25. Clara
CLARA
THE BEACH
Déjà vu washes over me as Maverick pulls into the driveway of a dark gray two-story house, coming to a smooth stop in front of the garage. It’s quiet. Still. Safe. But that does nothing to ease the tension stretching between us like a live wire.
Juno lets out an eager bark, likely excited to be home, and is the first to move, hopping down from the backseat the second Maverick opens his door. I stay put, gripping the strap of my bag like it’s a lifeline, staring at the house as if stepping inside will change something—what, I don’t know.
Maverick doesn’t rush me, but I feel his eyes on me through the rearview mirror. Waiting.
With a steadying breath, I push open the door and step out, the cool evening air biting at my skin.
Maverick retrieves the rest of our bags, then slams the trunk shut, brushing past me toward the small front porch tucked beneath a slanted roof.
I wait at the bottom of the steps—a false barrier between us—as he unlocks the front door.
When he steps inside, the house swallows him whole, the darkness stretching deep into the silent space. He flicks a switch, flooding the entryway with warm light. It casts long shadows against the walls, making everything feel smaller. More suffocating.
“Come on, sunshine,” he says, his voice softer now, lacking the sharp edge it held back in Rochester.
I follow him in. The space is clean but lived-in—his personality stitched into every detail in a way it wasn’t at the rental.
Dark hardwood floors stretch beneath neutral walls, a charcoal-gray sectional anchoring one side of the living room, while built-in bookshelves line the other.
The door to the adjacent office is ajar, showcasing the case files scattered across a heavy wooden desk—proof that, even at home, Maverick never truly clocks out.
He drops his keys on the entry table and heads straight for the kitchen, raking a hand through his hair before bracing both palms against the counter. His back is rigid, his shoulders tight. He’s still wound up from the drive, from the call, from everything.
I should say something. Instead, I just stand there, gripping my bag.
“The bedroom’s down the hall,” he says after a long beat, still facing away from me. “Bathroom’s across from it. If you need anything, just—” He lets out a sharp breath and finally turns to face me. His expression is unreadable. I don’t like it. “Just let me know. ”
“And the other room?” I ask, more for something to fill the silence than anything else.
“My office.”
I nod, shifting on my feet, but neither of us move. I can’t stand the weight that hangs between us, and I don’t think I can get settled without addressing it. It’s not just today—it’s the distance since last night.
Finally, I clear my throat. “Maverick.”
He doesn’t move as I step closer, stopping just shy of touching him. “This,” I say, gesturing between the two of us, “feels heavy. I don’t like it. It doesn’t feel right.”
Maverick’s jaw tenses as he stares past me, his gaze unfocused. Then he sighs, leaning back against the counter, rubbing an eyebrow with his forefinger. Exhaustion drags at his features. He looks utterly drained—mentally, emotionally.
“I’m sorry, sunshine.”
When he doesn’t continue, I arch a brow. I’m not walking away without resolving this, and I’m sure as hell not letting him off the hook that easily.
“Come here.”
He doesn’t wait for me to move. He simply grips my hips and pulls me into him, wrapping me in the solid warmth of his arms. It takes me a beat to respond, but then I’m holding onto him just as tightly, resting my cheek against his chest. It’s different from how he holds me at night—this is grounding, steady, a silent reassurance that neither of us is alone in this.
“It isn’t you, Clara. I need you to know you’ve done nothing wrong.” His breath is warm against my temple, his voice thick with emotion. “I just… We found the warehouse yesterday.”
I stiffen, but he tightens his hold.
“I’ve been on edge ever since,” he continues. “I’m sorry for pulling away. And this morning, with that photo… I needed time to process, but I shouldn’t have barked orders at you or ignored you. That wasn’t fair to you.”
I pull back enough to meet his gaze. “You don’t have to be sorry, but I need you to talk to me. If you need space, tell me. I can handle that. What I can’t handle is feeling like I’m tiptoeing around you. It’s hard enough knowing I’ve taken over your space, okay?”
“Stop. You’re not taking over anything. You’re here because I want you to be.”
I want to ask: In what way? As someone he’s bound to protect? A victim? Or something more? I might be working on my communication, but in this, I’ll own the fact that I’m too chickenshit to voice the question.
“I can sleep in the living room with Juno,” I say, my eyes darting to the floor. “I don’t want to take your bedroom.”
