Pusher

thirty-four.

I stopped my car in front of Maverick's house, shifting it into park, and pulled out my phone to text him that I had arrived, but I stopped short when our previous messages popped up. Well, his previous messages. Half a dozen texts filled the screen, all unanswered. My gut twisted.

Knuckles wrapped against the window. I snapped my head up, finding Maverick on the other side of the glass. He'd healed a lot since the last time I talked to him. The cut above his eye was almost completely unnoticeable and the bruises had faded to mere discoloration. A toothpick was half-hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

That was his newest trick, something to keep his mouth busy while he fought off the craving for a cigarette. Oral fixation or something.

I unlocked the door and he climbed inside. We both skipped any greetings and I pulled the car back onto the road wordlessly.

Normally I didn't mind silence, but the quiet was unbearable, tense enough for me to grip the steering wheel with an iron hold. Even without speaking, I could feel his heavy presence beside me. I shifted in my seat, my back rigid.

All at once, frames of the past week flashed through my mind. A red-faced Ellie pacing around her room, practically screaming what a moron I was for kissing the guy who was blackmailing me. The hard line of Maverick's mouth that appeared whenever I brushed him off. The smell of musty books that surrounded me now that I ate lunch alone in the library, the last place the boys would happen to wander in.

Maverick's words snapped me from my thoughts.

"Are you going to avoid looking at me the entire night then?" he asked. His voice wasn't as sharp as what I expected, what I probably deserved, but he didn't bother hiding his annoyance.

He used his tongue to push the toothpick to the other corner of his mouth while I eased the car to a stop, waiting in front of the red light, and turned my head to him, forcing myself to meet his eyes.

"I'm driving."

Maverick didn't answer, just huffed out a breath and shook his head, switching his gaze to somewhere out the window. I was relieved he didn't push it further, but that didn't do anything to dull the deep ache in my chest.

It didn't take long to navigate the side streets and find the party. Honestly, dealing was just about the last thing I wanted to be doing, but it wasn't like I had much of a choice.

He still had my journal and kiss or not, I knew the rules of our agreement stood. I was still his, in one way or another.

Ducky and Solomon had already arrived by the time we got there, and we found them shoving each other around in the front room, goofy smiles plastered onto their faces. They snapped their attention to us as soon as we walked through the door, Maverick's toothpick still hanging from his lips.

"Well if it isn't John Wayne and the Doc," Ducky grinned. Doc. That's the oh-so-creative nickname they had been calling me ever since I stuck a needle through Sol's arm.

He turned his attention solely to Maverick. "Get into any duels lately? Rob any banks?"

He ignored his friends' teasing comments, completely unphased. I even saw him crack a smile when Sol declared that "this town isn't big enough for the both of us" and proceeded to have an imaginary gun fight with Ducky right in the middle of the front room. He lept over the couch in his final attempt to hide from the cruel fate of fake death, irritating the brunette who was sitting there and choked out his last breaths on the carpet.

They were committed performers, I'll tell you that.

Ducky pulled Solomon up by his good arm and they walked over to us, casually, as if they hadn't just turned the room into a makeshift theater moments before. Sol pushed up his sleeve and showed me his stitches with a broad smile.