𝓒𝓵𝓪𝓻𝓪

"Clara, I don't really believe that," Maverick looked at me, his brows furrowed in concentration. I felt like one of his cases - studying and questioning and prodding at this way and that.

"I don't... I can't talk about this. Can we go?" I couldn't look at him anymore.

I could feel him staring at me. "Okay," he finally said.

I followed along beside him, looking at everything but him.

He cleared his throat after a moment, "Summer, by the way."

I nodded, "Summer is really nice."

"I'm going to be honest, Clara, this is going to bug me. I won't force you into saying anything, but if something happened there, I'd love to know about it and help you if I can."

I stared into his chest, watching the slow rise and fall, the smooth fabric of his shirt. "I..." I closed my mouth.

I thought about Mariah and then Mini. Talking about it will help you heal.

"It's... not easy to talk about." I looked up at him. The truth was, though, could I trust him enough to tell him?

"I... I think I want to go home."

He was quiet for a moment - just standing there, looking down at me. "Of course."