“Madi, Madison, hi. Uh, hey.” The words tumble out of me before I can stop them, and I internally cringe.
Asher and Connor’s snickers echo somewhere around me, but they’re background noise compared to her. She stands there like she’s not sure if she should stay or go, one hand brushing her arm, her hair spilling down her back in loose waves that catch the light. Those black ankle boots I love lead up to her curvy legs and those damn denim shorts. The ones that fit like they were made for her. The ones that make my hands ache to touch, to hold.
“Dude,” Connor barks, dragging my attention to him. “Stop ogling her, it’s making me uncomfortable.”
“I’m not…” My eyes shift back to her before I can stop them.
She’s tugging on the hem of her shorts, eyes cast down.Fuck.
“Sorry, Mads, I’m?—”
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps.
The words hit like a slap.
“Sorry,” I mumble, staring at the floor.
“Right,” Asher cuts in, standing and clapping Connor on the back. “This is awkward as hell, and I don’t think any of us want to work intheseconditions, so I suggest you two have that talk.” He looks at his watch. “Doors open soon, so make it quick.”
“Madi, baby,” Connor says, giving her that over-the-top, serious look. “Don’t take any shit and scream if you need me.” He winks, spinning on his heel and heading out before she can respond.
Asher groans. “What he means is—Madison, we’re hereif you need us. And you too, bro.” He nods in my direction, his tone softening.
The tension in the air is so thick, it could choke a man. My heart’s pounding so hard, I swear it’s trying to break free, desperate to get to her, to give itself over and be done with it. I know this isn’t going to be an easy fix. I don’twantit to be. She deserves more than that. Madison deserves my groveling. Hell, if she told me to crawl, I’d drop to my knees and do it.
I’ll fucking crawl to her.
She takes Asher’s seat, her back ramrod straight as her gaze darts anywhere but at me. I can’t believe I let it go this far. Can’t believe I lost her because of my own stupidity. I sit beside her, lean forward, and slip my thumb under her chin. Her breath stutters, eyes snapping to mine just as I tilt her face up. I can’t breathe with her this close. Her scent wraps around me—sunny citrus with a hint of something sweet, like apples—and it hits me hard. Every memory floods back at once: her skin against mine, the sound of her laugh, those nights tangled in the sheets with her, breathing her in, soaking in every second we had.
“I’m so, so sorry,” I whisper.
She turns her head away, staring at the wall. My hand falls uselessly between us. Every instinct in me screams to reach for her. To hold her, to make this right, but I stop myself. She needs space, a moment to collect her thoughts. I watch her chest rise and fall in an uneven rhythm, the small jump of her pulse at her throat, the way her fingers twist together in her lap. The silence stretches, heavy enough to crush me. Just when I think I’ve lost all hope, that I’m sure she’s going to walk out, she turns toward me. One look, and I feel myself crack in half. Tears pool in her eyes, her bottomlip trembles, and before I can think better of it, I pull her into me. My arms wrap around her, desperate and tight.
Her shoulders tremble at first, but only for a few seconds before her hands press against my chest, pushing me back. My breath hitches. I reach for her, but she throws up a hand between us, stopping me cold.
“You hurt me,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“No.” Her voice cracks. “You left. And I knew when Asher came home and told me you were staying. I knew you were confronting him. Facing those demons.”
She stands, pacing the small space in front of my desk. Each step feels like it’s dragging my heart with it. Her shoulders dip, the battle behind her eyes finally winning out. I suck in a shuddering breath, waiting—hoping—for her to continue.
“I was proud of you.” Her voice comes out barely above a whisper. “I was so fucking proud you were fighting back.” Her tone sharpens, heat flashing behind those deep brown eyes. “But then you didn’t call. You didn’t text. You didn’t answer.”
I stand, taking a cautious step closer to her.
“You ghosted me,” she says, her chin lifting until her eyes meet mine.
At six-two, I tower over her. Yet somehow, she’s the one making me feel small. The defiance in her eyes, though, the tilt to her chin, the confidence radiating off her in this moment. It’s everything I admire, and everything I shattered. She’s right. I ghosted her, and it’s not okay. What I did was wrong.
“Why did you ghost me?” she asks, her voice trembling despite the fire in her stare.
I pause, watching the confidence drain from her. Tearswell in her eyes again, her gaze dropping to the floor. I take another slow step toward her. This time, she steps back, bumping into the desk, and my hand instinctively finds her hip, steadying her before she can move away.
“Don’t do that,” I grit out, my voice low. “Don’t shrink from me, baby girl. You have every right to be mad at me, to be disappointed. I fucking deserve it.”
My thumb brushes the sliver of skin between her shorts and work shirt, a touch I shouldn’t crave right now, but can’t stop. Her eyes harden the longer she looks at me, and I silently urge her to take her power back. Because knowing I’m the reason she lost it kills me. My favorite thing about her has always been how loud, sassy, caring, and strong she is. I take a slow, shaky breath, forcing the anger back down. It isn’t for her, it’s for me. I’m the idiot who did this.
