Chapter 13
13
MAVERICK
I 'm a loser. That's all there is to it. Saturday morning, and I've got nothing to do.
Alright, so that's not true. I have plenty I could do. But I'm restless. My sleep has been shit the last week. Too many dreams of soft lips, gentle moans, and my hands tangled in a wild mane of hair.
They feel too fucking real.
My phone dings with the family chime, and maybe I dive for it. I'll do anything right now. Paint a room? I'm your guy. Grocery run? I love grocery shopping.
Nick: I had to bail on Cady today. Ransom wants me to head out and see if I can talk that Blair guy into selling. Any chance you can head there to help out? I have the key, and I can give you the alarm code.
Yeah, I can do that. I'll make some time.
Nick: Yeah, make some time for the woman you're obsessed with. Good plan. Fucker.
Nick: I'll message her, let her know you're coming. Head over around 8, okay?
I'll see her in an hour. That's nothing.
My watch is broken. It has to be. Time is standing still. You'd think a $25,000 watch would work better. I yank out my phone, but it's telling me the same damn thing. I’m parked outside the rescue, too damn early. My fingers drum against the steering wheel. I'm a mess. My stomach is in knots, and I can't stop fidgeting. I check my hair in the mirror for the twentieth time, then groan. Get over yourself, Maverick . I'm aware I'm acting like teenager waiting to pick up a date, which is fucking stupid. This is so far from a date. I'm probably going to have to touch poop again.
Yet I'm still here. That has to say something about my feelings for her, doesn't it, that I'm happily spending my Saturday morning with a bunch of dogs. Not that I don't like animals, but volunteering at a rescue is the last thing I'd add to my plate right now. There already aren't enough hours in the day.
And yet here I am, desperate to get inside. Just like I was several times this week. But this time is different. This time, it’s just going to be the two of us.
"Fuck it," I mumble, hauling my ass out of the car. It's early, but I don't see the harm in heading inside to take care of the dogs. I have the code, and maybe if I get most of the work done before she gets here, we'll get some quality one on one time. To like…talk and shit.
I slip into the rescue quietly, disarming the alarm with the code Nick gave me. Some of the dogs start barking as soon as the keypad beeps. I push through the door to the kennels and greet them, their tails wagging.
"Hey, guys," I murmur, smiling. "Breakfast time." I may not be a dog guy, but how can you not smile at this kind of enthusiasm?
I consult the whiteboard on the wall, making sure I give each dog the right amount of food. Thank fuck she made the chart, otherwise I'd be really lost. As I move from kennel to kennel, the barking settles into a contented silence, punctuated only by the sound of happy munching.
When I get back to the kitchen, I knock a bag of dog food over, spilling kibbles all over the floor. Perfect. Why don't I trash the rest of the place while I'm at it? I search everywhere for a broom and dustpan, but no luck. There's a door marked private off the kennels, so I head that way. The part of me that wants to stay on her good side doesn't want to go anywhere I'm not supposed to, but I want Cadence to walk in and find a giant mess even less.
I open the door quietly, seeing another hallway, with one door marked office, and another marked storage, so obviously, I check there first and bam, there's the broom. "Gotcha!" I say, grabbing it, then turn and bang my shin into a mop bucket. Cursing, I head back down the hallway, and nearly piss myself as a whirlwind of blonde hair and smooth skin attacks me with a bat.
My instincts are well honed thanks to my brothers. When you have as many brothers as I do, you have to always be at the ready. You never know when someone's going to tackle you, or aim a nut-punch your way just because.
I throw my arm up and block the bat, then tuck in and take the luscious blonde to the wall and my body perks up. Dicks are so fucking inconvenient sometimes.
"Cadence," I yell, pressing my body into hers. "It's me, Maverick. Stop for fuck's sake."
She freezes, giving me a second to register details that I didn't before. Like the fact that her legs are mostly bare. Or the serious case of bed head she's sporting. Then other, more disturbing details register.
Her eyes finally meet mine, and in them I see a wild mix of nerves and attitude. "What the fuck!" she breathes, chest heaving. "What are you doing here?"
My brain, cataloging facts and coming up with a conclusion I'm not at all happy about, latches onto her words. "What am I doing here? I think the better question is what the fuck are you doing here?"
Pulling herself up to her full height, still a good eight inches shorter than me, she goes on the attack. Not a bad strategy, but not one that's going to work with me. "Seriously dude? This is my place. How the fuck did you get in here?"
She wants to play it this way? Sure, I'll play. It'll give me a little time to calm the fuck down. "Nick gave me the code, and the key. He texted you to let you know."
She scowls, looking off into the corner. "I broke my phone last night."
"Well, there you go. Now, I was nice enough to answer your questions, how about you answer mine? Ready? Here we go. Question one: Why the fuck are you wearing pajamas and look like you just got out of bed?"
I've met all kinds of liars. Really good ones that look you in the eye and make you believe every word that's coming out of their mouths. Then the middle tier of liars, who have a few tells. They're good enough to fool most people, but not me.
