Page 4 of You Owe Me (21 Rumors #2)

CHAPTER FOUR

Rumor has it, she’s dating an old dude.

Ainsley

By the time I push through the door at Spuds and Studs, Bostic’s already at our usual table, leaning back like he owns the place, which, considering his enormously built body and bossy attitude, he basically does.

I sit, drop my bag, and immediately take a long sip. “Sorry, lab ran long. We were dissecting squid, and I got distracted by their chromatophores.”

He raises a brow.

“The color-changing cells,” I clarify, already too excited. “It was like a live light show in a petri dish. I poked at it for twenty extra minutes. My lab partner thinks I’m unhinged. She wears Crocs unironically, so who’s the real monster here?”

“Come on, Crocs aren’t that bad. I happen to like them.” Bostic reaches for a fry. “They’ve got… ventilation. And sport mode.”

I wrinkle my nose. “No shoe should have modes, Boss. That’s not fashion; that’s a Transformer.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Pretty bold fashion critique coming from the girl who once wore a Save the Whales tee with avocado-stained pajama pants to class.”

“I was making a statement.” I steal one of his fries. “The whales deserved better. And so did my laundry basket.”

Bostic chuckles, then leans back slightly. “How’s your mom?”

I glance up at that. “She’s good. Busy with work, as usual. Still pretending decaf is a personality.”

He barely smiles at that, but it softens his face in a way I don’t see often.

“She asks about you sometimes.” I absently pick at my napkin. “Says you were the only one who didn’t treat her like a cautionary tale when the curtain incident happened.”

“Your mom’s a good woman.” His voice is low and even. “She raised a smart one.”

There’s a beat where neither of us says anything, and then, just a little too innocently, I suggest, “You should come by sometime. She made those lemon bars last week. The ones you liked.”

Bostic gives me a look. Not harsh, just knowing.

“I appreciate that. Maybe one day.”

I nod, tucking the rest of my curiosity away. He’s always careful when it comes to my mom. Respectful. Quiet. But I’m not blind. There’s something there.

Before the silence stretches too long, he clears his throat. “So, how’s Maverick?”

I grin because even just hearing his name makes something in my chest do that stupid squeeze. “Still broody. Still acts like quinoa is birdseed with better branding.”

“Still pretending his heart condition doesn’t exist?”

“Every day. I keep reminding him he’s not invincible. And every day, he disagrees.”

Bostic chuckles. “That sounds like Maverick.” He shoves two fries into his mouth. “You still hiding chia seeds in his smoothies?”

“Absolutely. And he knows it.” I shake my head, smiling. “He doesn’t even pretend anymore. Just gives me this look like I’ve violated some sacred trust.”

“Which you probably have.”

I snort. “Don’t care. If I can keep his arteries from staging a mutiny, I’ll take the side-eye.”

What I don’t say is that it terrifies me how cavalier Maverick is about his health.

Like if he just refuses to acknowledge it, it won’t catch up with him.

And I get it, I do. Control is his coping mechanism.

But I’ve read every article, every clinical study, every worst-case scenario with a highlighter in one hand and a racing heart in the other.

I’ve memorized the symptoms I’m supposed to watch for.

I sleep with one ear open. I check his watch more than he does.

But I also know that if I press too hard, he’ll shut down. Or worse, he’ll smile that cold, practiced smile and give me nothing at all.

So I sneak the kale and cover it in parmesan. That’s love, right?

Bostic watches me for a moment, like he sees all the things I’m not saying, then gives a small nod. “He’s getting there. He’s letting you in more.”

I pause mid-sip and nod. “Yeah. Not all at once, but… more than before.”

And that’s the truth. It’s not dramatic. Not some sweeping gesture or grand declaration. It’s smaller than that. Quieter.

“He’ll actually tell me now when his heart rate is high.”

Boss nods. “Big steps for a guy who used to talk like every sentence cost him five bucks.”

“Seriously.” I laugh. “I think he’d rather write a dissertation on fiscal strategy than say a word about his condition.”

“He ever talk to you about the other stuff?”

He means the IOUs.

“Not really,” I say, flicking a napkin across the table. “I know it happens. I know there’s a system. I’ve seen the cards and the IOUs. But he still keeps it all pretty locked down.”

Because of course, he does. It’s his way of staying safe.

The IOUs, the favors, the back-pocket leverage—it’s all armor.

A way to be important without ever being vulnerable.

