I nod, though the words do nothing to settle the unease building in my chest. I finally take a bite of my taco, but the flavor barely registers. It might as well be cardboard.
“I wish you’d taken that job Bennett offered you,” I admit quietly. “The minute you get patched, I’m going to start losing sleep worrying about you.”
Maverick grins, reckless and unbothered. “Nothing I can’t handle. Besides, I live for this kind of thing.”
“That’s exactly what worries me.”
“If it were up to you and Mom, I’d be bubble-wrapped for life.”
“That’s because we love you,” I say, managing a small smile.
“Or because you like controlling variables,” he counters easily.
“Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
He laughs under his breath, then leans back, stretching out. “One day you’re going to realize worrying about me was a waste of time.”
“You’re really set on this life?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“I’m five years in,” he says. “I’ve seen too much to walk away now.”
Something in his tone tells me not to push further.
I nod, even as unease lingers.
This is why we meet here—why he insists on neutral ground instead of Marco Island. He says he stands out too much there, that he’d ruin my reputation in Collier County. I don’t care about any of that, but he does, and so we sit at a worn picnic table behind a taco truck instead of anywhere closer to home.
“Good seeing you, Mac,” he says, pushing to his feet. “If you need anything, call me.”
“You’re leaving already?” I ask, unable to hide the disappointment in my voice.
“Gotdangerouslyimportant business to attend to,” he says with a crooked grin. “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“Stop,” I laugh, though it comes out softer than usual.
He pulls me into another hug, tighter this time, and we linger there for a moment. His warmth steadies me in a way nothing else has in days.
“You should take the tacos,” I murmur as we pull apart. “I’m not hungry.”
He nods, grabbing the bag and heading toward his bike. Hetucks it into the saddlebag, then swings a leg over the Harley and starts the engine. It roars to life, loud enough to draw attention from a nearby family.
He glances back at me, flashing a boyish smile before pulling out of the lot.
I hear the bike long after he disappears.
And all I can think about is what he said.
Phillip owes the club money.
A lot of it.
The thought settles deep, unsettling and sharp.
Because whatever that debt is—I have the distinct, sinking feeling it’s tied to Whitney.
And I won’t sleep until I know how.
Chapter Twelve
