Lo

As soon as Kyle's Jeep stopped, I was out of there, running toward the warehouse, fear propelling me forward. 

“Lo, wait up,” he yelled after me, but I didn't stop.

I couldn't.

Maverick was in there and something was wrong. I'd known the second Kyle turned up at the house. After a week of pushing me away, keeping me at a distance, I didn’t even need to hear the words from my cousin’s mouth. It was a gut feeling. Intuition.

And I should have seen it coming.

The deafening noise as I slipped inside the building, made me falter. Just for a second while my senses adjusted. But then I was moving, pushing through rabid men ignoring their grunts of agitation. Someone grabbed my hand, and I swung around, ready to fight. But Kyle stared back at me, concern shining in his blue eyes. “It's me,” he said over the noise. “It's just me.”

“Come on.” I pulled him with me, moving deeper into the room. A different sound filled the air now. Bone on bone. Fist crushing soft tissue. It was sickening, and I clutched my stomach barely able to stand it. But when I burst through the thick of bodies and my eyes landed on Maverick, everything disappeared. Sucked out of my world until I could see nothing but him and a faceless man beating the shit out of one another. Deep red rivulets ran down their faces. A busted eye. A thick split lip. A patchwork of cuts and bruises. If it wasn't for the sharp tug in my stomach reassuring me it was Maverick, I would have looked twice. His broken face was barely recognisable.

“Holy shit,” Kyle breathed beside me, his grip on my hand tightening.

“Do something, Kyle,” I managed to croak out. “You have to do something.”

“I... I'm not sure, fuck.” We both gasped when the other man got Maverick with a strong right hook. His head snapped back, blood splattering the spectators to his side. They roared, fuelled by blood and bone.

But Maverick came back swinging. His hands jabbed in perfect synchronicity and despite the sheer brutal nature of the scene, despite my conscience screaming at me to look away, I couldn't take my eyes off him. He moved like a cat. Lithe and quick. Crowding his opponent. Forcing him back against the frenzied crowd. Maverick was hurt, but he was in control. Cold... calculated... deadly. And my heart ached for him. 

“He's got this, Prince has—” The roar of the crowd drowned out Kyle's words. It was like every crunch, every snap, they responded. A pack of hyenas circling, waiting for their next bloody meal. 

The man got in a couple of rib blows and pain flashed across Maverick’s face. He eased off, trying to catch his breath, but it was the wrong move. The man closed in. Pushing forward with everything he had. The noise reached a crescendo as if the hungry crowd felt the nearing victory. Maverick pushed back, jabbing quick and precise. Each hit like a bullet to my chest. But his opponent swung wide and hard, clipping Maverick's jaw, and he staggered back, shaking his head.

“Kyle, oh my god...” I couldn't watch. I couldn't breathe. 

“He's got this, Prince has got this,” Kyle kept repeating to himself as if the alternative was not an option. 

It happened so quick. One minute, Maverick was ready to pounce, the next he was met with an onslaught of fists raining down on him. Snap. Crack. Snap. Crack. The sound reverberated around my skull as my stomach churned and I clapped a hand over my mouth in a desperate attempt to stop myself vomiting.

Forfeit my mind urged. But I knew he wouldn't. Maverick wouldn't go down without a fight. 

“NOOO!” My plea was lost in the final roar as the faceless man landed one more fist to Maverick's face. His head twisted at an angle that seemed to defy logic and I screamed again and then I was running toward Maverick as his body began to fall. 

~

“We should take him to the ER,” I insisted for the third time, keeping one eye on Maverick's bloody and lifeless body slumped in the back of the Jeep. 

“I don't know, Cous.”

“Kyle,” I ground out. “Look at him. He's a mess. He needs—”

“No hospitals.”

Relief flooded me at the sound of Maverick's groggy voice, followed by anger. Red hot fury exploded in my chest and I lost it. “You could've died,” I snapped, unable to stop the tears as they rolled from my eyes.

Maverick groaned, his eyes half-closed. “I'm fine.”

“You look like something off the Walking Dead.” Kyle's attempt at humour was lost on me. We'd watched, unable to do anything, while Maverick let a man pummel him into shreds. 

