"Hey, wake up. If you don't, your husband's going to die," Willie muttered, slapping Maverick's cheek with the back of his hand—not too hard, but enough to be annoying.
Maverick brows knitting as he stirred. The harsh daylight pouring in through the window forced his eyes shut again. He raised a hand to shield them, blinking until the blur softened and the brightness dulled to a manageable glow.
When his vision finally cleared, he saw someone sitting cross-legged on the bed beside him, resting their cheek against one hand. Wide blue eyes studied him with curious amusement.
Willie smirked and leaned in a little closer. "Are you really Lawrence's nephew? You don't look anything like him."
Maverick blinked, confused—then snapped fully awake. Without a word, he jolted upright.
