Page 71 of Relentless

“Oh, he sure did,” Maeve chuckled. “Realtop notch.”

“No amount of kindness is going to save Callaway Ranch at our next competition,” Tucker grinned, stifling an involuntary shiver as he pointed into the camera. “I’m coming for you, Maeve.”

“Tucker,” Maeve said, shaking her head.

“He’s smarter than he looks,” Oakleigh observed, retrieving her phone from Maeve’s hands. “He had 147 followers this morning,” she laughed. “He mentioned you and Callaway Ranch, and now he’s trending.”

Maeve took a sip of her coffee.

“I’ll never understand it.”

Oakleigh couldn’t help but be amused by Maeve’s intentional lack of concern regarding her status as an adored and admired internet celebrity.

The silence fell between them once again.

Maeve looked into the fireplace. She obviously had something on her mind as she ran her thumb over the mug’s smooth ceramic handle.

“Oakleigh, I’d like to ask you about something,” Maeve asked, uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Sure, yeah,” Oakleigh replied. “Anything.”

“There’s certain topics we rarely discuss,” Maeve hinted. “And I have my reasons for that.”

She cleared her throat, looking away into the crackling fireplace as she collected her thoughts. “I’d never want you to feel like I’ve put you in the middle.”

“It’s fine,” Oakleigh responded quickly, hoping to ease Maeve’s concerns. “I know you wouldn’t.”

“I appreciate that,” Maeve acknowledged, propping her elbow on the arm of the sofa. “I guess I’d like to know about your grandparents — your mom’s parents,” she stumbled. “My parents, I guess.”

Maeve was the strongest woman that Oakleigh had ever known, yet there was a notable tinge of apprehension in her voice.

Oakleigh took a long sip of coffee.

She considered how she would move heaven and earth to help Maeve find an ounce of closure, but even she had been raised with her mother’s seemingly well-rehearsed script on the details of Harris and Vera Underwood.

“You have no idea how much I want to be able to help, Maeve,” Oakleigh insisted. “But I was really young when my parents took over the church.”

Her grandparents retired and moved to Florida, and they never really heard from them again. Other than the occasional birthday card stuffed with cash and a brief scribble from their grandmother, there was no real relationship to grasp onto.

“I always got a vibe with them,” Oakleigh said, offering what little she had, even if it was simply crumbs of intuition. “It was like no matter what my mom did to please them — it was never enough.”

Maeve continued to gaze quietly into the fireplace. She pulled the mug to her lips, and took another long drink of her coffee.

“If it was so bad, she could have left too, right?” Oakleigh dared to ask, feeling emboldened by Maeve’s rare moment of vulnerability on the family’s dirty laundry.

Maeve hesitated as though contemplating how to properly address the nuanced issue. She set her mug on the coffee table and crossed her arms.

“Oakleigh,” she ventured. “Don’t you always talk about how your parents treated you like a piece of property?”

“TheDavenport brand,“ Oakleigh remarked, her lip curling into a smirk as she swirled the coffee around in her mug.

“That dynamic didn’t start with the Davenports,” Maeve carefully articulated, only saying just enough to get her point across and no more.

“I’ve always prayed she’d have the courage to step away,” she admitted, taking in a long breath. “But I also understand why she never did.”

Knowing it wasn’t fair to send Maeve further down the dark tunnel of triggering memories, Oakleigh opted to pivot into a topic that felt a little brighter.

“So when’s Dallas back?”

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