Chapter 57 Awake
One month later
“Maverick… please wake up.”
Heaven’s small voice whispered as she sat at the edge of the bed, her fingers laced tightly with his unmoving hand.
“If you don’t wake up, I will…” she paused, searching for a threat that didn’t sound pathetic, “…run away and uhh… remarry.”
The words were empty. She couldn’t even picture herself with anyone else. But right now, after a month of silence, she was willing to say anything. Anything to stir him.
Not after him.
It had been one month since the bullet tore through him at the hunting ground. The doctors had said he was healing quite fine and they couldn’t ascertain why he wasn’t waking up , and finally they had made the decision to bring him home he might wake up in a familiar environment.
Here in the Richard Estate, surrounded by familiar walls and familiar ghosts, he lay motionless, his chest rose and fell the evidence that he was alive. Eva stayed by his side day and night and hardly left him alone. His mother and father came from time to time. General Richard didn’t like his wife bawling her eyes at the sight of him so he reduced her visiting him.
Heaven… she was the ghost who was never supposed to be here, her mother in law had branded her a bad luck and she was beginning to believe it.
She had finally had her chance and slipped in, today she had overheard Eva mentioning she wanted to go see the progress in her art gallery. So she took her chance.
Now she sat there, talking nonsense, bargaining with him even though he could not hear her, threatening him with something she knew she was going to pay dearly for if he was awake.
Her shoulders sagged as she studied his face.
Her gaze traced the lines of his face, his sharp jaw, the pinkness of his lips, the dark stubble that made him look dangerously handsome even while unconscious. He still radiated that same commanding aura, the one that should’ve kept her far away from him.
Instead she leaned closer.
He looked like he was only resting like he could open his eyes and dominate the entire room without needing to speak.
She wanted him to look at her the way he did. Wanted the weight of his hands on her waist, his breath against her skin, the fire he lit in her blood. He was the kind of danger she ought to run from… but she kept coming back. Even now, risking everything to sit here and beg him to wake up.
She exhaled shakily and rose from the bed, guilt and longing knotted tightly in her chest.
Just as she took her first step, a hand closed around her wrist.
Heaven froze.
Very slowly, she turned.
Maverick’s eyes were open.
Dark. Soulless. Deep enough to swallow every secret she thought she’d hidden from him. That stare alone felt like a hand closing around her throat and yet she wasn’t scared.
They held each other’s gaze, silence stretched between them.
His lips parted, voice rough from disuse, yet sharp enough to cut her open.
“I dare you to say that again.”
Heaven’s breath broke. Then she moved fast lunging back to him. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as the dam of her emotions shattered. She sobbed into his shoulder, gripping him like he might disappear again..
“You scared me… why did it… take you so long to wake up?”
Maverick’s body stiffened at the contact not because he was weak, but because even half-conscious, even injured, her touch and her voice still did dangerous things to him.
Why did it feel like he was being scolded?
Maverick blinked slowly, the fog in his mind lifting as Heaven clung to him like a lifeline. He shifted, sitting up against the headboard, and she refused to let go her arms still locked around his neck, her face buried in him as if she feared he’d slip away again.
“Now I can’t tell if you’re happy or sad I’m awake. You’re crying like I died.” His voice came low, quiet… but laced with that dry, cold humor only he could pull off.
Heaven pulled back immediately, her red, tear-stained face meeting his. She sniffed hard, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand like a guilty child.
“I’m happy…” she whispered, voice cracking. “Not that you died…just that you’re awake.”
Her honesty hit him deeper than the bullet did.
He looked at her trembling lips,her tear stained eyes, her breath shaking every time she spoke.
She looked like she had been holding her world together with her bare hands, and the moment he opened his eyes, she finally let it fall.
Maverick stared at her for a long, heavy moment.
She didn’t even realize she was still sitting on his lap, still gripping the collar of his shirt like he might vanish if she loosened her fingers.
Heaven realized too late, he was injured, his wounds… she didn’t know how deep they still hurt. She gasped softly and pulled away on instinct.
“I’m sorry… does it hurt? I didn’t mean to…” She eased back, her voice laced with guilt.
The sudden distance felt like someone had ripped warmth straight out of Maverick’s chest.
His eyes, still sharp, still stormy even after a month unconscious, held her captive.
“It only hurts when you move away from me.”
Heaven’s breath hitched.
Before she could respond before she could even think Maverick reached out and pulled her back into him. This time, he was the one holding her. His arm wrapped around her waist, firm but careful, guiding her onto the bed beside him.
Her heart leaped sweetly in her chest.
“Maverick…” she whispered, cheeks flaming hot. She felt every beat of his heart under her earsteady, strong, alive. The same heart she had feared would never beat again. Every slow rise and fall of his breath brushed through her hair like a quiet vow.
She swallowed. Her voice shook.
“Someone might come inside…”
His answer came low, rough, and possessive in a way that made her entire body heat.
“Until they come.”
His grip tightened, not hurting, just claiming, grounding her exactly where he wanted her. His thumb brushed her back in slow, devastating strokes, as if reassuring himself she was real.
The room was warm and intimate.
Heaven tried to steady her breath, but she couldn’t think past his arm that stayed firm around her waist, holding her exactly where he wanted her against his chest, against the warmth she had missed for a month.
The room was dim, curtains drawn, light spilling across his face in soft streaks. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable it was grounding, almost holy. For the first time since the gunshot, since the blood on her hands, Heaven felt peace. Real peace.
But then a panic gripped her.
He couldn’t sleep again. Not now. Not when he had just woken up.
She lifted her head to check.
Big mistake.
His eyes were already open and locked on hers.
Dark. Focused. A slow-burning storm behind the lashes that made her whole body go still. His gaze dropped, for one heartbeat, to her lips.
Her breath stuttered.
His hand lifted, fingers brushing a stray tear drying on her cheek. The touch was featherlight gentle, almost reverent but it lit her nerves like a spark to dry wood.
His brows dipped.
His voice dropped to a rasp.
“I heard you crying through the dark.”
Heaven nodded, unable to meet his eyes, her fingers curling into the sheets to steady herself.
“You weren’t speaking to me anymore…” she whispered, small, cracked around the edges. “I thought….”
The muscles in Maverick’s jaw tightened. Something dangerously vulnerable and tender flickered there, something he rarely allowed anyone to see.
His fingers slid to the back of her neck, bringing up her head to meet his gaze.
“Next time I disappear,” he murmured, words deep and possessive against her mouth,
“Remember I will claw my way back every single time. For mine.”
Her breath caught. Her lashes fluttered.
Butterflies wild, frantic spread through her stomach.
“Maverick…” she breathed, but he wasn’t listening anymore.
He leaned in, closing the distance.
Slow. Deliberate. Like he was savoring every second before touching her.
His breath ghosted over her lips, warm enough to melt the remaining strength in her body. Heaven’s fingers clutched his shirt without realizing, pulling him instinctively closer.
He angled his face.
His hand slid up her back.
Her eyes fluttered shut.
Their lips brushed. Barely. A whisper of contact.
Her world flipped, heart thundering, lungs anticipating.
When the door swung open.