I’m not sure what changed, but these past several nights there’s been something colder about him—or colder than usual, anyway. There’s always been a distance between us, but lately that distance feels like it’s the size of an entire universe.
When I told him I wanted to show him something tonight, my hope was that if I opened up, maybe I could make him realize that it’s not so hard—and that maybe he might open up to me.
Of course he sat there in silence the whole time.
Maybe he didn’t know what to say as tears streamed down my face. I can’t blame him for that. He didn’t sign up to be a shoulder for me to cry on.
But at least I tried.
I’m hopeful that with a little time and a little more patience, he’ll one day tell me something, anything about him. In the short amount of time that I’ve known him, I’ve already racked up a list of things I’m dying to know about him.
Why is his last name different than Devanie’s?
Why doesn’t he talk about his childhood?
Why doesn’t he have any tattoos, and why is the reason such a closely-guarded secret?
Who is Dallas?
And last but not least, is he still in love with Veronica?
“Madden,” I whisper his name before reaching across the bed and placing my hand over his arm. “Are you still awake?”
He rolls to his back, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah.”
I scoot closer to him. “I can’t sleep.”
I move in, lifting his arm and draping it over my shoulder before resting my head on his chest. His skin is warm beneath my ear, and the steady thrum of his heart relaxes me.
“Can I ask you something?” I trace the divots of his chiseled stomach.
“Sure.”
“Have you ever been in love?” I ask.
His chest rises and falls and he doesn’t answer right away. “We talked about this once before.”
“You told me no one’s ever loved you,” I say, “but have you ever loved someone?”
He clears his throat, situating himself. I can tell he wants to roll over, but he can’t because I’m sidled up against him. Unfortunately for him, I’m not letting him see his way out of his conversation.
“When I was with Devanie last weekend, she mentioned you dated this girl before,” I say. “Veronica, I think she said her name was?”
His body tenses beneath me.
“Sounds like you two were pretty crazy about each other,” I add. I’m fishing for information and maybe it’s blatantly obvious, but I’m dying to know.
Madden slides his arm out from under me and rolls to his side. “Get some sleep. You have to get up in five hours.”
I move back to my half of his bed and pull the covers up to my shoulders, rolling in the opposite direction.
Maybe opening up to him tonight had the opposite of the intended effect? Maybe it weirded him out? Maybe it did nothing but close him up more?
“Madden?” I need to ask one more question.
“Yeah?”
“We’re friends, right?” I ask. “You consider me a friend? Not just a friend-with-benefits?”
“Go to sleep, Brighton.”
I roll back over, vowing to call tonight a loss and write it off, though my mind won’t stop spinning.
There might as well be a stranger lying beside me.
I don’t understand how I can know so much about someone but still know so little. I know his favorite color is emerald green. His favorite pizza is sausage and mushroom. I know he’s a side sleeper. I know his favorite sexual position is reverse cowgirl. I know when he’s had a bad dream at night because he does this twitchy thing and makes this angry face. I know when he can’t sleep because he tosses and turns and puts his arm around me when he thinks I’m out cold. I know he takes his coffee black, his favorite movies are anything starring Al Pacino, and I know he’d do anything in this world for his sister.
But all of that means nothing.
My knowledge of him is only skin deep.
He won’t let me in beyond that.
And I wish he would.
So much.
Because I still think he’s pretty amazing.
And if all the parts of him I do know are good, how bad could the rest of him be?
Thirty-Eight
Madden
* * *
“You coming over tonight?” Pierce asks Friday morning as we open the shop.
“Yep.”
“Bringing the girlfriend?” he asks. For all intents and purposes, everyone thinks we’re an item. It was easier to keep up the illusion across the board in the beginning, but then we just kept going with it because at the end of the day it’s no one else’s business but ours. “She skipped out last week.”
“I don’t know what she’s doing tonight.”
He gives me a look, scoffing. “What do you mean you don’t know what she’s doing tonight? She’s your girlfriend. And it’s the weekend. You should know exactly what she’s up to.”
I shrug, flicking on the neon “Open” light in one of the front windows.
“Come on. Don’t act like you’re not batshit fucking crazy about her,” he says, swatting my shoulder. “You can drop the act. I mean, man, she’s good for you. And we’re all glad you were finally able to move on from Whore-onica.”
“Glad you guys like Brighton, but we’re not that serious.”
His jaw turns slack. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re a fucking moron if you’re not serious about her. She’s an eleven. Straight up. No shitting you. Intelligent. Kind. Hot as fuck. The trifecta. It literally doesn’t get any better than that and here you are, sitting around all smug like you could take her or leave her, like she’s some piece of ass you picked up at O’Callahan’s on a Saturday night.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Newsflash, Madd. She’s too good for you. Hold onto that with everything you’ve got and don’t you ever fucking let go.”
I arrange the magazines on one of the tables in the waiting area before grabbing one off the top and paging through. “I’ll take that under consideration.”
“Shit. If you don’t want her, give her to me.”
My gaze flicks up from the glossy pages in my hand. I see red before I see him.
A wide grin covers Pierce’s face. “See. You do like her.”
“I never said I didn’t.” I wish he’d drop this entire fucking conversation, but he won’t let it go, like a mutt with a bone.
Even if I accepted the way I’m beginning to feel about Brighton, it won’t change the fact that our pasts are painfully intertwined.
I don’t blame her for what happened. She was just a kid. Completely innocent. And I’d never hold any of this against her, but how would she feel knowing I’m the son of the man who brutally murdered her beloved family members … the son of a man who probably would’ve killed her too had she been awake to witness it.
My father’s a monster.
And I’m the son of a monster.
And she deserves so much more than anything I could ever give her.
Pierce slaps my shoulder before motioning toward the door, where a tall man in an expensive tailored suit, shiny shoes, and dark sunglasses walks toward the shop with wide, confident strides.