I nod slowly. “I’m coming.”
“Luke—”
“Nonnegotiable.” I take her hand. My anger fades, replaced by fear. “Madeline, you can’t just... not with everything happening.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I should have told you, but it happened so fast. I left work, and she was right there heading into the coffee shop,” she tells me. “I swear I wouldn’t have gone anywhere with her.” She licks her lips. “But I should have texted too.”
“Yeah. You should have.” I take one of her hands off my chest and squeeze. “Come on.”
We walk toward my truck. The afternoon sun is dipping, casting long shadows. I open the door for her. It’s not till I get in that I tell her.
“Bennett sent me a text,” I say finally. “While I was on the bus.”
Madeline looks up. “And?”
“The school is making an announcement soon.” I pause. “Officially. They’re calling it a homicide.”
“So it was her?”
I nod. “It’s official now. Coach Murphy is dead. And they’re treating it like someone killed her.”
“How do you think everyone at school will respond?”
“It will be a mix,” I admit. “Some won’t give a shit, some will think it’s cool, while others will be sad, and others scared.” Madeline gives me a horrified expression. “This isn’t your normal school, Buttercup. A lot of these kids will consider Murphy like they would treat staff.”
“You should treat staff like you’d treat anyone!” She puts her face in her hands, shaking it.
“Not everyone is good and moral like you,” I remind her. She drops her hands and looks my way.
“You’re good, you know that, right?”
“I’m good to you, and I most certainly am not moral.” Madeline rolls her eyes, but I’m happy she believes that. I’d do all kinds of immoral shit when it comes to her and not give a single fuck.
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes at me. I warned her, and I won’t be giving anything more. Madeline knew who she got into bed with last night.
I start the engine, the truck rumbling to life. She settles into the passenger seat, placing her bag on the floorboard.
I lean over her, pulling the seat belt across her body and clicking it into place. My arm brushes her chest, and when I pull back, she’s smiling at me, soft and surprised, like I did something sweet instead of just being a controlling asshole. I can be sweet forher.
I cup her jaw and kiss her, slowly and deeply, tasting the vanilla from her coffee and everything that is my Madeline.
She makes a small sound, her hand gripping my shirt, and I deepen it just enough to remind us both who she belongs to.
When I finally pull away, her eyes are still closed, her lips parted. Fuck, I love putting that expression on her face. It’s better than the few times I’ve completed a hat trick during a game and gotten into a few fights.
I force myself to sit back, put the truck in drive, and keep my hands at ten and two.
“Where are we headed?” she asks, giving me a mischievous teasing smirk.
“My room, at the house,” I say, pulling away from the curb.
“I’m down with that.” Her hand finds my thigh, tracing lazy circles.
We drive in silence, the sun dipping low, shadows stretching across the dash. She’s here. She’s safe. That’s all that matters.
When we pull into the driveaway, I circle around back and park. “Stay put,” I tell her, hopping out and coming around to open the door for her. I’ve never done romantic shit before, but I know this is one of the things you do. It always appeared silly to me when I saw people do it. It’s not hard to open a door, but I get it now.
“You like opening doors for me.” She takes my hand and hops down.
