Page 124 of Reckless Hearts

Those words hit harder than I expect. After everything we said at the hospital, it still guts me. All the time we lost. All the silence we didn’t have to suffer through. But we can’t change the past. And I’m not about to let it mess up our future.

“Leave him be, Ellie,” my dad chimes in, crossing his arms. “We both know our boy’s just as damn stubborn. And just as guilty.”

I expect Maverick to brush it off. Throw out some smart-ass comment to deflect the heat. Instead, He just squares his shoulders and looks my mom in the eye, voice low, steady.

“No. It was me.”

He holds there. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away.

Then, almost like he can’t help it, his eyes flick to mine.

“I’m the one that fucked up. I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve come back sooner.”

My fingers curl reflexively on the crutch handle.

That’s enough.

My parents share a look, then both turn toward me with matching smirks.

Just how much did they know back then?

Apparently, more than we did.

Maverick grabs our bags, lifting them over both shoulders, and hovers behind me as I take the stairs one at a time. Those four steps nearly do me in. Callie’s on my other side, brows drawn tight with concern. Then she rushes ahead to the door, reaching to open it for me.

I walk in, and the smell of my mom’s homemade cooking hits me like a memory I didn’t know I was starving for. Nostalgia floods in, heavy and warm. Having Maverick and Callie here, too, just makes it clearer how much I’ve missed this.

“Your cooking smells amazing. Thank you for having us over, ma’am,” Callie says, ever the politest out of the three of us.

My mom gives her a warm smile, welcoming her without words. “Well, I’d ask you for help, but everybody here knows how that would turn out.”

She’s not wrong. Callie’s an awful cook. Her ability to burn rice has been a favorite story of mine. Still, she didn’t need to be so harsh about it.

Callie just laughs, knowing it’s all in fun, and turns to look up when Maverick wraps an arm around her back, resting it on her shoulder. His eyes are hooded, gazing at her. I’m sure he’d like to do more, but none of us is sure how to explain it to my parents, so we all agreed to be on our best behavior.

“I’ll help you, Mrs. Lawson,” Maverick offers, making his way to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves, revealing his thick arms. And I have to force myself to look away before I start drooling.

“That’s right,” Mom says. “You’re all grown up now.”

There’s a sadness in her voice that sneaks in at the edges, like she feels the weight of all the years we lost.

My dad claps his hands together, breaking the moment, and looks at Callie and me. “Alright, you two. You may be awful at cooking, but you sure can set that table.”

“Yes, sir,” Callie says with a nod and a smile, heading off after my mom and Maverick.

He holds me back with a firm hand on my arm, his gaze searching mine. “I’m happy for you, son.”

I startle a little, caught off guard, not sure how he’s read the situation, but he lets me go, giving me a firm push on the shoulder. I stumble forward, crutch snagging on the ground, and he catches me before I tumble.

“Oh, right,” my dad says, like he’s just now remembering I’m here to recover from my injuries. “Go sit down—but don’t think you’ll be able to use this as an excuse for everything.” His words are rough, but his tone is warm. He’s always been a softie underneath the bark.

It’s not long before the long wooden table is filled with dishes that smell so good my mouth waters—pot roast, homemade bread, pie in the oven.

I go to dig in, but Maverick, sitting to my right, slaps my hand and raises a single brow.

Ah, fuck. I forgot. We may not pray in this family, but there’s still a rule. Nobody eats until we give thanks.

Looking between Maverick and Callie, sitting on either side of me, I try to pour the truth into my words, quiet but clear, meant just for them.

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