Matthew has been a wreck these past few days. He’s constantly on the move, helping with anything and everything he can get his hands on. It’s like he’s afraid to stop, if even for a second, because all of it would crumble down and swallow him whole.
I’ve tried talking to him, but he has no interest in sharing his feelings. He just wants to get lost and forget.
In work.
In alcohol.
In me.
And I let him, hoping eventually he’d open up and tell me how he’s really feeling.
Mae presses her hand against mine. “He probably just needs time.”
“I know. I’m trying to give it to him, but I hate seeing him like this.”
Just an empty shell of the man I know.
“He’ll come around. You’ll see.”
Mae’s gaze darts over my shoulder, her cheeks turning pink. I look up and find none other than Nico standing in the doorway. He’s talking to some people, but he’s looking at us. Or, well, Mae.
“Are we still pretending there is nothing going on between you two?”
“Yup.” The p pops slightly, but she doesn’t even try to pretend to look away. I chuckle softly as I pat her on the back. “Don’t forget to wipe the drool from your face.”
“Oh, shut up.” She rolls her eyes. “I have to go back to the shelter, but call me if I can help in any way.”
“Will do. Thanks.”
I slip back into the kitchen, my gaze going to the lone man standing on the porch. Matthew slowly sips whiskey from a glass, staring into the distance, as if he’s lost in his thoughts.
My heart aches for him, for his pain and loss, and I hate there’s nothing more I can do to help him.
Still, I can’t resist him.
I cross the kitchen and step outside to the back terrace. If he hears me coming, he makes no attempt to turn around. I stop next to him, pressing my hand over his that’s gripping onto the railing so hard his knuckles are white.
“Hey…”
I look up at him and wait.
Come back to me.
I skim my thumb over his skin, my teeth sinking into my lower lip as I wait.
After what feels like forever, he slowly turns to me. His lips are pressed into a tight line and his eyes are cold.
I let my lip pop. “Do you need?—”
“There is no need to keep faking it anymore.”
Faking it?
I blink, surprised by his abrupt answer. “What are you talking about?”
“You. Me. This.” Matthew pulls his hand out of my grip and takes a step back, waving it between the two of us. His mask of cold indifference is firmly in place. “There’s no need for any of it.”
“I’m not faking anything. I’m worried about you.”
