Chapter 29
29
CADENCE
I wake slowly, my eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains. My body feels hot, like I'm wrapped in a blanket straight from the dryer, but my head is clearer than before. As I shift, I butt up against something hard and unyielding. It takes more effort than it should to turn my head and look behind me, but man, am I glad I did. Maverick lies on top of the covers, his head twisted at an awkward angle that's sure to give him a crick in the neck. He's scowling in his sleep, hands fisted at his sides, the one closest to me with a blue cloth clutched between his fingers.
He stayed with me all night. Nan's the only one who's ever done that. Grandpa would check on me, yeah, but he'd stand in the door and ask "You still breathing?" in that booming voice of his. As soon as he got a thumbs up, he'd grunt and leave.
And I don't remember a single boyfriend doing more than bringing me some cold medicine. They didn't exactly throw it at me, then back away, but I got the feeling that was their first choice, and they only stopped themselves from doing it because it might get them kicked to the curb.
Gratitude, and affection, and some other feelings I'm not ready to examine too closely wash through me. All I want to do is touch him, so I do. I settle for a gentle brush of fingers along his forehead, letting my fingers dance over his eyebrows. Slowly, his scowl fades, and he seems to fall into a more peaceful sleep.
I'd be perfectly happy to stay here for the next few hours, stroking him, but my full bladder finally forces me to drop my hand. Carefully, I slide out of bed, trying not to disturb him. I do my business, then wash my hands. As I open the bathroom door, Maverick is suddenly there, arms outstretched as if to carry me. Maybe I yelp a bit.
"I'm okay," I insist, pressing my hands against his chest. "I can walk."
His brow furrows with concern, but he lets me pass. I make my way back to bed, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. As I settle in, he hovers, his face a mask of worry.
"How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Water? More blankets?"
I liked it better when he was sleeping. "Stop looming over me like that. Just lay down, will you?"
He hesitates for a moment before complying. I curl onto my side, facing him. His hand reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair from my forehead.
"What time is it?" I ask, suddenly curious about how long I've been out. "How long have you been here?"
Maverick's eyes soften. "It's about three in the morning. Nan was worried, and I... I wanted to make sure someone was with you."
The tenderness in his voice catches me off guard. I study his face in the dim light, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the stubble on his chin. He looks exhausted, yet he's here, watching over me.
"You didn't have to stay," I murmur, even as a part of me is glad he did.
"I wanted to," he replies simply.
We lie there in silence for a moment, just looking at each other. Despite my earlier grumpiness, I feel a warmth spreading through my chest that has nothing to do with my fever.
"Thank you," I whisper, reaching out to touch his cheek.
He catches my hand, pressing a soft kiss to my palm. "Always."
It feels great to just lay here, totally relaxed, with nothing— I jolt upright, panic seizing my chest. "Oh my god. The dogs. They'll be starving." My stomach churns, imagining all those pups in dirty cages, unfed. I am so fucking pissed at myself. I start to climb out of bed, but suddenly Maverick's weight presses down on me, pinning me in place.
"I took care of it," he says, his face inches from mine. His eyes lock onto mine, intense and reassuring.
I blink, struggling to process his words. "What?"
"Everyone came and helped," he explains, his voice soft but firm. "It's all taken care of."
Relief washes over me, but it's quickly followed by a pang of guilt and frustration. I don't like the idea that someone else had to step in. It's my responsibility. I should've been there.
Maverick must sense my unease because he furrows his brow. "Why does that bother you? Everyone gets sick sometimes, Cadence."
I open my mouth to argue, but no words come out. He's right, of course, but it doesn't make it any easier to accept.
Maverick's expression shifts, and I notice a strange look cross his face. He starts to say something, then hesitates.
"What's going on?" I ask, suddenly wary.
He takes a deep breath. "Janey and I... we decided you need some help. She's lining up employees for you to interview."
I stare at him, flabbergasted. "Employees? What are you talking about?"
"For the rescue," he clarifies. "To help you out."
