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“Mav! Mav! Are you in here? Mav! ”
Mav winces as he goes down their flight of stairs as fast as he can. Outside, thunder crashes and rolls, drowning out his kid’s worried calls. “ Mav!”
“Right here, B.”
“Oh, thank God.” He’s immediately engulfed by an enormous hug. Mav smiles to himself as he reciprocates, bringing his arms up to wrap his six-foot-two kid closer. It’s been a few weeks since their big talk at the hangar, and they’re still feeling each other out after fifteen years, but Mav still treasures every hug they have like it’s a miracle he never expected to get.
“Hondo said you weren’t feeling well,” Bradley says, his words stumbling over themselves in his worry as he pulls back and gives Mav a once-over. “He said you stayed home and let Cyclone teach your class. Mav, you never stay home, what’s—”
“I’m fine, kiddo,” Mav calms, hands on Bradley’s shoulders. “Just a few old injuries that are feeling sore again.” Truthfully, if he was younger, he’d push through a sore day–but age had its limits. If he wanted to keep on flying as long as humanly possible, he just had to take his rest days. It was his luck that it had started raining cats and dogs that afternoon so conditions were less-than-ideal for hops; Cyclone would probably opt for an in-room lecture, which meant Mav was free to pick up on the flying when he got back.
Bradley narrows his eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Sure as I’ll ever be,” Mav says easily. “Just had to take a rest day, kid. Not as young as I once was, you know.”
Bradley’s face grows pinched. “Yeah–” he blows out a breath and rubs his arm, wincing as he does so. “Yeah, I know.”
And even after fifteen years apart, Mav knows that tell. His kid’s embarrassed; and maybe a little ashamed.
Of what, Mav doesn’t quite know. Yet.
“I’ll just–guess I’ll just leave you to it, then.” Bradley turns to leave, then stumbles a bit, catching himself on the back of the sofa.
Mav’s worry spikes. He goes around to support his son and just catches the wince of pain that Bradley hides. “Woah there, Bradley. You okay?”
His kid shakes his head. “I’m fine, Mav, just–”
“You’re soaking wet,” Mav realizes, as it’s his turn to give his son a once-over. Aside from the wet jacket and t-shirt, Mav’s eyes widen as he spots growing red spots on his kid’s knees, the red seeping through the denim. He leans down to look in Bradley’s eyes. “B? What happened?”
Bradley winces again as he tries to wave him off. Mav looks outside–it’s still raining cats and dogs, and his motorbike is parked just in front of their door. “Did you ride that here?” he asks, his alarm growing, slowly guiding his kid to sit down on the sofa.
“I’m fine,” Bradley groans, pushing himself back up and immediately flinching as his palms come in contact with the sofa. “Ow.”
Mav gently takes his hands and moves them palms up, his worry spiking as he sees them red and bleeding, the skin scraped off in some places, gravel sticking to some parts of the open wounds.
“Oh, Bradley. What happened, sweetheart?”
Bradley tugs his hands out of his hold and cradles them close to his chest where the wounds are hidden from view, but Mav now sees more clearly the red spots on his light denim, and he’s willing to bet there are matching spots on his elbows and arms underneath the sopping wet jacket–consistent with a rough tumble off a bike.
He immediately runs a gentle hand through Bradley’s hair. If his kid is anything like him (and Mav is sadly aware enough to know that he is, in so many ways), then he probably wasn’t wearing a helmet on the drive. Bradley stays quiet, eyes closed as he curls into himself. “No bumps,” Mav announces softly. “Did you hit your head?”
Bradley just exhales and shakes his head no. “I–I hitched a ride with Tash when Hondo texted that you weren’t coming in for the afternoon class session. Saw your bike on base and I just–panicked.”
“Oh, baby,” Mav presses a kiss to his forehead and winces at the cold temperature. That explains why he hadn’t been driving his Bronco instead. His kid must be chilled to the bone after that ride through the rain. “I’m sorry. I rode with Hondo when he insisted on bringing me home. I meant to come back for my bike tomorrow.”