“It's nothing a hot shower and some Advil won't take care of. Maybe a beer or two.” 

I glared at him through the mirror, but Maverick's eyes were closed again, or swollen shut. It was hard to tell; there was so much blood and bruising. But as if he sensed me watching, he added, “The on-site medical guy checked me over. Mild concussion from the fall. Possible broken rib. Nothing else to worry about.

“Pull over,” I demanded, and Kyle cast me a sideways glance.

“Hmm, Lo, we're in the middle of nowhere, I can't just sto—”

“Pull. Over.”

With a heavy sigh and a string of cuss words under his breath, Kyle pulled the Jeep over to the side of the road and climbed out. “I'll give the two of you some space.”

I shot him a look of gratitude. When he was out of earshot I twisted my body around and traced every cut and bruise marring Maverick's face. There were a lot. A couple looked worse than the rest. Blood seeping from deep gashes. He needed proper medical attention but part of me—the part swarming with rage—thought maybe he deserved to suffer. To feel even an ounce of the pain and hurt churning through my stomach.

“Why, Maverick? Why would you do this?”

He shifted up the seat, one arm wrapped around his waist as if he was holding himself together. Pain twisted into his marred face. His brows knitted tight. Breathing shallow. “You wouldn't understand.”

That's it.

That's all he had?

“Wouldn't understand?” my voice wavered. “You haven't even given me a chance. You shut me out, Maverick. All week, you've been avoiding me. Keeping me at a distance. I thought it was me. I thought you'd changed your mind about us. But it's him, isn't it? Your father did something.”

It was the only thing that made sense.

“London...”

My heart crashed against my chest. I was so conflicted. Part of me wanted to nurse him better. Soothe his cuts and bruises. Tend to his wounds. But another part wanted to finish the job. 

How could he go there… for that?

“You need help Maverick. This—whatever you think you are doing by stepping into that ring—it's not working. I want to help you. I want to understand but I can't… I won't stand around and watch you self-destruct.”

His eyes finally snapped open to mine. Daring me to say the words. To end us before we ever got started. But I swallowed them down leaving the threat hanging between us. 

Kyle chose that moment to open the door and poke his head inside. “Are you two done? I'm freezing my balls off out here.”

“We're done,” I said holding Maverick's hard glare for another second before throwing myself back against the seat. 

We weren't done.

Not by a long shot.

But I meant what I said. I couldn't keep watching him do this to himself. Not when he refused to let me help him. 

We rode the rest of the way in silence. Kyle threw me a few concerned looks, keeping one eye on Maverick in his rearview mirror. He was sleeping. Or too exhausted to make a sound. God. Seeing that, watching a man bigger and stronger pound his fists into Maverick's face over and over. It was something I never wanted to see again.

When I'd reached him, unconscious on the ground, everything started to blur. My heart beat so fast I felt queasy, and I went into shock. Kyle later told me it had taken two men to hoist Maverick up and carry him to the 'medical room' which turned out to be some abandoned office where they had a gurney and a sparse first aid kit. 

Some good that did.

“Okay, how are going to do this?” Kyle said as he turned off for their house, and I glanced back at Maverick.

“I have no idea. Are your dad and Rebecca home?”

“They were going to some gala. They should be gone for a while.”

“And Summer and Macey?”

There was no way Summer needed to see Maverick in this state. Macey neither.

“Who knows? But if I park by the garage, we can carry him through the back entrance and straight to the pool house.

“And then what, Kyle?” I hissed. “He needs—”

“I know, I know. Let's just get him inside and reassess the situation. Once he's cleaned up, he'll probably look and feel better.”

Kyle pulled up as close to the back gate as possible. The place was pitched in darkness, no sign of Gentry’s car in its usual spot. He climbed out and came around to my side. I got out and watched as he opened the back door and scrubbed a hand down his face.

“This is fucked up,” he breathed out. “Rick, do you think you can stand?”

Nothing.

“Rick, man, you have to help us out here. C’mon.”

A garbled reply came from inside the car and then Maverick appeared, dragging himself to the door. “Shit,” he groaned. “That hurts.”

