Maverick (The Family Simon 3)

br /> Charlie slammed the door shut and stuck out her tongue, glad that Davis couldn’t see through oak. She undid her hair clip and let her tangled waves fall around her shoulders as she wandered back into the family room.

Shark Man was about to slay the enemy and Connor didn’t even know she was there. He looked so small and fragile with his pale skin, pale eyes, and russet curls.

He looks just like mom.

A wave of pain rolled over her and Charlie wrapped her arms around her midsection, trying to find some bit of comfort because suddenly the sadness inside her was almost too much to bear.

She leaned against the wall, eyes on her vibrant red toes, and felt them well up. She thought back to Davis’ question. There was a time when she had wanted so much more than Fisherman’s Landing was ever going to give her. There was a time when she thought she’d find a life that fit. A life that was meant to be hers. She’d had it for all of two seconds, because life threw her a curveball that she hadn’t seen coming.

Michigan Institute of Technology seemed a lifetime away and so did her dream of becoming an engineer.

Oh god, she needed to focus. She needed to think about other things. Like the mortgage and the stack of bills on her desk.

She had Connor. She had some kind of life. And really, that was more than a lot of folks had. It should be enough. It had to be enough.

Didn’t it?

Chapter Eleven

By Wednesday Maverick couldn’t take it anymore and he sent a text message to Charlie.

So you still thinking about it or what?

He hit send before he had the chance to chicken out and when he glanced at the message a few moments later, he cringed. Seriously, his buddy’s twelve-year-old could compose a better text message than he could.

With a groan he tossed his cell and ran his hands over his freshly shaven jaw. If his mother could see him now, she’d thank him. She’d always been into the clean cut, Tom Cruise types—big smiles and big bank accounts (He could thank Mr. Cruise for his name as well, Top Gun anyone?). And she’d razzed him but good the last time she’d seen him. Said it looked like a cat’s butt was stuck to his face.

He loved his mother, but man, he could do without the commentary.

His father had died tragically in a car crash when he and Cooper were small, and though his mother had a heart of gold, she was the kind of woman who didn’t mince words. She had no filter and said whatever the hell was on her mind without thinking.

There was a reason she’d married and divorced three times. He smiled, thinking about her. It had been a while since he’d seen her—Beau and Betty’s wedding, if he remembered correctly. He should call her.

Maverick grabbed up his guitar and began to play a few chords, humming along with a melody that had been inside his head for the past few days. The notes fell out of him and as he dug in, his chord progression became meatier. The notes were all minor, and kind of sad, but he was digging it. His fingers flew over the strings, and just like it had so many times in the past, his mind and body opened up to the music and he began to write.

He got the bulk of the melody down and once the structure was good, he brought out his notepad and jotted down ideas—emotions and thoughts—and that familiar knot of excitement punched him in the gut. He knew that he was on to something.

It felt damn good to break through the creative drought that had plagued him for months, and when he finally set his guitar down, the shadows were longer and he realized he’d worked through lunch and most of the afternoon.

He checked his phone and smiled when he spied a response from Charlie.

Still thinking.

Huh. At least she hadn’t shot him down, but still….

“Times up, darlin’,” he said, and then headed back to the house. He took a quick shower, pulled on a black turtleneck, jeans and his boots, and after locking the door behind him, strode to his truck. He was feeling good about things and had no problem forcing the issue.

He got to Fisherman’s Landing around four-thirty and headed to A Charmed Life, smiling when he walked inside and spied his new favorite waitress, Jessie. He grabbed a stool at the counter and accepted a cup of coffee.

“You’re still here,” Jessie said, wiping away some crumbs.

“Still here.”

“Everything’s good then?”

“Yep,” he answered with a grin. “Things are looking up.”

“That’s good to hear. Any particular reason?”