Bradley whimpers a little. “I couldn’t see where I was going, and the rain–I’m sorry, Mav. She’s a little banged up.”
“Never mind the bike, kiddo. ‘Twas due for a tune-up anyway.” Mav is trying very hard to hide his worry, but he can’t help it. “Come on, get out of those clothes and I’ll run you a warm bath. We’ve got to clean those wounds too.”
Bradley looks up at him, those brown Bradshaw eyes trembling with something that looks like–fear? Guilt? There’s something there that Mav can’t help but want to unravel, but first things first. “I don’t–I don’t want to be a bother, Mav. I can do it–”
“Shush,” Mav says immediately, even as his own heart stops a little at that small admission. Those fifteen years have taken more than he realized, if his own kid thinks that being taken care of is being a burden.
Bradley allows himself to be led up the stairs to their shared bathroom. They’re living together again for the first time in fifteen years, and it has been an adjustment for both of them.
His discovery of the voicemails and their talk in the hangar had definitely pulled them closer together, but one talk wasn’t enough to heal all the hurts of fifteen years. Bradley, in particular, had been doing a lot of thinking about those years.
When he was living through them, it was like he was perpetually stoking the fires of his anger while simultaneously shutting himself off to any warmth. He didn’t have Mav, he didn’t have his uncles–he hadn’t had many friends until Tash and even Jake dared to worm themselves past his cold exterior: Tash by being a genuine friend, Jake by being an asshole.
Now, it’s like the exhaustion of choosing to live with that anger has finally caught up with him, now that the fires have shriveled up into smoke. Some days, Bradley just feels empty and worn out.
Mav pauses in front of the bathroom. “I–”
“I can do it, Mav,” Bradley says quickly, darting in the bathroom and closing it behind him. He doesn’t stop to look at Mav’s face.
“Towels under the sink,” Mav calls through the door belatedly. “I’ll get you a change of clothes.”
“Thanks,” Bradley calls back, closing his eyes and leaning back to put his head on the door. He didn’t mean to, but this was just so hard. It had been easy, back at the hangar, just the two of them and their tears in the middle of the desert–now, life and the Navy had taken over their rhythms once again, and the fifteen years apart hung over their every interaction like a shadow.
He runs a warm bath and gets out of his wet clothes, wincing as the temperature of the water soothes his bruised body while stinging at the fresh wounds.
A gentle knock comes through the door a few minutes later. “Everything okay in there?”
Bradley gets up, a bit lightheaded, the water sloshing over the edge of the small tub. “Fine, Mav.”
“Okay, sweetheart,” his dad’s voice says, and Bradley can’t help but feel warm just from the endearment. “Take your time.”
It wars with the voice within him that says he still doesn’t deserve it.
He shakes his head and gets out, wrapping himself in the towel and opening the door just a crack. Mav’s hand peeks through, holding his loungewear. “Wear these short sleeves first, and I’ll get you a warmer hoodie when I’m done dressing those scrapes,” the man says, and Bradley could cry right now at the care in that voice. “O–okay, Mav, thanks.”
He closes the door slower this time. “Dress up quick, B. Don’t catch a chill. Come downstairs when you’re ready, I’ve got the first aid kit out and I’ll make you some food after.”
There’s a lump in Bradley’s throat as he slowly dresses himself and gets out of the bathroom, leaving the towel on his damp hair. He goes down the stairs slowly, the bruises from his spill finally making themselves known as he groans. He’ll definitely be feeling this tomorrow.
Mav looks up from his seat on the couch as he comes down, a soft smile on his face as he pats the spot beside him, the first aid kit already open on the coffee table in front of him. “Hey, kiddo. Come on, sit down.”
