Page 12 of Maverick's Code

"Oh God, I'm sorry," she stammers, squeezing my hand. "I shouldn't have-"

"It's fine," I assure her. "Really. I've made my peace with it."

A small, almost mischievous smile plays at her lips. "Well, look at that. Seems we have something in common - we're both members of the dead dads club."

I stare at her for a moment before a surprised laugh escapes me. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Too soon?" she asks, but she's fighting back a smile of her own.

"Way too soon," I shake my head, still chuckling. "You're something else, you know that?"

"So, I've been told," she says, "Usually not as a compliment, though."

"Well, I meant it as one," I say, suddenly very aware of how close we're sitting, how her hand fits perfectly in mine. "You're brave, Sadie. Crazy brave."

The playfulness fades from her expression, replaced by something more intense. "Brave or desperate?"

"Maybe both," I admit. "But either way, I'm glad you swung that bat at my head this morning."

A genuine smile spreads across her face. "I'm glad I didn't hit you too. It would have been a shame to ruin such a pretty face.

I raise an eyebrow at that, and a faint blush colors her cheeks - the first time I've seen her truly flustered. It's oddly endearing.

"So," she says quickly, obviously trying to change the subject, "did you follow in your dad's footsteps? Join the military like him and my father?"

"Marines," I nod. "Eight years, two tours. I got out when my old man got sick and came back to help take care of him. I found the MC after he passed - they became my new family.”

"Is that where you learned to be so..." she gestures vaguely with her free hand, "gentle? With injuries and stuff, I mean. The way you took care of me last night."

"Combat medic training," I explain. "Figured if I was going to be in a position to hurt people, I should also know how to heal them." I pause, studying her bruised face. "Speaking of which, we should probably get some ice on that cheek again."

She shakes her head. "I'm fine. Tell me more about your time in the Marines. Did you... did you like it?"

There's something in her voice, a need to focus on anything but our current situation, that makes me understand. She's trying to stay distracted, not think about what might be happening at the warehouse right now.

"Most of the time," I say, playing along. "Taught me discipline, purpose. How to be part of something bigger than myself." I smile slightly. "Also taught me that I hate desert sand with a burning passion."

That draws another small laugh from her. "My dad used to say the same thing. Said he was still finding sand in his boots years later."

"Your old man wasn't wrong," I chuckle, then grow serious. "He was a good man, Sadie. The stories Hellfire used to tell about him... he was legendary."

Her eyes get bright with unshed tears. "I wish... I wish I'd known him better. Really known him, not just the version the Outlaws wanted me to see."

Without thinking, I reach up and brush away a tear that's escaped down her cheek.

"Hey, you knew the real him. The man who stood up against trafficking, who protected the innocent - that was the real John Miller. And from what I can see, you're just like him."

"You're too kind," she whispers, leaning slightly into my touch. "Sometimes I wonder how different things might have been if I'd met someone like you before... before everything went wrong."

"Maybe," I say softly, my thumb tracing the unbruised part of her cheekbone. "But we shouldn't waste time thinking about the past when we could be making a future."

Her breath catches. "What do you mean by that?"

I stare at face for a moment - the strength in her eyes despite everything she's been through, the gentle curve of her lips even with the split, the way she's looking at me like maybe she feels this too, this inexplicable pull that's been there since I first saw her in that white dress.

"I hope I'm not taking this too far," I murmur, and before I can talk myself out of it, I lean in and press my lips to hers, gentle enough not to hurt her injuries.

For a heart-stopping moment, she's completely still. Then her free hand comes up to grip my cut, pulling me closer as she kisses me back. It's soft and careful and tastes like coffee and something sweeter, something uniquely her.

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