I lift my aching hand just enough to touch his shirt.
“Maverick.”
His eyes drop to mine instantly.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I whisper. “What happened to them wasn’t your fault.”
His throat works.
“I’m not sure I can ever fully believe that,bella,” he says. “But I think I can finally move past it.”
His eyes flick to Livy, tucked against his side, then back to me.
“They would want me to.”
I nod, tears burning my eyes again.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “They would.”
For a few seconds, the only sound in the car is the hum of the road beneath us and Livy’s soft, uneven breathing.
Then her eyes open.
“Did your first daughter call you Papa like Sabrina calls hers?” Livy asks softly.
Maverick goes still.
Then he smiles a smile so sad, it breaks my heart.
“Yeah,piccola,” he says. “She did.”
Livy nods like she already knew the answer.
“I thought so.”
Maverick looks down at her.
“I didn’t want to make you sad,” she says. “So I decided not to call you Papa. Is that okay?”
The question breaks something open across his face.
He stares at her for a second, and I watch the grief and love move through him together.
Not fighting this time. Just existing in the same place.
“Oh,piccola,” he whispers.
Livy’s chin trembles. “I didn’t want to take her word.”
Maverick closes his eyes as a single tear slips free.
When he opens them again, he turns his face just enough to press his mouth to the top of her head. It’s awkward with me still curled in his lap and Livy tucked against his side, but he makes it work.
He always makes it work for us.
“You didn’t take anything from her,” he says, voice rough. “Do you hear me? Nothing.”
“But if Papa was hers, then I don’t want my voice to replace it.”