Bradley obeys, wincing again and shivering a little. Mav must have noticed, because he immediately throws the couch afghan over his shoulders as he sits down, pressing a kiss to his temple. Bradley wants so badly to just curl up against his dad again, like they did in the hangar, but something holds him back.
“This won’t take long,” Mav says softly, taking Bradley’s hands and putting them in his lap. He examines Bradley’s palms to make sure that there are no bits of gravel left, before taking a cotton ball and some betadine, swiping it gently over the scrapes. It stings, but nothing Bradley can’t handle. He takes the time to observe his dad instead, bent over his wounds and nothing but tender care in his touch, gray hairs peeking through at his temples. Bradley blinks hard to keep the tears from falling.
“All done,” Mav says, after putting some ointment and gauze on his palms. “Now let me check your arms and elbows, and then we can get you in a warm hoodie while I check your knees.”
The hoodie is ready beside Mav on the couch–Bradley recognizes it, a dark blue Navy hoodie from one of his uncles. Another reminder of the love he had–the love he had scorned.
Bradley stays quiet as his dad bandages his wounds; the ache inside his chest hurts more than the sting. Mav handles him so gently, every touch reminding Bradley of his childhood years, reminding Bradley of how much he had missed.
His dad helps him pull on the hoodie and even tugs on some soft socks, before Bradley can stop him and put them on himself. “There we go,” Mav says softly, taking the towel off his mostly-dry hair and patting his thigh. “All done, sweetheart.”
“Thanks,” Bradley chokes out. It’s the only thing he can say, and it feels terribly inadequate.
“Everything okay, kiddo?” Mav asks, gentle concern in his eyes. Bradley bites his lower lip to keep it from trembling. Mav’s one arm curls to wrap around his shoulders. “Bradley?”
“Fine,” Bradley murmurs, head hanging low. “Just–just tired.”
Mav makes a sympathetic noise and presses another kiss to his temple. It makes Bradley want to run away. It makes him want to curl into his dad and never let go.
The rain doesn’t let up outside. Despite the afghan and the hoodie, Bradley shivers a little. He feels cold down to his bones; but not all of it’s from the rain.
Mav scoots closer. Mav’s warm.
Before he can help himself, Bradley tips onto his dad’s shoulder, bringing up his legs onto the couch and curling in, trying to get warm. He suddenly feels every spot of soreness from his fall, bruised muscle and bone. He hears a low chuckle as his dad shifts to lean back against the couch and prop his legs up on the coffee table, the better to serve as Bradley’s pillow.
One strong arm wraps around his shoulders as another hand tugs up the hood over his hair. “Sure you’re not hungry, B? I can make you some food before you take a nap–”
Bradley shakes his head and curls in closer, chasing his dad’s warmth. He feels another kiss on his head through the soft cotton of the hoodie.
“I love you, sweetheart.”
The words rumble through his ear from where it’s pressed against his dad’s chest. Bradley can hear his steady heartbeat, and after the crazed panic ride today, it’s the most soothing sound he can hear.
Mav’s warmth cuts through the cold in his heart and bones, and Bradley finds his eyelids closing shut.
Mav feels it the second his kid relaxes into sleep, the tension bleeding out of those long limbs. He cranes his neck over the couch just to make sure that none of the boy’s gauze-covered wounds are rubbing uncomfortably against the upholstery before he settles back down, Bradley’s head a comforting weight on his chest.
He keeps up a steady pat on his kid’s shoulder, using the other hand to smooth back some of the drying curls. Like this, he can’t really see his kid’s face–obscured by the hoodie and smushed against his ribs. It’s a callback to a younger Bradley, clinging to him like a koala every time Mav came home from deployment.
From the time Goose died, he and the kid seemed attached at the hip for fifteen years. Mav had deliberately turned down promotion-ready missions as much as he could, just so he could be stateside, just a short drive or plane ride or phone call away from the toddler, the boy, the teenager who held his heart from the day he was born.
The fifteen years after that had felt like severing his own veins.
