Page 88 of Maverick

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.

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