“Sunshine.” Maverick’s voice is firm but gentle.
His brows knit together as he gently grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my head back until I have no choice but to look at him.
“You’re sleeping in the bed. And I already told you—I’ll sleep next to you for as long as you need me to.
That doesn’t change because of today, you hear me? ”
“I hear you,” I whisper.
“Good.” He leans forward and presses his soft lips to my forehead. “Go get settled in my room. It’s the last door at the end of the hall. I’m going to let Juno out and call Arlo. I’ll have a security system installed as soon as possible.”
“Okay.” I give him one more squeeze before slipping away, making my way down the hall.
Maverick’s bedroom is exactly what I expected—dark, minimal, and distinctly his.
The walls are painted a deep charcoal, nearly black.
I turn on the bedside lamp, the soft glow cutting through the darkness.
A massive king-sized bed dominates the space, dressed in black sheets and a thick, dark gray comforter.
No frills. No unnecessary decor. Just function.
The air carries a faint mix of cedarwood and something undeniably him—clean, masculine, steady. It’s comforting. It’s a space designed for practicality, and standing here, I can’t help but think it fits him perfectly.
Running my hands over the soft comforter, I release a weary exhale. I need a shower. I need to wash away the day clinging to my skin.
By the time I crawl into bed, exhaustion weighs heavy on my limbs, and I leave only the bathroom light on.
I wake to the feel of the mattress dipping, warmth at my back. A low murmur calms my racing heart.
“Shh, it’s just me. Go back to sleep, sunshine.”
I barely manage to lift my head. “What time is it?”
“Only ten.”
God, it feels so much later.
Turning on my side, I tuck my head beneath his chin. It’s more intimate than before, but it feels right.
“Mav?”
“Yeah, sunshine? ”
“Will you tell me about her?”
“Yeah, sunshine,” he repeats with an acquiescing sigh. “I will.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head and traces his fingers in slow circles along my back. I wait a few beats of silence before he tells me about his past, breathing in his scent to relax my nerves.
“Her name was Heather. That picture… it was from the night she died seven years ago.” His throat bobs. “It was my fault.”
“How so?”
I listen as he tells me about the raid. The call. The crash.
The guilt of it all is evident in the tightness of his voice—the sorrow unmistakable. “If I hadn’t gone on that raid, if they hadn’t called her… she’d still be alive.”
“I’m so sorry, Mav.” A pause, then, “Was she your wife?”
“No,” he sighs, the word heavy with an unspoken ache. “Heather and I were together for about three years. I don’t know if I would’ve proposed, but… I loved her.”
I tighten my hold around him, offering silent comfort where words feel inadequate.
“I failed her.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m afraid I’m going to fail you, too. And I can’t, Clara. You hear? I can’t fail you.”
“You won’t, Maverick.” The promise feels small, but I mean it.
Tilting my head, I press a light kiss to his cheek, brushing the corner of his mouth in the process. The faint contact sends my heart galloping, and I feel it with intensity when he flattens his hand against the small of my back.
He’s just as affected as I am—lifting a hand to cup my cheek, his breath catches. We’re so close, and the heated look in his eyes charges the space between us.
“Please say I can kiss you, sunshine.”
The need in his voice steals my words, but I don’t need them.
My slight, barely discernible nod is all it takes.
The second our lips touch, I forget how to breathe.
The world tilts, and a low groan rumbles from his chest, sending warmth spiraling through my veins.
I feel the exact moment his restraint frays—his mouth moves against mine, tender yet desperate.
It’s a kiss that’s both a question and an answer.
When he shifts closer, I gasp, my awareness narrowing to the solid press of his body. He takes the opportunity to flick his tongue along my upper lip, coaxing a response that comes instinctively. My fingers fist the front of his shirt, clinging to him as heat coils low in my stomach.
And then, all too soon, he pulls away. His breath is ragged, skating over my skin when his forehead touches mine.
“Damn, sunshine.”
He places a soft, slow kiss on my lips before easing back completely, not pushing for more.
I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. A riot of emotions leaves my head a mess, my body humming with something I haven’t felt in too long. I swallow hard and settle against his chest, pressing my ear to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
The desire he’s stirred in me battles against everything else—the past, the uncertainty, the fear. Is it too soon? Am I wrong for wanting this? For wanting him?
I don’t have the answers, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.
Tonight, I let the sound of his heartbeat lull me to sleep.