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When he returns a few minutes later, I’m embarrassed to admit he finds me on the bed, crying again. I’m so sick of being emotional. I’m tired of this back and forth, and all I can think about is this has to come to an end before it destroys us both.
“Hey.” He hauls me up into his arms and tugs me against his chest. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Everyone in your life hates me,” I croak.
“They don’t hate you,” he says quietly. “They’re just protective, and they don’t understand.”
“I don’t either.” I look up at him. “What are we even doing here?”
He kisses me to shut me up, and I cling to him with the understanding that we might be ripped apart at any moment. The spark of heat that flared between us this morning has been replaced by something somber, and instead of fucking our problems away, Madden tries to wash them away in the shower instead.
It doesn’t help. Because I know I’m going to lose him. I’m just not sure if I’m brave enough to face it.
Chapter 56
Madden
—PAST—
The sun rises, and I wake from the first solid four hours of sleep I’ve had since I arrived. Bianca is wrapped around me again, her leg imprisoning mine, her hand anchored to my bicep. A million different thoughts splinter through my mind, but I don’t have time to organize them before she opens her eyes, blinking up at me sleepily.
“Madden?”
I don’t know what to say to her. So it’s inevitable that I roll her onto her back, and my dick finds its way inside her again. I fuck her twice before she asks me about therapy, reminding me of the normal human bullshit that still exists in my world.
We shower together, and I don’t argue when she takes it upon herself to wash me. After she cleans me, she massages my shoulders and traces her fingers over the still-healing scars on my back. She doesn’t ask about them, but I know she will at some point.
“Your turn.” She hands me the soapy cloth when she’s finished, peeking up at me from beneath her long, dark lashes.
My eyes move over her body, heat blazing through my veins. There isn’t time to do what I really want, so I do what she asked instead.
“You look healthier,” I say quietly. “Than the last time I saw you.”
Her shoulders stiffen at the observation. “School has been good for me. I needed it.”
“And therapy?”
She frowns at the question, her eyes focusing on my chest as I wash her. “I suppose your mom told you.”
“She said you went to inpatient treatment,” I reply. “What’s going on, Bianca? The things she told me don’t even sound like you. It doesn’t make sense.”
She turns and gives me her back, wrapping her arms around herself. Something has shifted in her, and I can feel her shutting down and closing herself off.
“I’m not crazy,” she whispers.
“I know you aren’t, peaches.” I wrap my arm around her waist and kiss the top of her head.
She trembles against me, and for a second, I think she might actually unburden herself. In my head, I’ve latched onto the observation that she’s not wearing her ring. A twisted part of me is still waiting for her to say she’s done with Adam, but I know that won’t happen. It’s only because she’s here with me. Nothing has changed. Nothing’s going to change. And I know when I start thinking clearly, I’m going to regret this. But right now, she’s here, and she’s mine, and I don’t want to let her go.
“Can we not talk about that?” she says finally. “I just want to be here with you.”
I nod against her, swallowing my frustration that she doesn’t feel like she can trust me even after all the shit that’s gone down between us. But this is what we do. We avoid reality at all costs because we can’t exist together in that world.
We step out of the shower and dry ourselves off, and Bianca twists a towel around her hair as I stare at her reflection in the mirror.
“How did you find me?”
“I got it out of your mom.” She offers me a guilty smile. “I was home for a visit last weekend, and we went to lunch together. She ordered too much wine, got drunk, and finally caved and told me everything. But don’t worry, nobody else knows.”
A hollow sound leaves my lips. “Mom does love her day drinking.”
“Yes, well.” Bianca shrugs. “She’s been drinking a lot more since you left.”
I don’t respond because it’s not something I want to talk about. I learned a long time ago I can’t help my mom unless she decides she wants to help herself.
“She misses you,” Bianca says quietly. “She talked about coming to visit you, but she didn’t want to upset you. She told me a lot about you as a child. How smart you were. How you took care of her when she was sick. I think she spent three hours telling stories about you.”
