Page 15 of You Owe Me

I grip the base of my milkshake, forcing my voice to stay steady. “He showed up while I was on the quad with Eliza. Walked up out of nowhere, all slick and polished. You know the type.”

Bostic nods once. He knows the type.

“Said he was into marine biology,” I add dryly. “Which was the first red flag. He looked like the closest he’s come to marine life was luxury yacht shopping. But then he dropped Maverick’s name.”

That gets Bostic’s attention. His eyes narrow just slightly. The shift is subtle, but I feel the pressure tightening in the air.

“He knew things,” I say, quieter now. “About me. About my internship. Stuff I haven’t told anyone but a few professors and Maverick. It wasn’t just creepy. It was strategic.”

I pause, suddenly aware of how fast my heart is beating. How my fingers haven’t let go of the cup.

“He called Maverick’s IOUs a ‘self-sustaining economy.’ Said power like that attracts attention. And eventually, opposition.”

Bostic’s jaw ticks.

“And then he gave me a business card. Said he just wanted to ‘continue the conversation.’ Like it was networking and not... sizing up Maverick’s life to dismantle.”

I look up, meeting Bostic’s eyes. “He wasn’t curious, Boss. He was circling.”

There’s a long beat of silence.

“Have you told Maverick?”

“Not yet. I didn’t know how. I still don’t.”

The words land heavier than I expect, because it’s not just about protecting Maverick from Carter; it’s about protecting him from himself.

“I’m scared that if I tell him, it’ll push him. You know how he is. He won’t sleep. He won’t rest. He’ll just... grind himself down, trying to stay ahead of it.”

My throat tightens, but I force the words out.

“And I don’t know how much more his heart can take.”

There it is. The part I don’t say out loud, even to myself, most days. The thing that keeps me up at night while he sleeps next to me with that stupid heart rate monitor digging into his wrist. The quiet, awful truth I try not to look directly at.

He’s not invincible. No matter how much he pretends to be. No matter how strong he is or how hard he fights or how smart he plays it, he’s human. And his heart, the literal organ inside him, is fragile. It’s faulty, and it scares me.

And stress is one of the worst things for it.

So, yeah, maybe I’m hesitating. Because if I tell him that someone’s out there pulling strings, watching from the shadows, planning something calculated and dangerous… what will it cost him? What will it costus?

“He barely admits to a flare-up. He just brushes it off. But I see him gritting his teeth when it spikes, acting like the room isn’t spinning around him. And he still pushes through.”

Bostic listens, still and focused. His eyes are steady, but they’re not cold. They’re full of something I can only describe as... knowing.

“You can’t protect him from all of it.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.”

Another long pause.

“Do you think not telling him will keep him safe?”

“No, but maybe it’ll buy us time. Maybe it’ll give him just a little more breathing room before he feels like the walls are closing in again.”

Bostic leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Or maybe it’ll blindside him at the worst possible moment.”

I wince. “You’re not wrong.”

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