Seeing Bradley at the Hard Deck before the mission–it felt like his heart was finally beating again, like taking a breath after holding it underwater.
And now–after their talk, after the truth of the pulled papers came out, after every shameful and desperate voicemail had been heard by Bradley–Mav feels like he’s learning to walk again. They both are–stumbling around each other in this new house they applied for together, filling out holes in conversations with topics that don’t take much emotional toll.
And sometimes, there are days like today when they crash into each other, some perfect storm flinging them into each other’s flight path. Mav can feel the tension in his kid, just bubbling under the surface. He used to know how to make Bradley Bradshaw talk–now, though? He’s a little out of practice.
Still, he can try.
Bradley wakes a little warmer than comfortable, a cool hand on his forehead.
“Sorry, sweetheart, you’ll have to get up a bit. You’ve got what feels like a low grade fever, and I’d like to get some food and fluids into you first before the medicine.”
Bradley makes an unhappy sound as Mav lifts him so he can get out from being Bradley’s pillow, laying his head back down on an actual pillow. There’s a cool hand on his forehead again, and Bradley blinks his eyes open with much effort. His eyelids feel glued together.
“Hi,” Mav greets, a gentle smile on his face as he coaxes Bradley awake, taking off the hood so he can run a gentle hand through Bradley’s hair. “Sleep well?”
Bradley grunts as he grabs Mav’s hand and holds as tight as he can, not caring for the bandages on his palms. Mav chuckles as he wriggles free, Bradley making an unhappy face as he lets go. “Sorry, B. I have to get your food, alright? Won’t be long.”
Another kiss on his forehead, and then he’s gone, and it must be the rain and the fever because Bradley suddenly feels bereft. He blinks up at the ceiling as he breathes, trying to center himself. His mind flashes back to his conversation with Tash earlier, before he had gotten Hondo’s message.
“So…how’re you and the Captain?”
Bradley snorted as he took a swig of his beer. “Subtle.”
Tash shrugged. “You look better, you know. Calmer, somehow. You were so angry during the mission.”
Bradley winced. “Sorry.”
“Nah, don’t apologize,” Tash said, waving him off. “What you said about him pulling your papers–anyone would understand.”
“That’s just it, Tash,” Bradley sighed. “Turns out there was a perfectly good reason for him doing it. I should’ve understood, or at least tried to. But I didn’t.” He turns the beer bottle over in his hands, picks at the label with his fingernail to let some of the incomprehensible anxiety loose. “I left him instead, and we lost fifteen years…all because I was too dumb to think first before doing something that I’d regret.”
“You and Mav were always going on about not thinking and just doing,” Tash teased lightly. “Sounds like this time, you’ve got a lot of thinking to do first.”
The thing was–if he thought too much about it, it made him want to tear his skin off.
Bradley turns on the couch and shoves his face into the upholstery, clenching his eyes shut as he tries to stop his thoughts from racing toward the cliff.
Mav makes the fastest chicken noodle soup he has ever made–which is to say he heats up soup from a can. Not his best work, but something pulls at him and tells him that he can’t leave his kid alone for too long. Maybe it was the spirit of Goose or Carole, telling him to take care of their son.
He transfers the soup into a bowl and grabs a cup of water and some fever medicine pills before making his way back to the living room. Bradley’s turned away from the coffee table, smushed against the back of the couch.
“Food’s here, baby goose,” he murmurs as he taps Bradley’s shoulder. The kid responds slowly, sitting up with a wince and taking the offered spoon. “Thanks, dad,” Bradley whispers, grateful eyes shyly looking up at Mav, and Mav feels his heart squeeze again.
“Anytime, kiddo,” he manages, heart still in his throat from hearing that title. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
By some miracle, Bradley makes it up the stairs and into his own bed that night. He sleeps fitfully, a combination of his sore body and the fever medicines. He wakes at some indeterminable hour, the world outside still gray and dreary. He takes some long minutes blinking up at the ceiling.
