I left Maverick sleeping when I woke the next morning. After his nightmare I’d been shook, him screaming for help, screaming in a way that made me think he was a child. Not the man sleeping beside me.
Frankie looked startled at the sight of him sobbing, which made me think something ran deep for Maverick, something Frankie
didn’t even know about.
When I tiptoed into the kitchen the next morning, I found Frankie sitting at the dining table with an untouched bowl of cereal in front
of him. He looked haunted.
“Hey,” I said, starting the coffee.
Frankie ran his fingers through his disheveled hair and sat back to look at me through heavy eyes. “What is wrong with Maverick,
Josie?” he asked.
I shook my head slowly. “I don’t know, Frankie. You’ve never seen him do this before?”
“No.”
