His words, a plea laced with frustration, strike right at the heart of my defensive pride.
“It’s temporary,” I clip out.
The muscle pulses in his jaw.“Why didn’t you tell me?”The hurt is an undisguised shadow in his eyes.
“The timing has been shitty, okay?”I finally snap, embarrassment bubbling into sharp anger.
Something shifts across his features.His gaze goes distant, then refocuses on me, filled with a horrified clarity.“He threw you out.”It’s not a question.It’s a dawning realization.
He looks from my face to the open suitcase on the floor, then back, the pieces clicking into place.“When James said that at Hydra… he wasn’t just being an asshole.He actually threw you out.You had nowhere to go.”
Shame burns hotter under the weight of his horrified understanding.I can’t meet his gaze.“Yeah,” I whisper, staring at my hands, twisted in my lap.“Not exactly a proud moment for me.”
The silence stretches.
I hold my breath, bracing for more tough questions, more pressure.
I hear the soft roll of the chair as Matthew lets out a long, heavy sigh and stands.He walks to the door and clicks it shut before returning to pick up the two coffee mugs from my desk.He sinks onto the couch beside me and holds one out.When his eyes meet mine, they hold no judgement.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of, love,” he says, his voice deep with an aching tenderness.
A kindness so potent my eyes well up instantly.A hot, overwhelming surge of emotion I can’t stop.
He saw it all.
My messy, broken reality.
My deepest shame.
And instead of pity…
Grace.
Unconditional grace.
My unshed tears blur his beautiful face into a soft watercolor.My throat tightens, a sob aching for release.I know if I stay here, looking into those eyes, I will fall apart.
I can’t.
Not after he’s seen so much of my brokenness already.
With a trembling hand, I lift the mug to my lips and take a sip of tepid coffee.A desperate fight against this emotional tidal wave.
Spurred by that same frantic need to show him I’m not a mess he needs to clean up, I force myself to my feet.“I already started looking,” I say, my voice wobbly but gaining strength.
I go to my desk, turning my back to him, grateful for a moment’s reprieve from his perceptive gaze.
I clutch the legal pad where I had scribbled the list of potential rentals and hold it out to him.“These are available places I plan on calling.”Unable to sink back into the vulnerability of sitting near him, I remain standing.Holding the notepad out to him like a flimsy shield.
He doesn’t take it.His gaze remains on my face, studying my every feature with a perceptive intensity.It feels like he can see right through my attempt at control, straight to the trembling girl beneath.
A small, almost sad smile touches his lips.
Bypassing the notepad, his fingers gently close around my wrist.“Come here,” he requests softly.
With an insistent tug, he encourages me to sit.My legs obey, and I sink back onto the couch beside him.He gently takes the legal pad from my hand and, without glancing at it, places it behind him.
“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” he says softly.“I know you have it handled.There was never a doubt in my mind.But you’re not going to need that list.”He takes both my hands in his, his eyes locking with mine.“You already have a home with me.”
