Maverick was tearing hair out. He’d spent the better half of an hour pleading with his landlord that very afternoon, trying to calmly explain that after their fourth day without electricity, it was totally unreasonable to expect Maverick – and his two, much younger lodgers – to live in such a condition. If there was no electricity, there was no way to get the boiler to heat up, which meant cold showers. Without electricity, they couldn’t get the oven to work, or the microwave, or even the stove which their superintendent had insisted upon switching from gas to electricity a few months back. He was just about making rent as it was without having to worry about spending money on takeout food every morning and every night. When his landlord had insisted that it wasn’t his problem, and that Maverick should go out and hire an electrician out of his own back pocket, he thought he might just cry on the spot.
Looking back now, it somehow seemed like the worst of all his problems.
By the time he’d made his way back into his apartment, head hung low and feeling impossibly forlorn, he’d been met with a look almost akin to his own on Santiago’s face. Only, the young man in front of him had been sporting another look, something that almost resembled fear. By the time he’d handed Maverick the note from his little sister, and explained that Bea had fled into the city and had no intentions of coming home.
“I’m sorry you got lumped with me. I don’t mean to keep ruining shit.”
The messy scrawl of her handwriting had been smudged, her wet tears dripping down onto the scrap of paper and marring the ink. It was a detail that made Maverick’s chest ache with sorrow, on top of the concerns he was already carrying. Alongside the note had been 300 bucks that she’d shoved haphazardly into an envelope, each bill crumpled or rolled up from being hastily shoved into a pocket, or under a mattress. He had no idea where she’d found all that cash, but he hated himself for having worried her so much with his own financial troubles. That should have never been her burden to take on.
With barely so much as a backwards glance at Santiago, Maverick had snatched his jacket from the coat hook and rushed out the front door, desperate to find Beatrice and bring her home. He'd lost his baby sister once already, he wasn’t about to do it again.
After a couple of hours of pacing through the city and a series of any luck? and still no sign of her texts from Santiago, Maverick was feeling hopeless. They’d searched every spot they knew was familiar to her to no avail, not to mention the fact that he’d been ignoring texts and calls from Harlow all day. The last thing he needed right now was for the handsome man he’d been seeing to see what a total screw up he was.
But he needed to talk to someone. He needed help, and he had no dang clue where to look.
After another half an hour of scouring the streets, he found himself slowly ambling along a vaguely familiar street, brow furrowed as it slowly dawned on him where he was. In all his fretting and overthinking, he’d landed himself right outside of Rafferty’s home. Guilt burrowed deep in his chest as the reality set in; He’d been avoiding Harlow’s texts, but hadn’t thought twice about showing up at Raff’s. It had come natural to him.
Maverick didn’t have time to hash out his feelings by the time he felt his fist pounding on Raff’s front door. He hadn’t stopped to wonder if Helen might be home, nor if Raff would even wanna see him, and by the time he realised those thoughts should have crossed his mind, the door was slowly swinging open.
“Aw, hell, thank God you’re home,” Maverick breathed, his shoulders sagging in relief at the sight of the other man.