Chapter 21
21
CADENCE
I can do this. It's not a big deal. I've told lots of guys I like them, and it's never gone bad.
The mental pep talk doesn't help. Maverick isn't just any guy, and our situation sure as hell is not simple.
And I've never cared this much about someone wanting me back. I've always been a 'lots of fish in the sea' kind of girl, so I never hesitated to cut someone loose, confident there would be another man when I wanted one.
I miss that confidence. I miss the stakes being low.
Exhaling, I push the door open. But instead of finding the place lit up with Nan cooking in the kitchen like I normally would, it's dark.
"Nan?" I call, pushing her door open. Empty. "Maverick?" I don't hear anyone. I guess I'm on my own for supper. One downside of living with a grandma who loves to cook is that it makes learning how to do anything more than grilled cheese completely unnecessary. I'd feel bad about it, but Nan lights up in the kitchen, especially when there's someone to cook for.
Food and cooking are love.
About to yank the fridge open and grab sandwich stuff, I spot the note. "Come upstairs when you get home," in Nan's handwriting. She knows how to use a smartphone, so she could have texted me, but the fact that she didn't is also totally her.
Handwritten notes are as much a part of my childhood as home cooking. Notes in my lunch kit, reminder notes on the bathroom mirror, passive aggressive little notes on my pillow when I snuck back into the house. The woman must have bat hearing, because I never went out without finding one of those notes when I got home.
Holding her note in my hand, I climb the stairs to Ransom's penthouse, my heart pounding with each step. What am I about to walk into? With these guys, it could be a simple supper, or a stolen tiger from an off-book circus. Either feels equally likely.
I push it open, revealing a scene that instantly melts away my nerves.
Nan, Jonas, Maverick, and Ransom are all huddled around the massive kitchen island, laughing and chatting as they roll out a variety of cookie doughs. Flour dusts their cheeks and shirts, and the countertop is a beautiful mess of mixing bowls, measuring cups, and colorful sprinkles.
"Cady!" Nan exclaims, waving me over with a cookie cutter. "Come join the fun, Bunny!"
I grin, shrugging off my jacket and rolling up my sleeves. As I approach, Maverick's eyes meet mine, and everything I want to say to him catches in my throat. His smile is soft and warm, and I feel a flutter in my chest.
"Hey," he says, his voice low and gentle. "We convinced Nan to make cookies. I saved you some dough."
Our fingers brush as he hands me a ball of cookie dough, and electricity sparks between us. I duck my head, focusing on flattening the dough and cutting out shapes.
The kitchen is filled with laughter and playful banter as we work.
I'm watching Jonas meticulously arrange his cookies in perfect rows, when out of the corner of my eye, I spot Ransom sneaking a ball of raw dough. Laughing, I shake my finger at him. "Nan always told me I'd get worms if I eat the dough raw."
He lowers his hand and eyes Nan, who nods. He picks up another ball of dough gazing at it, then back at us. I see the conflict, the desire, the self-restraint. And I see the moment he cracks. Shrugging, he pops it in his mouth anyway. "Worth it."
Maverick picks up a ball of dough and sniffs it, the groans. "Worms? Really?"
Nan presses her lips together to keep from laughing. "It's the luck of the draw kid. You might be fine, or you might end up in the emergency room. There's raw eggs in there."
"Didn't Arnold and Rocky drink raw eggs? They're both still kicking, aren't they?" he asks hopefully.
Jonas shakes his head. "You can't know. They would not admit to having worms."
He's got a point. Not like you'd want that information shared with the masses.
Maverick sighs, and smells it again, then catches me looking. His cheeks redden and he puts it back on the cookie tray. Grinning, I slide in closer, until our sides are pressed together. "It's okay. I've had little bites through the years, and I've never gotten sick."
Lifting a ball of the chocolate chip dough, I bring it to his lips. He doesn't hesitate, taking a bite, groaning at the taste. My fingers tingle where his lips touched them.
I am a hormonal mess.