Downstairs, Mav covers the breakfast he made ( pancakes, his kid’s favorite ) and gets started on preparing lunch for Bradley. It’s mid-morning, and his phone chimes.
Cyclone: Good morning, Top Gun faculty. Given the storm, we’re cancelling classes today. Stay safe and dry.
Huh. Mav fires off a quick acknowledgement and goes back to cutting the vegetables he plans to add to their soup for lunch. Two rest days in a row is a surprise, but much appreciated nonetheless.
Footsteps come down the stairs, and Mav looks up and smiles as he sees Bradley, looking better than last night. “Morning. Sleep well?”
Bradley yawns. “ ‘at time’s it?”
”Brunch time,” Mav chuckles, amused. Groggy Bradley was cute at four and fourteen and at thirty-four, even if he’d never say so out loud. ”Take your pick. There are pancakes on that plate, or you can wait for the soup.”
”Both?” Bradley tugs the plate of pancakes towards himself and rummages through their cabinet for their maple syrup. “I’m so hungry. Thanks, Mav.”
“Anytime, kid.” Mav says fondly. So, his kid’s appetite hadn’t changed after fifteen years. Good to know. “You’re looking better.”
”I feel better,” Bradley ducks his head as he takes a bite of the pancakes. He swore Mav made them out of a box, but he could never get his box pancakes to taste the same. “Thanks for taking care of me…dad. I know it was your rest day.”
Mav beams at him. “Turns out it’s still our rest day.” He gestures out the window at the pouring rain. “Cyclone canceled class.”
”What do you know, the tin-man does have a heart.”
Mav laughs as he sets aside the vegetables and takes out the chicken to thaw.
Lunch passes in light conversation and comfortable quiet, and Bradley tries to wash the dishes, but Mav shoos him out.
“Not with those hands, kid,” Mav says firmly. “First aid kit’s under the coffee table. Go change your bandages.”
“Sir yes sir,” Bradley finally relents, and he doesn’t miss the funny look that Mav gives him, like he’s trying to figure out if he hit another nerve. Bradley offers him a soft smile that’s bordering on nervous himself. “Kidding, Mav.”
Mav sighs. “Okay, B. Let me just clean up here and I’ll check up on you.”
Bradley ambles over to the couch and changes his bandages slowly. He runs into trouble using his left hand, clumsily taping the gauze on. Mav appears and wordlessly takes it in his own lap, finishing the job.
“There you go,” he says softly. Bradley swallows down the new lump in his throat. “Thanks.”
Mav smiles at him, free and forgiving, as if Bradley was still the center of his world after fifteen years of being pushed away. “I’ll make you some coffee,” Bradley says suddenly, standing up before his thoughts can spiral, the need to move overwhelming his insides.
“B, wait–”
Bradley waves him off and Mav can do nothing but stare as his kid avoids him and heads into the kitchen.
Bradley focuses on the motions of making the coffee, the rote actions a comfort to his nervous heart. He resolves then and there to steer their interactions towards more light topics. Mav didn’t deserve to carry the weight of his self-loathing.
“You look bored as hell.”
Mav snorts as Bradley reappears and sits opposite him on the loveseat, a teasing glint in his eye. Sometimes he can’t believe they’re living together again. They had applied for housing together after their talk at the hangar, because Bradley had loudly asserted that Mav couldn’t continue living alone in a trailer the middle of nowhere, and Bradley couldn’t possibly do the drive every time he had to get supplies or get to and from deployment. Mav had blinked and opened and closed his mouth several times as he processed what Bradley had just said.
“You’re–you’re staying?”
Bradley immediately looked hesitant. “I mean–if…if it’s okay with you…”
“Of course!” Mav said quickly. “Brad—yes. Of course I’d love to have you.”