Kyle caught him and between us we managed to wrestle him onto his feet. Limp and exhausted, Maverick’s upper body hung forward, pain lingering in every breath. By the time we reached the pool house, beads of sweat were rolling down my back.

“Get the door, Cous.” Kyle shifted his weight to take most of Maverick’s and I slid out from his side to let us in.

Maverick’s pained groans filled the silence as we helped him into his bedroom and guided him down onto his bed. He landed with another groan. Kyle caught my eye and mouthed, “What now?” and I released a weary breath.

“I’ll get the first aid kit. You help him strip out of his clothes.”

“I’m not getting him naked.” Kyle’s eyes bunched together.

“His vest, Kyle. Take off his vest.”

“His vest? You mean his tank, right? I can do that.”

“Keep your fucking hands off me,” Maverick choked out, groaning some more.

“He speaks. He’s alive.”

“Kyle, not helping,” I scolded. “Just watch him, I’ll be back.”

I gathered the first aid kit, paper towels and a bowl of warm water. In less than five months, this was the second time I was cleaning blood from Maverick’s face.

But I never anticipated this.

When I returned to the bedroom, I paused. Kyle had pulled up the desk chair beside the bed and was talking in a hushed voice to his stepbrother, concern written all over his face and I wondered how many times he’d witnessed this over the last year.

But that conversation would have to take place another time before Maverick bled out all over his clean sheets.

“Okay, scoot over,” I said to Kyle, and he moved out of the way.

“This is going to hurt.”

“You could never hurt me, London,” Maverick whispered. He sounded out of it—lost to the pain radiating through his body. But even in his current state, I could have sworn I saw the faintest of smirks on his busted lip.

“Kyle, tear off some towels and fold them into squares.”

He did as I asked, stacking them into little piles on the nightstand. I took the top one, dipping it in the water and squeezing it out and then started wiping. Maverick hissed and swore and, at one point, I thought he had passed out. Blood tinged the water red, but I didn’t stop. Dip. Rinse. Squeeze. Wipe. The cloying metallic tang overwhelmed my senses and a couple of times I had to turn away just to drag a little fresh air into my lungs. But slowly, Maverick—my Maverick—came into view. Kyle had been right, the amount of blood smeared over his face made his injuries appear worse than they actually were. Aside from a deep gash over his right eyebrow and the jagged split in his bottom lip, it was mostly bruising and surface grazes. There was swelling around his eye, but Kyle dug out ice from the freezer and wrapped it in a towel, and applied it to the area.

“See, almost as good as new,” he joked, but not even his attempt at humour could disguise his concern.

“Okay, I think we’re done,” I said after twenty-minutes of cleaning wounds and applying plasters. I dried my hands on a clean sheet of paper towel and stood up to take everything away, but Maverick’s hand shot out and snagged my wrist.

“Thank you,” he croaked, his eyes flickering in and out of consciousness.

“I’ll get you some painkillers and then you can sleep it off. You might need to get your ribs x-rayed.” There was a lot of bruising.

“Stay,” he said.

“I can’t.” I shrugged out of his grip and started gathering up the bowl of water and bloody towels, forcing down the tears and bile burning the back of my throat. “I’ll check in on you tomorrow. If you need anything Kyle will be here.” My eyes shot to my cousin’s, and he nodded.

“Sure thing. I’ll be right here on Prince duty.” He gave me a two-fingered salute.

“Try to get some rest.” My fingers itched to touch him, to reach out and trace the lines of his broken face but I was barely holding on and I didn’t want to break. Not here.

I rushed out of there with Kyle hot on my heels. “Cous,” he called.

“I have to go. I’ll call a taxi from the house. Stay here, in case he needs you.”

“He needs you, Cous.” Kyle narrowed his eyes.

“I can’t…” I couldn’t explain it, but I had to get out of here. “I’m fine. I just need some air. I’ll text you when I’m home. He should be fine but if anything changes, don’t risk it and take him straight to the emergency room.”

“I think we both know the only way I’d get him there is if he’s de—” His face went pale as he realised what he’d been about to say. “Shit, Cous, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Goodnight, Kyle. I’ll text to see how he is later.” I turned, and all but ran out of there.