Chapter 34
34
MAVERICK
I lean back in my chair, surveying the chaos unfolding around us. The restaurant's packed with my family, their voices rising and falling like waves crashing against the shore. Colton's waving his arms wildly, nearly knocking over a glass of water as he argues with Jonas about some movie they saw last week. Nick's got his head in his hands, clearly regretting sitting between them. Bree and Janey are sitting across from them, heads bobbing left to right as the men argue.
The doors to the kitchen open, and John appears, face like granite. All of us suck in our breath and go dead quiet. He grunts, going back into the kitchen, and all of us exhale and do air high five's from across the room.
Cadence leans across the table, her warm breath tickling my ear. "What's going on? Why does everyone suddenly remember their manners when John pops out?"
"Remember our manners? You're assuming we have any." My fingers absently tracing patterns on the tablecloth. "Well, let's just say John and Colton had a... disagreement last Christmas."
Her eyebrows shoot up, curiosity sparkling in those beautiful eyes. "A disagreement?"
"John had just gotten out of prison, and he offered to make Christmas dinner. But Colton was being annoying as fuck while John was trying to cook. John may have threatened him with a knife." I shrug, trying to downplay it. "But honestly, we're more worried about missing out on pie if John decides to kick us out."
As if on cue, John's head appears in the kitchen doorway, again. The restaurant falls silent, forks freezing midair. Even Ransom, who's engrossed in conversation with Abby at the next table, shuts up. John narrows his eyes, scanning the room before disappearing again. The collective sigh of relief is hilarious.
"He makes really good pie." My stomach is threatening to eat itself, and I try to peek through the still swinging door to see if we're any closer to those little wedges from heaven coming out, but I can't see a fucking thing. We've all eaten full meals, but…pie. I turn back to Cadence, because she's my favorite thing to look at, but also, I have questions. "Were you ever going to tell me you're an ass kicker?"
"Ass kicker?" she repeats with a snort. "It didn't really come up in conversation."
"Cadence. Come on, that feels like a pretty big part of yourself you just…denied. And you lit up out there. And you seriously held your own with her. No one can do that. Not any of us, at least."
Her cheeks heat, but I see little flashes of pride fighting to surface. Why is she fighting it?
"I wasn't denying it, not really. I just haven't trained for a long time." She winces. "When my grandpa passed, I still went. It was nice to spend time with people who knew him. It felt like I got to keep his memory alive that way. But when Nan got sick, my priorities shifted, and there just wasn't as much time for that stuff."
Well fuck, of course she wouldn't have as much time. "That makes sense. But now that things are more stable, and you've got some extra time…do you think you'll start back up?"
She bites her lip as she looks around the room. Finally she turns to me. "I think…I might like that."
"Good. I want a chance to wrestle around with you."
She giggles and reaches over to flick my nose. "We don't have to be at the Dojo to wrestle around."
"God dammit woman, did you have to say that? Now my pants are too tight." I glare at her, but that's not good either, because her t-shirt is low cut and I have a perfect view of those perfect breasts. Danger! Need distraction.
Clearing my throat, I search for something else to talk about. Something not sexy at all. "Hey, what were you and Ransom talking about back at the dojo? You two seemed pretty deep in conversation."
Cadence takes a sip of water, her fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the glass. "Oh, you know, just stuff about family and how you all came together."
Ransom's not usually one to share that kind of information. "Really? He told you about that?"
She nods, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Is that okay? I wasn't trying to go behind your back, or pry or anything."
"No, of course, it's fine. He just doesn't usually talk about the past. At least not easily. He's still a bit of a mystery to us."
Her eyebrows wing up. "A mystery? You guys have been a family forever. How do you not know everything about each other?"
"Most of us know pretty much everything about each other, but Ransom's always been a little different."
"Different how?"
"We're all nosy as fuck. And we don't hesitate to pry into one another's lives, especially if we think whatever we dig up is going to be funny, or important. Cause, well, if we can make fun of something stupid we will. But we also want to make sure if there's anything bad or fucked up going on, we help."
"Have there been a lot of fucked up things?"
"Too many." Colton's cage fighting, Kade's issues with women, Zach's belief that he was an afterthought in this family, to name a few. Curiosity burns inside me, desperate to know what he shared. Ever since I learned he had sisters, I haven't been able to put it out of my mind. But I bite my tongue, years of respect for Ransom and our shared history holding me back. If he's ready to share, he'll do it in his own time.
"I really like that you guys talk to each other," Cadence says, laying her hand on the table. "A lot of families sweep stuff under the rug."
I reach across the table, taking Cadence's hand in mine. "We don't do that. No rugs in this family. And I guess it's good he felt comfortable talking to you."
"You don't have to look so out of sorts. I'm a good listener. That's all I do all day. Listen."
"To the dogs?"
She laughs. "Yep. They communicate too. But I have to be still enough and calm enough to hear them. That translates to people too sometimes. I learned a long time ago, that if I listen long enough, most people's problems sort themselves out."