So much had changed between them within the last few weeks. Mav felt impossibly lighter every time he woke up to Bradley moving around in the kitchen, making coffee – the kid must have gotten his callsign from somewhere, because he was getting up earlier even than Maverick’s Navy-trained internal alarm clock of 6:00AM.
And yet—Mav knew that some things couldn’t possibly be solved with just the discovery of some voicemails and one talk. Something tugs at him with his kid’s last question.
Did you mean it–when you called me ‘son’?
The uncertainty needles at him–the knowledge that with what he had done, he had somehow made his kid feel unloved. Unwanted. It tears at him from the inside–if true, then he has committed the greatest treachery against the memory of Goose and Carole.
“I was always antsy when it rained like this,” Mav says, looking outside to where the deluge seems to drown the world. “And you were too, if I remember correctly.”
Bradley chuckles, setting two mugs of coffee on the table. “Mom used to sic me on you and say we deserved to annoy the heck out of each other.”
A smile tugs at the corner of Maverick’s mouth as he takes a sip of the coffee. Just a splash of milk and no sugar, exactly how he likes it. A warmth blooms in his chest as he thinks of how his kid hadn’t forgotten how he liked his coffee.
“Remember the paper airplane competition?”
Bradley smiles wide. It had also been a rainy day, Mav on leave and Carole not on shift. His mom had been taking a nap upstairs, and he and Mav had constructed a race course for their paper airplanes.
“You need a callsign, Admiral Bradshaw!”
Bradley grinned, missing his two front teeth. “Can I be Baby Goose?”
Mav smiled, ruffling his hair. “Sure, kiddo.”
The two of them clambered up onto the couch in their socked feet and pajamas, eyeing the course they had marked all the way from the small living room into the kitchen using the dining table chairs, floor lamp, and whatever else they could find.
“All right, Admiral Baby Goose, ready for launch?”
“Ready!” Bradley bounced up and down, paper airplane grasped in his hand.
“On my mark. Ready, set, launch!”
Mav made airplane noises as their creations launched, Bradley providing the cutest echo to his engine noises. His paper airplane fluttered down halfway through their course, but Bradley’s sailed straight and true, all the way into Carole’s kitchen.
“Yes!” Bradley pumped his fist in the air. “I won, Mav! I won!”
Mav laughed and got down from the couch to swing the little boy around. “Yeah you did, Baby Goose! Nice flying you got there.”
In Mav’s embrace, Bradley wrapped his arms around Mav’s neck. “Can I fly with you someday, Mav? Like daddy?”
Mav felt a lump in his throat and blinked away the wetness in his eyes a few times as he enveloped his arms to hold Bradley closer, one hand on the boy’s head. “Sure, bud. Someday you might be even flying better than me.”
Bradley pulled back with a cheeky grin. “Really?”
Mav choked back a laugh. “But not anytime soon, kid.”
Bradley pouted. “Your plane crashed,” he said matter-of-factly, pointing to the paper wreckage of Mav’s design under one of the dining table chairs. “And mine didn’t,” he grinned.
“You’re not tall enough yet to see over the cockpit, bud, so who’s really winning here?”
“Uncle Ice and Uncle Slider say that it’s a miracle you can see over the cockpit too, Mav.”
“Oh, really?” Mav narrows his eyes in mock offense. “We’ll see about that when you get in a real plane, Baby Goose.” He flipped Bradley over and tickled him on the couch until the boy was breathless with giggles.
“Ahahahaha–Mav! Stop it!"
“Come on,” Mav said, chest ready to burst from all the love he felt for this kid. He pressed a kiss onto the boy’s forehead, after which Bradley made a face. “Let’s clean up this mess before your mom sees it.”
"I remember,” Bradley says, smiling fondly. “I won.”
Mav groans. “You wouldn’t let me live it down for weeks.”
“I also said that I would fly with you someday,” Bradley adds. “What do you know, some things do come true.”