And I’m not stupid. I know he’s done things he’s not proud of.

I know some of those cards probably come with weight he doesn’t talk about.

But I also know he’s trying. And not just for himself.

“He always has.”

“Yeah,” I murmur. “But lately, he doesn’t shut me out as fast. Sometimes he’ll sit next to me while I’m studying and not even pretend to be doing something else. Just… be there.”

And goodness gracious, that means more than I can even explain. Because Maverick isn’t a “just be there” kind of person. He’s a fix-it, calculate-it, power-through-it person. Sitting with someone in silence? That’s not nothing. That’s everything.

Bostic nods slowly. He’s known Maverick longer than I have. Probably remembers the version of him who wouldn’t let anyone close enough to know his middle name, let alone his heart rate.

I pick up my milkshake again, stir the last of it around with my straw, and glance at the melted edges.

And then, before I can convince myself not to, I say it.

“Carter Mills threatened him.”

Bostic stills.

Not a dramatic pause. Not a startled jolt. Just this quiet, charged stillness that settles over him like smoke.

He sets his fry down with purpose and leans forward, arms braced against the edge of the table. “What happened?”

Bostic knows this school inside and out. He graduated from Havemeyer back when the dorms still had carpet and the deans still cared about dress codes. Now he sits on the university’s board, which means when he asks like that, it’s not just personal. It’s informed.

I grip the base of my milkshake, forcing my voice to stay steady. “He showed up while I was on the quad with Eliza. Walked up out of nowhere, all slick and polished. You know the type.”

Bostic nods once. He knows the type.

“Said he was into marine biology,” I add dryly. “Which was the first red flag. He looked like the closest he’s come to marine life was luxury yacht shopping. But then he dropped Maverick’s name.”

That gets Bostic’s attention. His eyes narrow just slightly. The shift is subtle, but I feel the pressure tightening in the air.

“He knew things,” I say, quieter now. “About me. About my internship. Stuff I haven’t told anyone but a few professors and Maverick. It wasn’t just creepy. It was strategic.”

I pause, suddenly aware of how fast my heart is beating. How my fingers haven’t let go of the cup.

“He called Maverick’s IOUs a ‘self-sustaining economy.’ Said power like that attracts attention. And eventually, opposition.”

Bostic’s jaw ticks.

“And then he gave me a business card. Said he just wanted to ‘continue the conversation.’ Like it was networking and not... sizing up Maverick’s life to dismantle.”

I look up, meeting Bostic’s eyes. “He wasn’t curious, Boss. He was circling.”

There’s a long beat of silence.

“Have you told Maverick?”

“Not yet. I didn’t know how. I still don’t.”

The words land heavier than I expect, because it’s not just about protecting Maverick from Carter; it’s about protecting him from himself.

“I’m scared that if I tell him, it’ll push him. You know how he is. He won’t sleep. He won’t rest. He’ll just... grind himself down, trying to stay ahead of it.”

My throat tightens, but I force the words out.

“And I don’t know how much more his heart can take.”

There it is. The part I don’t say out loud, even to myself, most days. The thing that keeps me up at night while he sleeps next to me with that stupid heart rate monitor digging into his wrist. The quiet, awful truth I try not to look directly at.

He’s not invincible. No matter how much he pretends to be. No matter how strong he is or how hard he fights or how smart he plays it, he’s human. And his heart, the literal organ inside him, is fragile. It’s faulty, and it scares me.

And stress is one of the worst things for it.

So, yeah, maybe I’m hesitating. Because if I tell him that someone’s out there pulling strings, watching from the shadows, planning something calculated and dangerous… what will it cost him? What will it cost us ?

“He barely admits to a flare-up. He just brushes it off. But I see him gritting his teeth when it spikes, acting like the room isn’t spinning around him. And he still pushes through.”

Bostic listens, still and focused. His eyes are steady, but they’re not cold. They’re full of something I can only describe as... knowing.

“You can’t protect him from all of it.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.”

Another long pause.

“Do you think not telling him will keep him safe?”

“No, but maybe it’ll buy us time. Maybe it’ll give him just a little more breathing room before he feels like the walls are closing in again.”

Bostic leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Or maybe it’ll blindside him at the worst possible moment.”

I wince. “You’re not wrong.”

“So tell him. Tell him in your own way. But don’t wait too long, Ainsley. Not with someone like Carter Mills involved. That kid’s not just ambition in khakis; he’s a scalpel. And he’s already made the first cut.”