The lower-tier liars aren't believable, but they do it with such conviction and ferocity, that it's exhausting to wade through it. When it happens in a courtroom, it's a tiring, frustrating process.
I wonder what kind Cadence will be?
Scowling, she glares at the middle of my chest. There's a tick in her jaw like she's grinding her teeth. Finally, she raises her hands and pushes against my chest. I step back, giving her a couple inches of space, and privately mourn the loss of contact.
Exhaling heavily, she raises her eyes to mine. I brace myself for the disappointment of her lie. "None of your business."
Well fuck, that's a pleasant surprise. "Maybe not, but I did just get attacked while volunteering at your rescue. I think that makes it my business."
She winces. "I'm sorry about that."
"Good. So sorry, you'll explain why you were sleeping here last night."
"I was tired," she says defensively. But I don't miss the fact that she doesn’t really explain.
"You're in pajamas."
"I wasn't going to sleep in my clothes."
Raking my hand through my hair, I groan. "Can you stop fucking around. Something —"
The door next to us opens, revealing an older woman with short gray hair, sticking straight up, a sleep mask pushed up to the top of her head. "Jesus, what the hell is happening out here. It's Saturday for fuck's sake."
I take another step back, looking between Cadence and her grandma. It's worse than I fucking thought. So much worse.
Cadence looks at her grandma, then me. Her head drops and she sighs. "Nan, everything's under control. Can you head back in?"
She scowls at me, then nods at Cadence. As she enters, I get a glimpse of a cot with a quilted blanket on it, obviously freshly slept in, and on the floor, a sleeping bag with a thin mat under it.
My brain explodes. This is not a one time thing. "Your grandma is sleeping here too?" I ask very softly. If I don't stay soft, I'm going to yell.
Cadence nods, looking deflated. "I —"
The dogs start up their barking, and she glances toward the kennels. "I need to get dressed and take the dogs out."
"And then we talk."
She looks like she's going to argue, but gets a good look at my face, and clamps her mouth shut. Smart woman. She nods, and carefully opens the door, trying to slip in without me getting a look.
Parking myself across the hall, I run through everything that just happened, and come up with the same answer every time. Cadence and her grandma are sleeping here. More than that. They're living here. Little things I didn't think anything of before, like the rack full of dishes, and the pantry stuff on the counter near the sink start looking very different to me. I just assumed it was because she's making lunches at work, but clearly there's so much more going on.
We're silent as we take the dogs out, not for full walks this time, just for a little exercise in the enclosed yard. Thankfully, I don't have to actually touch the poop, just use a little rake and scoop to gather it up. The only time Cadence actually looks at me is the smirk she sends me when she takes the scoop from me.
I gagged a few times. So what.
We're back in the kennels, chores done, but she keeps puttering around, acting like she's busy.
"Cadence," I say warningly. "explain."
Her expression turns mulish. "I don't owe you an explanation, Maverick. I'm a grown woman. I don't answer to you in here. This is my place, my life."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" So much for my legendary control. My patience is gone. "You expect me to just ignore that shit?"
"Why wouldn't you?"
I actually stagger back a step. "Who the fuck do you think I am? You expect me to just be okay with knowing you and your grandmother are sleeping here? It's the middle of the industrial area. This isn't safe Cadence, you have to know that."
"I have an alarm system. It's fine."
"You're delusional!"
She plants her hands on her hips, eyes flashing. "I'm handling it! You don't think I wish things were different? It's not like I woke up one morning and thought, 'You know what? We should go live in my office at the rescue. It'll be great.'" She heaves out a breath. "Life happened. So, like I said, I'm handling it."
"You're not handling it very well. You have a seventy year old woman sleeping on a fucking cot. She should be in a home surrounded by her things. She should be safe."
Devastation washes across her face, followed by anger. "I know that goddammit!"
We're in a standoff, hands propped on hips, mirroring each other's poses, neither one willing to back down. But I'm in the right here. I have no fucking doubts. She can not sleep on a fucking floor.
“What’s happening? Is everything okay?” Abby asks from the doorway. John is standing beside her, looking wary. I didn't hear them come in.
Maybe they can talk some sense into her. “No! It’s not fucking okay. She’s sleeping here.” I hold up a hand, wanting to be damned clear on what's actually happening here. “Scratch that. She and her grandmother are fucking living here. She’s sleeping on the floor.”
Cadence sighs, giving them a guilty look. “You’re making a big deal over nothing. It’s fine. We’re fine.”
Oh, I am so done. Snarling, I stalk her until I have her pressed up against the wall. This discussion is going nowhere fast, and I just hit my limit. I'm using my size to loom over her, but I want to make damned sure my point is made. I lean down until our noses are almost touching. “It’s far from fine, Cady. Now you’re going to turn around, march your ass back into that room, and pack your shit. You and your grandma are coming home with me.”