My mind reels. Does he think I was living in the rescue for my health? For fun? "Maverick, there's no extra money. I can't afford to hire anyone." I say it slowly, like I’m speaking to a toddler.
He nods, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I know. That's why Brash has already made another donation. It'll cover the salaries for any extra help you hire."
I feel like I've been punched in the gut. Part of me wants to be grateful, but another part bristles at the implication that I can't handle things on my own.
"I don't need charity," I say, my voice coming out harsher than I intended.
Maverick's eyes soften. "It's not charity, Cadence. It's support. You're doing amazing work, but you're running yourself into the ground. Let us help you." He clears his throat, and grins. "As Jonas points out, it's a write off. You're doing us a favor actually, helping us get a break on our taxes."
I want to argue, to insist that I'm fine, but the truth is, I'm exhausted. The idea of having help, of not having to do everything alone, is tempting.
"I don't know," I murmur, conflicted. If he weren't lying in bed next to me, would I be more likely to accept? Somehow it feels easier to accept help from some nameless corporation than from these guys.
Maverick shifts his weight, moving to lie beside me instead of on top of me. He takes my hand in his, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.
"Just think about it," he says. "Interview the candidates Janey finds. If you don't like any of them, we'll figure something else out. But please, at least consider it."
I look at him, really look at him. The concern in his eyes is genuine, and I realize he's not trying to take over or undermine me. He's trying to support me in the best way he knows how.
I take a deep breath, feeling some of the tension leave my body. "Okay," I say finally. "I'll think about it."
Maverick's face lights up with a smile, and he leans in to press a soft kiss to my forehead. "Thank you," he whispers.
As if on cue, my stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl. Laughing, I press my hand against it. "Apparently, I'm hungry. In case you didn't know.".
Grinning, he presses a quick kiss to my forehead. "Wait here."
Before I can protest, he's out the door. I hear muffled curses from the kitchen, then the clinking of dishes. A few minutes later, Maverick returns, carefully balancing a steaming mug in his hands.
The moment the aroma hits my nose, I know exactly what it is. "Nan's chicken soup," I breathe, reaching for the mug eagerly.
Maverick hands it over with a smile. "She insisted on making it herself. Said it was her secret recipe for curing all ills."
I take a small sip, savoring the familiar taste. It's like a warm hug for my insides, instantly soothing and comforting. "She's not wrong."
As I continue to sip the soup, Maverick settles on the edge of the bed. His shoulders slump, and he bows his head, looking utterly drained. The weight of everything he's done for me in the past day suddenly hits me.
I set the mug aside and reach out, gently rubbing his back. "Hey," I say softly. "I'm okay, really. You should get some sleep. You've got important work to do in the morning."
He lets out a heavy sigh, nodding slowly. "Yeah, you're right. I should."
But he doesn't move. Instead, he stays perched on the edge of the bed, his back muscles tense under my touch. I continue to caress his back, letting my fingers trace over the hard planes of muscle there. I love the way they flex and relax under my fingertips, a testament to his strength and the stress he's carrying.
After a while, I give him a gentle nudge. "Seriously, Maverick. Go to bed. You need rest, too."
With a groan, he finally stands up. But instead of leaving, he turns to face me, his eyes blazing with an intensity that takes my breath away.
"I want a date, Cadence," he says, his voice low and determined. "A proper date. You, me, dinner, and no one else. No interruptions."
I feel a slow smile spread across my face. Despite my lingering fatigue, a thrill of excitement runs through me. "About damned time," I tease.
His answering grin is both relieved and eager. "Tomorrow night? If you're feeling up to it?"
I nod, my heart racing a little. "It's a date."
Maverick leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "Get some rest," he murmurs. "I'll see you in the morning."
As he turns to leave, I catch his hand. "Thank you," I say softly. "For everything."
He squeezes my hand gently. "Always."
