Chapter 38
38
MAVERICK
I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples as I scan through the stack of contracts on my desk. The constant buzz of the office fades into the background as I try to focus on the file in front of me.
"Mr. Walker?" My assistant, Sandy, pokes her head in. "Jake has a question about the Thompson Street agreement."
I nod, waving her in. "Send him in."
Jake, one of our junior lawyers, enters with a sheepish grin. "Sorry to bother you, sir. I'm stuck on clause 7b." Sir. How long is it going to take for him to remember to call me Mav? He's new, just passed the bar, but smart. He just can't bring himself to be informal, and I'm not sure if it's because of the size of my bank account, or because of my job title. Either way, I don't correct him…again.
"No bother at all," I say, gesturing for him to take a seat. "What's tripping you up?"
As Jake explains his confusion, I listen intently, jotting down notes. When he finishes, I lean forward, tapping my pen on the desk.
"Alright, let's break this down. The key here is understanding the interplay between sections 3 and 5..."
I walk him through the intricacies of the contract, watching as understanding dawns on his face. By the time he leaves, he's confident and ready to tackle the rest of the document.
Just as I'm about to dive back into my work, my personal phone rings. Unknown number. My stomach clenches. I know I should let it go to voicemail – I'm already spread too thin. But what if it's important? What if someone really needs help?
With a sigh, I answer. "Maverick Walker speaking."
"M-Mr. Walker?" A woman's trembling voice comes through. "I... I'm sorry to bother you. I didn't know who else to call."
My chest tightens as I listen to her story. Single mom. Unfairly fired. No money for rent or food. My free hand clenches into a fist as I fight the urge to promise her the world.
"I'm so sorry," I say, my voice heavy. "But I'm afraid I don't have the capacity to take on any new cases right now. I'm stretched too thin as it is."
The words taste like ash in my mouth. I can hear the desperation in her voice as she thanks me anyway, and I feel like the lowest form of scum as I hang up.
I push back from my desk, pacing the length of my office. I can't fucking do this. How am I supposed to turn people away? It doesn't sit right with me. At. Fucking. All.
But I've already had to cancel a couple of dinners with Cadence in the last week. Too much on my plate, too many fires to put out. And that's not sitting right either.
Every other lawyer and non-profit I have a contact for is as swamped as I am. So what the fuck do I do? Because I don't think I can live with this. I can't live feeling this fucking guilty. Being a lawyer was supposed to be about helping people. When did I start turning them away?
I leave my office, my mind still churning with guilt and frustration. My feet carry me towards Cara's desk, where I lean against the wall, my gaze fixed on the glass boardroom in the center of the space. Inside, Colton, Ransom, and Cara are deep in conversation with a group of suits I don't recognize.
My fingers fidget with my phone, turning it over and over in my hand. The woman's desperate voice echoes in my head, and I can't shake the feeling that I've failed her. I'm so close to finding Declan, asking him to track down that number, when the meeting breaks up.
Cara escorts the suits to the elevator while Colton and Ransom head my way. Ransom stops short, his eyes narrowing as he takes in my expression.
"My office," he says, gripping my shoulder firmly.
Colton follows us as Ransom steers me into his office, closing the door behind us. "What's going on?"
I run a hand through my hair, pacing the length of the room. "I got a call," I start, my voice tight. "Single mom, unfairly fired, no money for rent or food. And I... I turned her away."
My fist clenches at my side as I continue, "I've been taking on so many cases, pro bono work, trying to help everyone I can. But I can't keep doing this. I know I can't."
I stop pacing, leaning heavily against Ransom's desk. "If I keep going like this, I'll lose Cadence. She deserves so much more than a guy who's never there for her, and when I am home, I'm drowning in work."
"And this feels fucking awful. I want to help people. That's why I became a lawyer in the first place. But I feel like I'm stretched so thin I can't help anyone properly anymore." I slump into one of Ransom's chairs, my head in my hands. "I don't know what the fuck to do," I mutter, my voice muffled.
Ransom leans against his desk, his arms crossed. "You can't save everybody, Mav. You're one man, not a superhero."
I look up at him, frustration burning in my chest. "So what, I just ignore people who need help? That's not who I am, Ran. That's not who we are."
Colton clears his throat, his expression unusually serious. "But he's right, you can't help everyone, Mav. Is it worth losing all the good things in your life for everyone else? How big a sacrifice will be enough?"