"For example?" Listening is not something I do. Not the way she's describing it anyway. Outside of my family, or honestly even with my family, I'm listening to find my in . My opportunity to get my way, or usually my opportunity to get my client or my family what we want. Listening is a tool, not the solution.
She wrinkles up her nose and sighs. "I did it with my friends in high school. I would let them vent, and complain about their relationship drama, and I'd nod and make soothing noises, and eventually they'd figure out what they wanted to do. There was a lot of that. And at the rescue, the volunteers will always bring me problems. I've figured out if I make thoughtful noises, they get uncomfortable with the silence and start talking again. Usually, they end up talking themselves out of whatever problem they thought they had. People are more work, that's for sure. The dogs just need me to be present and pay attention."
"I guess I haven't thought much about dogs."
She sighs, her gaze drifting out the window. "I think about dogs a lot."
The way she says it, the resignation, and the love in her voice makes me laugh. And of course she just grins, not at all offended. "It's not just that you're a good listener. It's that you seem to accept anything people tell you. Even if you don't agree with it, I mean. You just let people be who they are."
Her brow furrows. "Well, of course I do. What else would I do?"
"Try to change them."
She gives our clasped hands a little wiggle. "That sounds exhausting."
"It is."
"So don't do that anymore," she says, like it's easy, and obvious.
"Some people need to change, Cady. You have no idea how many dirty landlords and crooked businessmen there are out there. And what, I'm just supposed to let that go?"
She tilts her head, and gives me a look that makes me feel like she knows something I don't. "No, I'm not suggesting you let people walk all over you, or that you stop being you. I like the you that you are. I love that you are protective, and want to make people's lives better. But do you often get people to change? Really?"
"Well, yeah. The cases I take on, I do it to force people to do the right thing."
"Yes, you do. But that doesn't mean you've changed them. You've made the lives of your clients better, which is amazing. But you haven't fundamentally changed anyone. Forcing someone to do something is not the same thing as changing them, you know that, don't you?" Her gaze softens as I stay silent. She reaches out, running her finger along the back of my hand. "As much as we want to make people change, that's something that comes from inside. You are changing lives with your work, there's no doubt about it. Isn't that enough? Or maybe you're less after change, and more into punishment?"
"I want justice." And maybe some punishment.
"I don't think our justice system has much to do with changing people, just punishing them for what they've done."
"I guess so."
"You don't like that."
"I guess I liked thinking that I was forcing change, better. When I get a judgment against someone, they have to do things differently."
"Until no one is watching."
"Ah fuck. Until no one's watching." I really liked my way of looking at the world. And now it's gone, torn away by a level-headed, emotionally mature knockout.
"That doesn't negate everything you do though. What you do is still important. It still matters."
Maybe. But it sure as fuck isn't as satisfying.
I run a hand through my hair, feeling a mix of frustration and embarrassment. "Shit, Cady. I've been so caught up in this idea that I'm changing the world, one case at a time. But you're right. I'm not really changing anyone, am I?"
Cadence reaches across the table, her fingers intertwining with mine. "Hey, don't be so hard on yourself. What you do matters, Maverick. You're helping people, protecting them."
"Yeah, but..." I trail off, struggling to articulate the disappointment settling in my chest. "I guess I've been fooling myself. Thinking I was some kind of catalyst for real change when all I'm doing is slapping Band-Aids on bigger problems."
She squeezes my hand gently. "Why does it matter so much to you that people change?"
I pause, caught off guard by her question. It's something I've never really examined before. "I don't know. I guess... I've always wanted to make a difference, you know? Not just push papers around or make rich people richer. I want to leave the world better than I found it."
Cadence nods, her eyes full of understanding. "That's admirable, Mav. But maybe you're putting too much pressure on yourself. Change doesn't always happen overnight, or even in ways we can see."
"Maybe," I admit reluctantly. "But it's hard not to feel like I'm falling short somehow."
"Can I ask you something?" Cadence leans in, her voice soft. "Why do you think changing people is the only way to make a difference?"
Her question hits me like a punch to the gut. I open my mouth to respond, then close it again, realizing I don't have an answer.
I lean back in my chair, mulling over Cadence's question. It's not something I've ever really thought about before, and I find myself struggling to articulate an answer.
"I... I don't know," I admit finally, running a hand through my hair. "I guess I've always equated making a difference with people being different. Like, if I could just make them see things differently, act better, then everything would fall into place."
Cadence nods, her eyes soft and understanding. "But you're already making a difference, Mav. Every case you take on, every person you help - that matters. Even if you're not fundamentally changing who they are."
I let out a long breath, feeling something shift inside me. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. It's just... I've been so focused on this idea of transformation, you know? Like if I couldn't completely turn someone's life around, I wasn't doing enough."
"That's a pretty heavy burden to carry," Cadence says gently.
"Tell me about it," I chuckle, but there's no real humor in it. "I guess I've been so caught up in this picture, that I might have been missing the smaller victories along the way."
Cadence reaches across the table, her fingers intertwining with mine. "Those smaller victories add up, Mav. And sometimes, they're the ones that matter most."
I squeeze her hand, a little tendril of peace unraveling in my chest. "How'd you get so wise, huh?"