"You'll be okay, I promise. It's just one little taste. What harm can one little taste do?" You're reaching Cady. Pathetic.
"You're right. One little taste never hurt anybody," he says, licking his lip. We're not talking about cookies anymore. Maybe we never were.
"But even just a taste can change things," I whisper, leaning against the counter. The sounds in the background, the laughter, the whir of the mixer, all of it fades to a dull chatter as I focus on the man caging me in at the counter.
"Is that such a bad thing, though? Change doesn't have to mean bad. It can be very, very good."
"For a while, yeah. But?—"
My words cut off with a strangled breath as he runs his finger along my lower lip. I feel it everywhere. I feel him everywhere.
"I learned a long time ago, that if you expect the worst, you'll usually get it. So let's not do that, okay?"
"Okay," I breathe, holding back the moan. He's not wrong. Thinking everything is going to work out fine feels a hell of a lot better than looking around corners, waiting for the bad.
And if the bad finds you, it hurts either way. I've never been able to prepare myself for the bad stuff. I realized that a long time ago, when grandpa got sick. I nearly gave myself an ulcer, trying to anticipate the next problem, the next thing to worry about. And in the end, I deprived myself of just being with him.
I slip out his arms, and out of the kitchen, needing a moment to collect myself. The attraction between Maverick and I is undeniable, and it's getting harder and harder to resist.
I settle onto one of the plush couches in Ransom's living room, trying to steady my racing heart. The glances Mav keeps sneaking my way aren't helping at all. The scent of baking cookies wafts through the air. A warm, comforting smell that always takes me right back to Nan's chipped Formica kitchen table.
This place is actually pretty homey. The floors are concrete, but there are area rugs scattered around the space, bright and cheerful ones. And the couches are perfect for lounging. It's obvious that this space is for family, not for show.
Ransom washes his hands, then joins me on the couch with a sigh. He's always seemed kind, but removed, as if he's observing the world from a distance. He's also incredibly okay with silence, which I am not. At least, I'm not today. Sitting here alone, with my thoughts? No, thank you.
"There's going to be a lot of cleanup to do after this cookie extravaganza," I say, waving my hand at the kitchen and the flour coating every available surface.
Ransom looks at me, his eyes piercing and knowing. "It'll clean. We're good at cleaning up messes, Cadence. We have to be because we're excellent at making them. But as long as my brothers are having fun, I don't mind." His voice is deep and sincere. "That's what matters most."
I nod, taken aback by his directness. Apparently Ransom doesn't do small talk; he cuts straight to the heart of things.
"You guys seem to have a work hard, play hard attitude. Have you always been like that?"
He scratches idly at his cheek, chuckling as Maverick and Jonas devolve into a slap fight over who gets to take the cookies off the tray and move them to the wire rack. Nan isn't even trying to break up the fight. She's in full on grandma mode, letting the kids run amok.
"Nah, not at the beginning. You can't help but learn to be okay with chaos. There were nine of us, all sharing a small space. There was a lot of stupidity and annoying the fuck out of each other. But once we started to make some money, things got more fun. It's hard to think about fun when you're stuck in survival mode. I'm guessing you know a little something about that?"
"Yeah, I guess I do. I didn't grow up with many worries, but the last couple of years have been…hard."
"She was sick?" he asks quietly, watching Nan with old eyes.
"Cancer. We lost my grandpa years ago to it, so I think both of us were expecting the worst, you know?"
"But she made it."
"She did. She surprised everyone. She likes to tell everyone that she was too ornery to die, but I think she just had too much left that she wanted to do."
His gaze is knowing. "Or someone really important to live for."
"I don't know what I'd do without her," I admit. "She's my whole world, which is scary, you know? Loving someone that much is a very…vulnerable thing."
His massive chest inflates as he pulls in a deep, long breath. "They hold your heart in their hands, and when they go, everything is dark."
Dark perfectly describes the way it felt when Pops died. Like all the light and air and life was sucked out of the room. "Yeah."
"It's tempting to just…close up when that happens. To never let anybody in. To stay alone, and isolated."
