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"Oh, baby. Not everything." I tucked a finger under her chin. "You haven't lost me. I promise I'll do whatever I can to help you through this. And I know the McCloskeys feel the same way. We'll get you more clothes and books. And here," I showed her the t-shirt and boxers I'd grabbed from my room, "I'd already thought of something to sleep in. It's my softest and most favorite one, so no keepsies." I grinned, trying to tease her out of her funk.
She burst into tears instead.
Well, fuck me. I'd meant my words to comfort her. Instead, she unraveled right in front of me. Sighing, I pulled her close and her slight form collapsed against me, shaking from the force of her tears.
I scooped her up, sat on the bed, and leaned against the pillows. I held and rocked her as she cried. Her hand clenched and unclenched the fabric of my shirt. She tried to be so strong all the time, so it didn't surprise me that when she broke, she broke hard. I continued to hold her until her hand relaxed and her sobs turned to hiccups, which turned to occasional little gasps, and finally soft, deep breaths.
Long after she was asleep, I still held her, struggling to understand why this broken woman who had nothing but a felony to her name was somehow managing to restore the very piece of me I thought was irreparably beyond repair.
19
Maddy
An unusual warmth roused me from sleep, and even with my eyes still closed, I recognized there was a bright light shining directly on me.
Strange. My bedroom faced the west, so such brightness was never a factor in waking up in the mornings. I blinked myself into fuller awareness as I stretched under the covers. Confused, I sat up straight, taking in the unfamiliar room and the bed. Memories of the night before came flooding back.
"Oh, God," I groaned. I buried my head in my hands as I remembered losing both my apartment and my self-control last night. What must have Holt thought when I completely fell apart on him last night? I recalled how he held me, called me 'baby' and 'sweetheart' while I cried.
I never allowed myself to give in to my feelings like that; I couldn't show weakness growing up, or especially in prison. I guessed they'd been corked up so long that they finally blew the lid whether I liked it or not. Now I just had to find the courage to face him and apologize. My head throbbed slightly as I swung my legs over the side of the bed, probably from the tension after all the drama last night and my current state of embarrassment. My shoes were lined up neatly next to the bedside table, and on its surface was a small bottle of pain reliever and a glass of water.
Was there no end to Holt’s consideration? I took two of the tablets and dragged myself from the comfort of the bed. I was so tempted to dive back under the covers and hide from everything – my homelessness, the effort it would take to replace everything…my growing feelings for Holt. But sticking my head in the sand had never been my way, so there was no point in starting now.
I wondered if there was a bus stop nearby so I could shop for some new clothes. Maybe this time, I’d look for some styles that were more fashionable. It would take all of my savings I'd put aside for a computer, but I’d have to put tutoring on hold anyway while I tried to straighten out my life - again.
Then my eyes landed on a white laundry basket. It was empty of clothes, but I recognized the small hole in one of the sides from when I'd accidently gotten it caught on a door handle and pulled it too hard.
Holt must have returned to the apartment building and searched for it. His gesture to try to recover some of my belongings almost brought a fresh wave of tears. The debt of what I owed him was starting to stack up.
Inside the basket were the two envelopes from Charly. They looked a little worse for wear with some dirt smudges and ripples like they'd gotten wet, but he'd found them. I dropped to the floor, grabbing and hurriedly opening the larger one and shaking it toward the floor. The letter spilled out, but nothing else. In disbelief, I peered into the envelope as if I might be able to conjure the contents to be there.
Nothing.
My eyes closed and my shoulders slumped. As excited as I'd been yesterday to get these items, I wished Charly had never sent them. To have had them in my hands after all these years, only to lose them again; stolen by some stranger who'd never appreciate what they meant. Unless maybe...
It was grasping at a bunch of wet straws, but maybe Holt had put them up somewhere because they, too, had gotten dirty and damp. I sprung from the floor with new hope and darted out of the bedroom. I heard someone moving down the hall and hurried into the living room. "Holt, I was won..."
Not one, but two sets of brown eyes stared at me as I ground to a sudden halt. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had company." I was suddenly very aware of how crazy I must have appeared, wearing stale, wrinkled clothing, hair that must be flying in every direction, and babbling without any manners like I had every right to be there. One hand automatically went to my hair to try to smooth the curls while the other made sure my shirt was straight.
I wanted to slink back to my room, but Holt was already standing and moving toward me, a calm smile on his face.
I gulped. No one should look that good in the morning. I stood blushing and self-conscious, nervously rocking from one foot to the other.
"Good morning, Maddy. I hope you slept well?" Long, manicured fingers reached toward my face and tucked some hair behind my ear. "Relax," he whispered in that same ear. "You look beautiful."
Straightening up, he pressed his hand to my back and guided me further into the room. I tried to resist, but he responded by applying more pressure. It was either comply or pitch forward on my face, so I took the required steps, frowning at him over my shoulder. He grinned impishly in return.
"Madelyn Stone, this is my mom, Molly Andrews. Mom, I'd like you to meet Maddy."
I hope I successfully swallowed my gasp. His mom? Holy crap! Maybe if I closed my eyes and reopened them, I'd still be in my bed, and this would all be a bad dream.
Mrs. Andrews stood gracefully. "Madelyn. I'm verra pleased to meet you. Holt was just telling me all you've been through."
Nope. Not even in my dreams would I make someone speak with an accent. Molly Andrew's Scottish lilt came through, even if only in a couple of her words. I wondered how much he had told her about me.
I glanced at him with an eyebrow raised in question.
"Mom was very distressed when she learned I had a friend who’d lost her apartment in a fire last night. She brought over some things she thought you could use, since I’m obviously too much of an oaf to take care of you,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes.
