The realization of what I’ve done hits me.
My stomach plummets.My defensive anger vanishes, instantly replaced by sickening regret.
“Matt, I—” My voice is a choked whisper.I desperately want to pull the words back.Undo the damage.
He shakes his head sharply.One hand comes up, palm held out flat like a shield.His pained expression deepens, twisting his features.
“No,” he says.The word is quiet but absolute.
Then, something shifts.The fight drains from him, replaced by a chilling resignation.It’s the look of someone whose bleakest expectations have just been confirmed.
“This is why.”He gestures between us.“This isexactlywhy.”He swipes a hand down his face.“I make myself available.I step in.I try to help.Even start to open up.And inevitably…” He pauses, looking past me.“… inevitably, I get put in the same category as my—”
He cuts himself off.
I watch a faint tremor run through his fingers before he clenches them into a white-knuckled fist.
“… As James,” he finishes, voice controlled again.“I get put in the same category as James.”His gaze is distant, withdrawn, looking through me to some bleak landscape only he can see.
“I wasn’t—” I start, the words rushing out, desperate to bridge the icy chasm between us.
“You were right,” he cuts me off, toneless.His distant gaze flickers back to me, offering no warmth, only that same flat emptiness.“You don’t have time for this.”He pauses.“Neither do I.”
With that dismissal, he strides past me.His shoulders are set in a rigid line, gaze fixed firmly on the exit.
My legs tremble, threatening to buckle.
What have I done?
The crushing weight of my unfair comparison, of the trust I just shattered, presses down on me.
I stumble toward the staff washroom, my fingers fumbling with the knob.
I fall inside, slamming the door and leaning my forehead against it as I click the lock.I try to drag in a breath, but my throat has closed up.My chest is clamped in a brutal vise.Air scrapes in, thin and useless.Panic claws its way up, icy and serrated.
I stagger to the sink.My hands clamp down on the cold porcelain edge, knuckles straining white.My reflection swims in the small mirror.A pale, haunted face.Eyes wide with disbelief.
Another choked gasp for air that won’t come.
My lungs burn.
The harsh fluorescent light pulses.The room tilts.
My last vestiges of control shatter.A strangled sound rips from my throat.Tears finally break free.Hot, furious streams pour down my face.Choked, ragged sobs erupt.Sounds I muffle against the back of my trembling hand.
James’s cruelty.Bancroft’s threat.Homelessness.It all pales against the unbearable realization that I’ve pushed away the one person who truly sees me.The only one who seems to understand the fight I’m putting up.
I’ve lost him.Truly lost him.
It all floods through me.I shake uncontrollably, gasping for breath between the gut-wrenching sobs, clinging blindly to the sink, the only solid thing left in a world that is irrevocably falling apart around me.
THIRTY ONE
THE LATE AFTERNOON sun slants through the front windows of Maddy’s Place, dust motes dancing in the weakening golden light.The frantic energy of the Sunday rush has faded, leaving behind the quiet murmur of a few lingering customers.My hands tremble as I refill the sugar holder, the tiny paper sleeves slipping through my numb fingers.
Keep it together, Amy.
“One almond croissant and a large latte with oat milk, please,” Mrs.Henderson says sweetly.