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I lean back in the chair, my mind racing. "I... I don't know," I admit quietly.
"Look," Colton continues, his voice gentler now. "We all want to help people. It's what we do. But you can't set yourself on fire to keep other people warm."
"That's profound. Did you get that off a cereal box?"
He flips me off. "A greeting card."
God I love him. A tightness eases in my chest, as I let myself laugh.
Ransom nods in agreement. "Wherever you got it, it's true. You've got a good thing going with Cadence. Don't throw that away because you're trying to save the world single-handedly."
I run a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of their words. "But how do I choose? How do I decide who gets help and who doesn't?"
"Why do you have to?" Ransom asks, looking all wise and mysterious all of a sudden. "What if we set up a foundation? Something to handle these cases that fall through the cracks?"
"I thought about that. I even talked it over with Cadence, but I don't know if I could keep myself separated enough. If it's our foundation, I'm going to be all over it, I just know it." Instead of twenty cases to follow outside of this office, there could be hundreds. It's a fucking disaster waiting to happen.
"You're probably right," Ransom mutters. "So why can't you support an existing not-for-profit, something with existing management and infrastructure, and let them fight the good fight."
"I've thought of that too," I mutter, tapping the toe of my shoe against the coffee table leg.
"And?" Colton prompts, eyebrow raised.
"And I don't know."
"What is there to think about?" Ransom asks, relaxing back in his chair like he's got all the time in the world for this conversation. Fuck the business. Fuck any meetings he might be late for. He'll sit here with me as long as I need. It's his patience that finally lets me gather my swirling thoughts..
"It doesn't feel… hands-on enough."
"Because you need to be the guy to save everyone," Colton says matter of factly.
I scowl at him, and he just shrugs. "It's true. And it's not that unique. Kids who lose their parent the way you did? It's natural to become a justice seeker, or someone who needs to be the hero. It's classic."
"Don't psychology me asshole."
"I can't help it. You're making it too easy. It's why you're having a hard time with the idea of turning over the work to an outside non-profit. Giving money to a charity isn't close enough for you. It doesn't give you the sense of being a hero that working directly with people in need does."
"You make me sound fucking pathetic."
"Not pathetic. You sound human," Ransom says firmly. "We all have needs, brother. All of us. So, instead of beating yourself up about it, why don't you just accept it and figure out what you need to do to meet that need? Because denying it? That's the path to fucking madness."
"So what do I do? Because I've been thinking about this shit for months, and I'm still no closer to a solution."
"What's your worst case scenario?" Colton asks, idly tapping the toes of his shoes together. Tap, tap, tap. "What if you decided to step back from pro-bono cases completely, and just focus on your work here, and your relationship with Cadence. What are you afraid will happen?"
"I'll turn into a resentful asshole and chase her away with my shitty attitude."
"Okay," Ransom says slowly. "So let's play it out the other way. What's the worse case scenario if you keep doing what you're doing?"
"I never see Cadence, and my ulcer eats through my entire stomach, and I end up having surgery. She tries to support me through it, but I'm a shitty patient, don't let myself heal, and go back to work too soon. She ends up leaving me because she thinks I care more about work than I do her. Which is pretty much what I've shown her."
Ransom's voice is dangerously low. "Maverick, do you have an ulcer?"
I didn't actually mean to let that slip, but I won't compound it by lying. "Yeah. Doc diagnosed it about six months ago."
"You stubborn goddamn motherfucking martyr. How the fuck did you think that was going to go over? You didn't think that was fucking important information."
"I'm handling it. I'm taking my meds," I say tiredly.
He glares at me, knocking his knuckles on his desk rhythmically.
I stare at Ransom, my jaw clenched. His anger is justified, but I'm too exhausted to deal with it right now.
"Look," I say, rubbing my temples, "I know I should've told you. But I've been handling it."
Ransom opens his mouth, probably to tear into me again, but Colton interrupts.
"Guys, let's focus on the problem at hand. Mav, what if we tried something different?"
I turn to Colton, eyebrow raised. "I'm listening."
"What if, instead of taking on pro bono cases yourself, you support a not-for-profit organization? And maybe spend one Friday a month volunteering there?"
I lean back, considering his words. "Go on."