I wake up feeling a bit better, though my body still aches. I drag myself out of bed, muscles protesting as I pull on some clothes. The pups will be expecting me, and today, I'm happy about that. It's amazing what one night's sleep will do for a person's attitude.
Stepping out of my room, I'm surprised to find Maverick standing in the kitchen. He's dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, bare feet, a mug of coffee in his hands. The second he sees me he grins, grabs a second mug and plunks it under the fancy coffee machine, then pivots to grab the cream from the fridge. He hands me a perfectly prepared cup of coffee.
"Thank you," I murmur, inhaling the rich aroma. "This coffee is a serious perk of living here. It's got to be hand picked off the side of a mountain jungle and packed in cotton for transport. It's spectacular."
Maverick laughs, stepping even closer, sipping his own coffee. "I've never asked, but that sounds about right. Except I think they also hire opera singers to sing to the beans during roasting. Adds a sense of drama."
I snort out a laugh. "I wouldn't be shocked. Rich people are weird."
Mav looks down at me over the edge of his cup. "Should I be offended?"
"Dude, I've heard some of the shit you've pulled. And I've witnessed a fuck of a lot living here. I say you guys are the perfect example of all the shit rich people can get away with. Case in point? Burritogate."
He opens his mouth to argue, but for once, he has nothing to say. He just squints at me and takes another silent sip. We finish our coffee in silence, which should be weird but isn't. Not even a bit. It's comfortable and intimate, and I like it way too much.
Finally, I put my cup on the counter and lean in, letting my hand rest on his side. "Thank you for the coffee. And for last night. You took good care of me. If you hadn't been there, Nan might have tried to help and…"
"I know. I understand. And you never have to thank me for taking care of you. It's my absolute fucking pleasure."
I go up on my toes, intending to give Maverick a quick peck on the cheek. It's a small gesture of gratitude, but I'm still not feeling my best and don't want to risk getting him sick. Just as my lips are about to brush his stubbled cheek, he turns his head. Our lips meet, and suddenly I'm lost in the warmth of his kiss.
For a moment, I forget about everything else. The softness of his lips, the gentle pressure, the way his hand comes up to cup my face – it's all-consuming. But then reality crashes back in, and I pull away abruptly.
"Sorry," I mumble, taking a step back. "I don't want to make you sick."
Maverick's eyes are dark, his breathing a little uneven. "Worth the risk," he says with a half-smile.
I shake my head, fighting the urge to kiss him again. "No, it's not. You've got important work to do. Can't have you getting sick because of me."
Turning away before I can change my mind, I grab my bag from the counter. "I've got to get to the shelter. Those pups won't walk themselves."
I head for the door, my heart still racing from that kiss. As I reach for the handle, I hear Maverick's footsteps behind me.
"Hold up," he says. "I'm coming with you."
I turn to see him shoving his feet into a pair of sneakers, grabbing his keys from the hook by the door.
"You don't have to do that," I protest. "I can manage."
Maverick doesn't budge. His stance is firm, arms crossed over his chest. "I'm sure you can. You can handle anything you put your mind to. You've already proven that. So how about you just say thanks and let me come?"
"But your work," I protest weakly. "You'll get behind."
For a moment, hesitation flickers across his face. I can almost see the gears turning in his head as he weighs his options. Because I'm right. The man works all hours and he doesn't have time to waste at the rescue. But then he shrugs.
"It's fine," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I won't get that behind."
I sigh, knowing I've lost this battle. My body's too tired to put up much of a fight anyway. "Alright, fine. Let's go."
Maverick nods, satisfied, and leads the way to the elevator. As we descend to the garage, I can't help but feel a mix of gratitude and frustration. It's sweet that he wants to help, but I'm used to handling things on my own.
In the garage, Maverick heads straight for his car. When I start towards my beat-up old car, he shakes his head.
"I'm driving," he insists, opening the passenger door of his sleek sports car for me.
Too exhausted to argue further, I slide into the plush leather seat. As Maverick starts the engine, I lean back, closing my eyes for a moment. Maybe having help isn't so bad after all.