"Someone mentioned you lost your people when you were young too. But you didn't do that. You didn't isolate yourself."
"I did at first. Feeling that kind of pain," he says, mouth twisting, "I didn't want to ever feel that again. And maybe I didn't believe I deserved anyone or anything good."
I think I'm there a little bit. Not that I don't deserve anything good, but that I have to take care of what's good. I have to stay vigilant, so I don't lose Nan. "What changed then? How did you get past that."
He crosses his arms over his chest and stares blindly out the wall of glass beside us. "I fought every step of the way. But finally, someone pointed out I was," his face cracks into a smile, "being a fucking idiot and to get my head out of my ass."
"Must have been someone important to have such an impact on you."
"Yeah," he says simply, leaving me with so many questions. But I'm good enough at reading people to know that he's not going to answer them. Not those ones at least. But I have other things I desperately want to know.
"When you decided to build a family, you sure went at it with gusto. Why? What made you do what you did? You were young too, just a teenager, right?"
"Fifteen, when I started. As for why so many?" He grins and props his elbow on the back of the couch. "I needed them all. We needed each other."
"I think you're lucky," I tell him seriously. "They're lucky you pulled them together, yeah, but you're damned lucky to have them too."
"I know," he says simply, studying me. "That's how we operate, you know. We pull people in, people we think are pretty damned special, and we never let them go."
"But not in a creepy, stalker way, right?"
His smile shifts, turns a mix of playful and mysterious. "Whatever gets the job done."
"The job?"
"My family, happy and healthy. That's always the job. The only job."
He sounds like a good dad. And I really want to make sure I stay on his good side, because I get the feeling Ransom's bad side is…well, a bad place to be.
"How are things going at Mav's place? Things between you two…good?" he asks in a lighter tone. Does he know he freaked me out a little? Probably.
I feel my cheeks heat up, and I look down at my hands. "It's complicated," I mumble, unsure how to put my feelings into words.
Ransom leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "The best things are, Cadence."
I sigh, the words spilling out before I can stop them. "I'm attracted to him, more than I've ever been attracted to anyone. But I'm scared. Scared of getting hurt, of losing everything Nan and I have built here. I don't want to risk it all for something that might not work out."
Ransom nods, his expression understanding. "I get that. I do. But you and Nan will have a place here, no matter what. I would never let either of you leave here unless it's to a safe, beautiful home."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. I've spent so long being strong, being the one to take care of everything, that the idea of someone else looking out for me is almost too much to bear.
"We're not your responsibility," I whisper.
"Maybe not. But my brother is a fucking goner over you, and he sure as fuck won't stand for you being anything but happy and healthy. So I care too. That's just the way it is. You're welcome to fight it, but it won't change a fucking thing. You're ours now, and we take care of ours." He says it so casually, like taking care of Nan and me is a given.
I kinda love it. Maybe I should be fighting it, trying to stay this independent woman, but I don't want to. It loosens the little ball of worry that's lived in my chest since Pops died. If something ever happened to me, these men, these truly good and kind men, would take care of her. I know it for sure.
Sniffing, I stare at the kitchen, registering the suspiciously empty cooling rack. There had to have been two dozen cookies on there. Where the…nevermind. Maverick has a stack of at least six in his hand. He brings his hand up, opens wide, and takes a bite of all six at once. Nan's forearms are braced on the counter, head bowed, shoulders shaking with laughter.
She never would have tolerated that shit from me when I was a kid. Now? I'm thrilled she's enjoying every bit of this. She's thriving with all these 'young ones' around.
“Yeah. That’s about right,” Ransom mutters, grinning at the scene. Expression turning serious, he reaches out, cupping my shoulder, his touch warm and reassuring. "Strength isn't about never needing help, Cadence. It's about knowing when to ask for it, and being brave enough to accept it when it's offered. And don't let fear hold you back from something that could be amazing."
"You're not the first to say it," I mutter. "I've gotten a lot of advice lately, most of it pretty similar to yours."
He nods sagely. "But mine was the best, right?"