"You wouldn't take on any cases personally," Colton continues, "but you could help funnel people to the resources they need. The staff would stay on top of the cases. You could check in, make sure they were handled, learn the outcomes, but for a year, just commit to one day a month."
I mull it over, feeling a glimmer of hope for the first time in months. "That... that could work. I'd still be helping, but not drowning myself in it." The idea takes root, and I can almost feel the weight lifting from my shoulders. It's like seeing a lifeline after treading water for so long.
Ransom nods slowly, his eyes still icy. "It's a good compromise. You'd be making a difference without sacrificing your health or your relationship." Yep, he's pissed.
"And you'd have time to actually enjoy your life," Colton adds grimly, concern etched on his face. "And let's be real, if you don't make a change, you're going to end up sick if you're lucky, dead if you aren't. And just saying, we didn't build everything we have now just so that we could work ourselves to death." His blunt honesty hits home, forcing me to confront the reality of my situation.
I take a deep breath, feeling some of the stress I've been holding in my body for years. I can picture it, volunteering, helping, without the crushing responsibility all on my shoulders. It would be a fucking relief. Maybe I can find a balance between saving the world and saving myself. "Okay. I think that could work. I'll research some organizations, see which ones might be able to scale up easily. They'd need to be willing to take on more lawyers, and be okay with me helping out a bit." Though, in my experience, you hand people enough money, they get really fucking flexible.I'm relieved at the idea, yeah but there's also a twinge of guilt. Apparently, I do have a fucking hero complex.
Who knew?
Ransom stands and claps me on the shoulder. "Good. And Mav? No more hiding health issues from us. That is not okay."
I nod, feeling a mix of guilt and gratitude. "You're right. I'm sorry. I didn't want to worry anyone."
"I worry more about the shit I don't know," he says, glaring again. "All of you and your fucking secrets. I'm going to get a fucking ulcer from worrying about all of you."
Colton’s brow furrows as he looks at Ransom with confusion. "Why are you still worrying about the rest of us? We're all coupled up and happy. Things are good. You can relax now, man."
Ransom lets out a deep sigh, leaning back against his desk. His eyes meet mine, and I can see the weight of responsibility in them. "It's not that simple. There's not less worry now. If anything, there's more."
"More?" I echo, incredulous. "How?"
He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I've seen a thousand times when he's trying to organize his thoughts. "Our family's doubled in size, Maverick. There are more people to think about now. More people to plan for."
I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand, silencing me. "It's not just about us anymore. It's about Cadence, and Cara, and all the others. They're part of this family now too. And that means more variables, more potential problems, more hearts to protect."
His words sink in, and I start to see what he means. It's not just about keeping us boys in line anymore. It's about a whole network of relationships, of lives intertwined.
"And there's a lot less control now," Ransom continues, his voice softening as he leans forward, elbows on his desk. "Before, I could at least try to steer you guys in the right direction. Now? There are partners involved, people with their own ideas and plans. It's... it's an adjustment. Every decision has ripple effects I can't always predict."
It hadn't occurred to me that our happiness might be adding to Ransom's stress rather than alleviating it. "I hadn't thought about it like that," I admit, running a hand through my hair.
Ransom gives me a wry smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "That's why I'm the one who worries, little brother. Someone's got to see the big picture." His words hang in the air, and I feel a shift in my perspective. The sense of obligation I feel towards my clients - the late nights, the constant strategizing, the weight of their futures on my shoulders - gives me an idea of what he must feel every day.
How does he manage this intricate web of relationships and responsibilities? It's not just about keeping us in line anymore, making sure we don't get arrested. It's about safeguarding an entire network of lives, dreams, and futures. The complexity of it all is staggering, and not a little overwhelming.
"Fuck," Colton mutters, sounding awed. "You need a break man. You know what? We've all been way too stressed lately. We need to let off some steam," he says, rubbing his hands together. "Why don't we do a movie night up on the roof? We can get one of those big blow-up screens and more floaties for the pool. It'll be fun!"
My mind immediately flashes to the mountain of paperwork waiting on my desk. "You know what? I'm in," I say, surprising myself a little. "We could all use a night off. But we need popcorn."
"Do you think we can get one of those movie theater popcorn poppers on the roof?" Colton asks.
Ransom nods, looking almost relieved. But I can't tell if it's because we've changed the subject or because he's happy to have some tangible problem to tackle. "I bet we can. I'll make some calls, and get it figured out."