She grins, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Lots of practice listening to dogs, remember?"
We both laugh, and I feel some of the tension drain from my shoulders. As I look at Cadence, I'm struck by how easy it is to talk to her, how she seems to see right through my bullshit and still likes what she sees.
"Maybe I need to start looking at the world the way you do." It would probably feel a hell of a lot better if I did.
Just then, John emerges from the kitchen, followed by Abby and two servers, all carrying trays loaded with pies. No one can stay quiet anymore, looking at the beautiful golden crusts. They look like heaven, and I want one, right fucking now. Course, I'm going to stay in my seat like a good boy, because, well…John.
"Stay in your fuckin' seats while I get the plates," John growls, his voice gruff but with an undercurrent of affection. It's something that I'm getting used to, that undercurrent of peace and happiness, even when he has to deal with all of us. His buttons still get pushed, and he sometimes stomps off, cursing at us and threatening to move to an island and never cook for us again. But most of the time, he sees how much we appreciate him.
And his food. Can't forget about the food.
Zach, Kade, and Micah try to subtly inch their chairs closer to the pies. The scraping sound echoes through the restaurant. They all frantically shush each other, fingers over lips, shoving and yeah, a bit of slapping. I glare at them, willing them to keep fucking cool, to not blow it for everyone.
John returns with the plates, and we all reach the end of our patience. Jonas, Kade, and Declan are all offering their opinions on the best way to cut and serve the pies, trying to convince John to cut them bigger slices. Or in Kade's case, 'I don't need a plate. Just slide that whole fucking thing over here and give me a fucking fork'. John ignores them all, methodically slicing through the crusts and placing slices on the plates with care.
"Ladies first," John announces, his tone softening as he turns to the women. He actually manages a real smile for them, while his eyes send a big 'mind your fucking manners' to the rest of us. "What'll it be?" Abby gets the first slice, because she's John's, so of course he's going to take care of her first. Then he invites the rest of the women up to choose their slices.
I watch as Cadence deliberates, her nose scrunching up adorably as she considers her options. She finally settles on a slice of cherry, and the look of pure bliss on her face as she takes her first bite makes me groan. Some of it is jealousy, because...pie. But mostly because my brain goes straight to wondering if she would make that same sound in my bed, in my sheets.
She would look incredible, sprawled across my mattress, her hair fanned out on my pillow, eyes closed in ecstasy as I worship every inch of her body. My mouth dries up at the thought of trailing kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and lower still. I can almost feel her body under me, her arching beneath me, gasping my name as I explore her curves. I have to forcibly drag my mind back to the present before I embarrass myself in front of everyone.
As John works his way around the room, Colton starts getting worried. "Are you getting apple? Is that apple? Are you sure you wouldn't like something else instead? What about the blueberry? You like blueberries right?" His voice rises in pitch, sounding more and more worried.
When it looks like the last slice might go to someone else, he lets out a pitiful whine. John's head snaps up, his eyes narrowing as he brandishes the pie cutter like a weapon. I don't think he'd actually try to carve Colton up with it, and that's not what Colton's worried about either. He's worried about missing out on pie.
Colton's eyes go wide, and he starts babbling, "You know what? I'm an any kind of pie guy. Seriously, I love all pies equally. Peach, blueberry, rhubarb - bring 'em on! No preferences here, no sir!"
It's not just the words that send me into giggles, it's the way he throws his hands up like he's being robbed by some gunman in the old west.
I try to contain my laughter, but as soon as John hands Colton the pie, he runs to the corner, pressing the plate between him and the wall, cackling in joy. Of course that makes all of us want to fuck with him, but Ransom's the one that makes it to him first, trying to slide in his fork.
"No! No! Get your own," Colton yelps, his voice muffled as he hunches over his prize.
Ransom's laughing, "There is no more apple. Remember? You have to share."
Panicked, Colton bends over, and sucks the entire piece into his mouth, then rises up, cheeks full like a chipmunk's storing nuts. "Too late," he mumbles, at least I think he does. The words come out sounding like Pig Latin.
I lose it.
The sight of Colton, his cheeks bulging impossibly wide, eyes darting around like a cornered animal as he bats at Ransom's hands, is too much. I tip out of my chair, unable to control my giggles. All that's flashing in my mind is an image of someone slapping Colton's cheeks, and the pie coming flying out in a spectacular spray, covering Ransom's face. The top of John's head would literally pop off, he'd be so fucking mad. Shit, I'm a goner.
I'm gasping for air, tears streaming down my face as I roll on the floor. The laughter bubbles up from deep in my chest, uncontrollable and wild. There's no stopping it, no coming back from it. I have to just let it run it's course.
Cadence leans over, looking at me over the edge of the table. "You okay down there?" Then, as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening, she takes another bite of her pie. Her casual reaction only makes me laugh harder.
"Oh god," I wheeze, clutching my sides. "I can't... I can't breathe."
She grins, eyes roaming around the restaurant. "Well, you better get it together, or you're not going to get a slice."
I sit up, banging my head on the edge of the table. "Wait. What?"