“You injured my family by running them off the road.”
Rory backs up.
“Maverick, listen.”
“You shot my brother.”
Another step.
“You stole my girls.”
Rory lifts his hands. “I didn’t steal them. I was protecting them.”
“And then,” Maverick says, his voice dropping softer, “you hit my daughter.”
Livy makes a tiny broken sound.
Maverick’s jaw flexes once.
Only once.
But Rory sees it.
So do I.
“Daddy,” Livy whispers.
His eyes flick to her.
For the first time, something cracks through the cold.
Pain.
Love.
Fear so deep it looks like rage.
“I’m here,piccola.”
Rory’s face twists. “She isn’t yours.”
Maverick stops on the last step.
His eyes return to Rory.
“She is.”
Two words.
No argument.
No explanation.
Just fact.
Rory’s hands shake. “You don’t understand. I love them. I’ve always loved them. I was there before you. I knew them before you even looked at her.”
“You knew them,” Maverick says, stepping off the stairs, “and still hurt them.”
