smelled. Is that weird? ”
“No, not weird at all. I miss the way my mom smelled, too.” He pauses, then, with a soft voice, he asks, “Can I ask what happened between you?”
Dampness gathers where my cheek rests against his arm. I start to shift, intending to wipe it away, but Maverick only holds me tighter.
“I didn’t always agree with their beliefs—religious or political,” I start, voice unsteady.
“I usually nodded and smiled any time they said something I disagreed with; we didn’t always have to agree, you know?
But my stepdad… He found God later in life, and that became his entire identity.
There’s nothing wrong with that, of course—to each their own—but he had a hard time accepting when other people viewed things differently.
I think he thought it was a challenge—a challenge to his faith, even though it wasn’t.
He kept pushing and pushing… pushing his faith onto me.
When he told me I’d go to hell because I don’t believe in God, I couldn’t take it anymore.
” I take a breath, steadying myself. “And my mom... she supported him. Once, she would’ve fought for me.
She used to say nothing mattered more than blood.
But I guess that’s changed. So when it became too much, I cut ties with them. I walked away,” I finish sadly.
Maverick exhales sharply. “That’s fucked up. I’m so sorry.”
“It is,” I sigh. “But I’ve learned that family isn’t just about blood. Sometimes, blood ties are toxic—unhealthy—and you have to let them go.”
“And your dad?”
“God, I haven’t seen him in… thirteen, maybe fourteen years?
He lives on the East Coast. We don’t talk much.
Mo stly because of me.” I pause, then correct myself.
“No, it’s all because of me. It’s not that we weren’t close—we were, a long time ago.
But after so much time apart, he’s practically a stranger. I don’t know how to bridge that gap.”
I release a breath. “I’m so thankful for Tamara. She’s like the sister I never had. Hell, she’s all I have.”
Sleep tugs at me, sadness settling into something quieter—something bearable in Maverick’s embrace. And just before I drift off, I swear I hear him whisper, “You have me now too, sunshine.”
But maybe it's just a dream.