Page 104 of Maverick

"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 myin. 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 alot 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.

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