Sitting in the dark of his apartment, Nick Bradshaw, otherwise known as Goose, couldn’t shake the fear that was pitted in his gut. He’d almost died today. He should’ve, but somehow, he scraped by, thanks to Maverick.

Nick knew once that door opened, he was in for an earful. He hadn’t called you, his best friend, or let you know what had happened. But he knew somehow, you’d figure it out. Battered and bruised, Nick sat at the kitchen table in the dark, a can of beer in front of him, mostly untouched.

The door creaked and opened. Nick sighed, head in his hands.