And Mav might be imagining it, but there’s a hitch in his boy’s voice. His smile is a bit strained, and he’s looking out the window—decidedly not meeting Mav’s eyes.
He resolves then and there that it’s his turn to reach out–his boy had driven out to the desert because of some old voicemails, and healed old hurts in Mav’s heart that he had gotten so used to carrying. It wasn’t fair to Bradley to make him carry all the weight.
“It was raining like this too, remember?” Mav asks quietly. “On that night.”
Bradley’s head snaps up to meet his eyes–there’s something haunted in there, something wounded and pained, something that sets off all of Mav’s inadequate parental instincts and makes him want to heal whatever’s hurting.
“Mav—I…we don’t have to talk about that.” Bradley sets down his coffee cup and wraps his hands around its warmth.
“We can, if you want to,” Mav says simply, not missing the slight tremor in the younger man’s hands. Steady in an F-18 against enemy SAMs, but trembling in front of Maverick. Something swoops in Mav’s stomach, and he suddenly feels sick. “If you need to, Bradley. I can see something eating away at you, kiddo.”
Bradley chews at his bottom lip and looks at Mav, who keeps his gaze open and relaxed. “Are–are you sure?”
“I love you, sweetheart,” he says easily, because it’s true. “Anything that you want to tell me, I’ll listen.”
Bradley flinches, because one of the recent times Mav had listened to him—
No wife, no kids, no one to mourn you when you burn in–
My dad believed in you. I’m not going to make the same mistake–
—he had just about stabbed him in the heart. The hurt in Mav’s eyes as he took a step back from Bradley was not something he would ever forget.
Bradley blows out a long shuddering breath. “I…I shouldn’t even…” he closes his eyes and bows his head. “What’s past is past, Mav. You said so.”
Maybe he can get away with it.
“Maybe I was wrong,” Mav admits. “Maybe it’s not yet in the past if it’s still something you’re carrying, kiddo,” Mav says gently. “If talking about it will help you let go, then I’m here for you.”
So he can’t get away from it. Bradley grips his coffee cup tight. Perhaps–perhaps this is his penance. Perhaps this is his karmic punishment–to lay bare his crimes in front of the one man who has reason enough to be judge, jury, and executioner.
Mav waits in the silence. For Bradley, he’d wait forever.
“Maybe another time, Mav?” Bradley says weakly. Disappointment flits across Mav’s face for a split-second, but it disappears as quickly as it came, replaced by only a soft understanding.
“Okay, B, okay,” he says lightly. “How about a movie instead?”
Bradley agrees readily, eager for the change in subject, and they spend a few minutes bickering over how to set up the streaming service and scrolling through the movie selections.
They settle on Cars, because Bradley jokes that Doc Hudson reminds him of Mav, and Mav shoots back that he isn’t that retired, thank you very much.
Bradley falls asleep three-quarters of the way through the movie, after laughingly pointing out the similarities of Doc Hudson beating Lightning McQueen on the track to Mav smoking all of them during training. Mav just smiles and goes along with the teasing, recognizing the kid’s sudden gaiety for what it is: a very clear attempt to paper over the cliff of their last conversation topic.
He can try to cover it up, but Mav knows his kid; knows that his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, sees the forced smiles and laughter.
It’s when he finally falls asleep, pillowed on Mav’s lap, that Mav takes the chance to look at him. He shuts off the TV and Bradley mumbles in his sleep, turning over so that he faces Mav’s torso. Mav shakes the afghan over the boy’s length, and Bradley curls up into the warmth.
There are dark circles under his eyes, and a worried furrow between his brows, even in sleep. Mav absentmindedly cards through his hair with one hand and splays his other arm loosely over Bradley’s curled-up torso. His son relaxes further into the couch, mumbling as Mav shifts.
“We’re gonna be okay, baby goose,” Mav says softly, leaning back into the cushions as he settles in for the night, content with Bradley’s warm weight on his lap, making new promises. “We’re gonna be okay.”