As we start planning, I feel a twinge of disappointment. "Cadence has a shift at The Escape tonight," I explain. "She'll miss out."
I wish Cadence would quit that job. She doesn't need to keep worrying about saving up for a place, not when she's living with me. But every time I bring it up, we end up going in circles. She's stubborn about her independence, and I love that about her, but sometimes it drives me crazy.
Colton claps me on the shoulder. "We'll do it again soon and make sure she can join next time. We can leave the screen up all summer."
It's a nice idea. Completely unrealistic, but nice. "Do you know what the wind speeds are up there? I guarantee you it won't last the summer."
I stand on the roof, hands on my hips, staring at the massive inflatable screen flapping in the light breeze. A few hours ago, this seemed like such a great idea. Now? Not so much. The sun is nearly down, it's long past Mia's bedtime, and we still haven't figured it out. We should have let the guys who delivered it do this instead of assuring them we could handle it ourselves.
We can not handle it.
"We need to anchor this thing down," Colton says, tugging on one of the corners. "If the wind picks up even a little, we're screwed."
Ransom nods, his brow furrowed in concentration. "It needs to be anchored into the roof, but I wouldn't even begin to know how the fuck to do that."
"We just need something heavy to tie it to. Like those planters." Colton points at the large concrete planters.
It might work…maybe. "They're all on one side though. It seems like that won't keep it stable enough."
"Guys," Declan interrupts, "have you considered the physics of this situation?"
Jonas scowls, arms crossed over his chest. "The aerodynamics of the screen's surface area combined with the potential wind velocity?—"
"English, please," I groan, rubbing my temples.
Before they can launch into what I'm sure would be a fascinating lecture, Kade and Micah join us on the roof, carrying fifty pound dumbells in each hand.
"We can just tie it to these," Kade says, putting his weights down next to the screen.
Jonas shakes his head and sighs. "That's monumentally stupid," he says flatly.
"Excuse me?" Kade bristles, turning to face Jonas. "It seems pretty fucking smart to me. We need weight, so we got some fucking weight."
Micah nods, casually doing bicep curls with the weights while listening to them argue.
"The screen is essentially a sail," Jonas explains, his tone softening slightly. "If the wind picks up, it will not just blow over. It will carry those weights with it, turning them into potentially lethal projectiles."
We all fall silent, imagining the chaos that could ensue.
"Fuck," Micah says, weights hanging from his hands. "Bad idea.'
"He's right," Declan chimes in. "Those weights could easily total a car, let alone hurt someone."
I run a hand through my hair, feeling the beginnings of a headache. "So what do we do? Are we giving up?"
My phone vibrates in my pocket. When I see Trixie's name on the screen, I move a few steps away and answer immediately. That woman is so capable she keeps everything running smoothly without me, so when she does call, it's usually important.
"Trixie? What's up?"
Her voice comes through shaky and panicked. "Maverick, you need to get here now. Some men tried to rob us. They had guns. There was—" Her words are drowned out by a commotion and sirens in the background.
My heart rate spikes. "Trixie? Are you okay? Is Cadence okay? What happened?"
"Just get here," she manages before the line goes dead.
I turn back to my brothers, my mind a wash of panic. They've fallen silent, all watching me with concern.
"What happened?" Ransom asks, his eyes searching my face.
I can barely get the words out. "Trixie said there were men with guns"
The world seems to tilt on its axis. Cadence. My Cadence is there. The thought sends a jolt of terror through me, making it hard to breathe. Not again. It can't happen again. The odds have to be astronomical. There's no possible way.
"We need to go. Now," I hear myself say, but my voice sounds distant, like it's coming from someone else.
As we rush to the elevator, my mind is flooded with images of Cadence hurt, scared, or worse. My hands shake as I fumble with my car keys. I can't lose her. Not now, not when we've finally gotten together. It's so fucking good, the universe can't be that cruel.
The fear is overwhelming, threatening to paralyze me, but I need to get to her, to make sure she's safe. Nothing else matters right now.
"I'm driving," Ransom says firmly, taking the keys from my trembling hands. I don't argue. I'm in no state to be behind the wheel.
As we peel out of the parking garage, I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. Please, let her be okay. The thought repeats like a mantra in my head. Please, let her be okay.