“Yes. He also said I’m not supposed to let you be stubborn.”
“That man is overstepping already.”
“He gave me a walkie-talkie.”
My other eye opens.
“He what?”
Livy beams and holds up a small black radio clipped to the waistband of her borrowed sweatpants. “For emergencies.”
“Define emergencies.”
“If you faint. If you cry. If you need tea. If I need snacks. If Steffy gets lost. If someone tries to make me go to school.”
“None of those are the same kind of emergency.”
“They are to me.”
I fall back onto the pillow and stare at the ceiling.
Lord help me.
Livy climbs closer and rests her chin on my shoulder. “Are you mad?”
“No, baby.” I turn my head and kiss her forehead. “I’m just trying to understand why the head of a crime family has declared a school holiday.”
“For emotional wellness.”
“That sounds like something you made up.”
“It might be.”
“Does your chest hurt today?” I ask her. “How’s that burn on your foot?”
“It doesn’t hurt. And, no. Mav made me take my inhaler, then had some man listen to my lungs. They said I was fine. Then I ate breakfast, but I was told I had to leave you alone for one hour.”
“And it has been exactly thirty-four minutes,” Maverick says from the doorway.
Livy screeches and dives under the blankets.
I can’t stop myself.
I laugh.
“You’re in trouble now,” I tease.
“Mama,” Livy groans from beneath the covers, “whose side are you on?”
“The person holding a hot cup of what I’m hoping is coffee.”
I eye the mug in Maverick’s hand.
“It is,” he says, stepping into the room. “Spike and Riley are here. Riley handed me this cup and swore that it would start your day off with happiness. How are you feeling?”
“Better now.”
His mouth curves as he hands me the cup.
