Custody of the Heart

Maverick blinked, his heartbeat loud in his ears, pounding like a warning—or maybe a promise. In that single, fragile moment, something deep inside him shifted, cracked open in a way he hadn't expected. Without pausing to think, without weighing the consequences, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Vivi. Pulled her close.

And she came willingly, curling into him, her tiny arms looped trustingly around his neck. That simple gesture unraveled him.

There was something in that hug—something achingly familiar. A warmth, a softness, a memory he hadn't touched in years. It felt like an echo, the ghost of a comfort he once knew, once needed. The kind her mommy used to give. Was he just imagining it? Maybe. Probably. But he couldn't stop himself from holding on. Not yet.

After a few quiet, lingering seconds, Maverick gently loosened his arms and dropped down to one knee, bringing himself eye-level with Vivi. Her eyelids were heavy, her gaze distant, lost somewhere between waking and sleep.

"Hey…" he said, barely above a whisper, his voice stripped bare, raw with emotion. "Would you like to stay with me?"

Vivi blinked slowly, a yawn escaping her as she nodded, voice slurred and thick with exhaustion. "Yesh… I wanna stay."

No hesitation. No fear. Just simple, pure trust. The kind only a child could give so freely.

"Okay then," Maverick breathed, softer than before. Carefully, he lifted her into his arms, holding her close to his chest. She fit there so perfectly, like she belonged, like she'd always belonged.

Almost immediately, she relaxed, her small arms draping lazily over his shoulders, her head finding the hollow of his neck.

In a sleepy murmur, half-dream and half-plea, she mumbled, "Hungry… want more… macaroon?"

Maverick smiled, slow and gentle, his heart aching with how real this moment felt. "I'll get you something soon, promise," he murmured. "But first… let's go home."

Vivi snuggled in deeper, her voice fading into a whisper. "Daddy keep me safe?"

His chest tightened, breath catching for a moment.

"Always," he whispered back.

With Vivi wrapped securely against him, her whispered words of trust still lingering like a fragile echo in his arms, Maverick moved forward—away from the mirrored corridors of his past and toward the uncertainty of whatever came next. It wasn't about forever, not yet. But it was something. A beginning, maybe. A promise, even if it only lasted for this one night.

His footsteps rang out in the silence, heels clicking rhythmically against the polished marble floor of the grand hallway. Each step steady, careful, measured. Vivi stirred gently in his arms, her tiny body relaxed but still caught somewhere between sleep and dreams.

"Mmm… macawoni… mo' ice cweam," she mumbled, her words barely coherent as she nestled her face into the curve of his shoulder.

Maverick smiled faintly, the sound of her sleepy rambling cutting through the tension in his chest. But then—his stride hesitated.

A presence shifted in the space ahead, and suddenly he saw them.

A wall of men stood in formation near the exit, all dressed in sleek suits, shoulders squared, expressions carved from suspicion and barely-concealed aggression. Their stance was unmistakable—they were a barrier. A warning.

And standing at the center, arms folded tightly across his chest, was Neville. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were ice—cold, narrowed, judging.

Maverick drew in a breath through his nose and exhaled slowly. Carefully, he adjusted Vivi in his arms, tucking her in closer without waking her. His voice, when it came, was low and even, devoid of panic.

"You're in the way."

Neville didn't so much as blink. His tone, laced with restrained disbelief, came like a reprimand. "Is it really necessary to go this far?"

Maverick didn't flinch.

"You took her?" Neville pressed, incredulous. "From a party? Without telling anyone?"

"I didn't take her," Maverick said, calmly but firmly, his gaze fixed and unshaken. "She was lost—because you weren't paying attention. Again."

The words hit their target with unerring precision. Neville's jaw clenched, and a faint twitch passed through his brow.

His voice sharpened. "Don't act like some hero. You think showing up now, disappearing like a damn ghost, gives you the right to make decisions?"

But Maverick didn't answer. Not right away. Because his arms were full of a child who had chosen to trust him. And that, right now, meant more than any accusation Neville could throw.

Maverick's eyes burned, heat rising behind them, but he refused to blink it away. His voice came low and raw, every word edged with years of silence finally cracking.

"I didn't disappear. I was pushed out. You, Stanley—all of you—decided what was best without ever asking what I thought."

He glanced down for the briefest second as Vivi stirred softly in his arms, her little fingers curling tighter into the collar of his coat, seeking something—security, familiarity, him.

"I lost her once," he said, the words rasping from his throat, thick with regret. "I won't let that happen again."

Neville stepped forward, a flicker of something boiling just beneath the surface. His voice rose, firm and commanding. "She's not yours to keep, Maverick. Hand her over. I'm taking her home."

Maverick let out a humorless laugh—short, sharp, dry as dust.

"Home?" he echoed, his tone laced with disbelief. "You mean the place she wandered away from because you were too busy playing champion to notice she was even gone?"

That landed hard. Neville's face twitched, cracks spider-webbing through the carefully constructed calm in his expression. Around him, the other men shifted, a ripple of tension passing through the group.

But Maverick didn't move. He didn't flinch. His focus never left Neville—not for a second.

"You can't raise her on money and fast food," Maverick continued, voice cold and clear, slicing straight through the posturing. "You've already proven you can't keep her safe."

At the sound of his voice, Vivi stirred again, this time with a soft, barely audible whimper. "Daa…ddy…"

Everything in Maverick changed. His whole frame softened, every muscle instinctively moving to comfort. One hand moved gently across her back, soothing, steady.

"Shhh… it's okay, baby girl," he whispered, his voice a quiet promise. "You're safe."

Then he lifted his gaze again—straight back to Neville—and the warmth vanished like breath in winter.

"My daughter is tired. And unlike you, I won't let her stand by while grown men argue over who gets to ignore her next."

Neville's mouth opened, as if to fire back.

But Maverick was already raising a hand. A clear, final gesture.

"We're done here."

He turned with finality, his coat sweeping behind him like the closing curtain of a play no one had rehearsed. Maverick walked past the stunned group, his every step deliberate—measured not in sound, but in the unshakable silence that followed him. He didn't look back. He didn't need to.

Every unspoken word—every accusation, every buried truth—hung in the air behind him, louder than any scream.

And no one dared stop him.