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She closes her eyes and shakes her head as her hands reach for my shirt. And I don’t wait any longer—I just react.
I sweep her up into my arms and carry her over to the bleachers. Sobs run through her as I sit down, holding her in my lap as she cries.
I just wait for her to gather herself. My gut tells me something else is going on here, but I don’t want to question her until she’s found some composure.
I’ve never seen her like this. I mean, I can recall instances where fear clouded her eyes, and I know that she can show emotion, even if it’s not intentional. But this is beyond a minor inconvenience in her life. No, this cry is the kind that comes from deep pain.
As she continues to shudder, I rub my fingers up and down her back. “Penelope, you’re scaring me, baby. Are you hurt?”
She nods and grips me tighter. And my heart lurches.
Fuck. If something happened to her and I wasn’t there for her, I will lose my ever-loving mind knowing it was because I pushed her too hard, pushed her away from me. Who knows what she’s been through in the past four days, but I hope these tears aren’t because of me.
Smoothing my hand across her face, I lift her chin so she’s looking up at me. Her skin is red and blotchy again, and her eyes are heavy and swollen. “What happened? Did someone do something to you?”
The next words she speaks have my heart breaking in two. “I did. I’m the one who hurt me, Maddox. That’s the worst part.” The pain I see in the eyes staring back at me isn’t just the type of pain that a person carries in their heart; it’s the type that takes over their entire body, buries in their bones, their brain, and their soul. It’s every stage of grief running through them on an endless cycle that feels like it’s never going to end.
And the only reason I know this is because I’ve been there—and it’s not a pleasant place to be.
“I’m the one who fucked myself up. The reason that doing this with you scares me shitless is because it means I have someone to lose again.” She lays her forehead back on my chest and shudders as more tears leak from her eyes.
“Shh, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You don’t know that,” she counters.
“Why on earth would I be going anywhere, Pen? Don’t you know how out of my mind I’ve been for the last four days knowing you wouldn’t answer my calls?”
“Yeah, about that,” she says, looking up at me again. “I have half a mind to knee you in the balls right now for leaving me like that. Your cleaning lady saw my freaking vagina, Maddox.”
I press a kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry, but if it’s any consolation, you have the perfect pussy, baby.” She rolls her eyes, a hint of a smile on her face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “Dammit, Pen, you pissed me off, but that’s no excuse. After I left, I knew I shouldn’t have left you like that. So I went back right away. But by the time I got there, you were already gone.”
“I’m angry with myself if it makes you feel any better.”
“No, it doesn’t.” She rests her head on my shoulder this time, and I can feel her body start to relax. Rubbing up and down her arm, I wait for her heart rate to slow, and then I continue to prod her. “What’s going on, Pen? I feel like this isn’t just about what happened between us on Sunday.”
“It’s not.”
“Then what is it? Does it have to do with why you finally went home?”
“You knew where I was?”
“I kind of tracked Amelia down when you went missing. I needed to make sure that you were okay. Don’t be mad at her for telling me.”
She nods and takes a shaky breath. “I’m not. But I need to talk to you about something.”
My pulse races. “Okay...”
“It’s about why I hadn’t been home in twelve years. It’s about why I kept pushing you away, why I have avoided relationships my entire adult life,” she says, locking her eyes on mine. “Until you.”
I swallow against the lump in my throat. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I want you to talk to me.”
This is it. I can feel it. This woman is finally going to confide in me about what she’s been hiding, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t slightly terrified.
The sound of her inhaling has me doing the same, and then I listen as she fiddles with her hands in her lap. “I was in love once. His name was Jacob, and we were high school sweethearts. We planned to get married and spend the rest of our lives together. But twelve years ago on Monday, he died.”
“Fuck, Penelope. I’m so sorry. I—”
She puts her hand in front of my face. “I need to get this out, okay? Otherwise, I’m going to stop, and I can’t do that. I don’t want to keep this from you anymore.”
