Beautifully Broken: If You Leave Part 14

Madison actually looks nervous, but she lifts her chin and looks me in the eye anyway.

"It's been driving me crazy trying to figure it out because everything I've seen of you since then doesn't match. You totally lost your s.h.i.+t, Gabriel. What happened?"

f.u.c.k. You totally lost your s.h.i.+t, Gabriel.

I yank my hand away and try to pretend that I'm normal. That it was no big deal. It sucks the air out of me because I hate that she saw it. It makes me feel weak. That's something I'm not. And it is a big deal.

She's waiting for an answer, her stare unwavering.

Do you want to play? Yes or no?

I shake my head. I only like to play when I have the upper hand.

So I try to deflect by being vague.

"It's a long story. Let's just say that everyone has demons and I haven't shown mine who's boss yet."

Madison stares at me for a moment more and then she speaks. Her tone is soft now, sympathetic almost. It makes me cringe. I don't want her f.u.c.king sympathy.

Jesus.

"Well, that's not really the explanation I was hoping for, but whatever. Maybe someday you'll tell me. And if there's one thing I learned from Pax, it's that everyone has demons. I have no doubt that you can whip your demon's a.s.s."

She smiles another sympathetic smile and I can't take it anymore. I hate that she thinks I need her pity. So I do what I do best. I deflect by being an a.s.s.

"I'm glad that you're so understanding," I tell her. "Maybe you'll give me a second chance."

She raises a slender eyebrow. "A second chance? For what?"

I grin. "To show you my bedroom."

My c.o.c.ky words don't have the effect I thought they would. s.e.xual tension flares between us like a live wire and Madison laughs again, a genuine and s.e.xy laugh.

Leaning up toward me, she lays a hand on my thigh, moving her fingers ever so slightly upward as she murmurs into my ear.

"I've already seen your bedroom. How do you think you got home that night?"

f.u.c.k. I can't breathe as I stare into her blue eyes.

"Did I hurt you?" I ask quickly, before I can think about what I'm saying. All I can think about is the hole I found in my hallway the next morning.

Maddy's head snaps up, her blue eyes widening.

"No, of course not," she answers in surprise. "You were just out of it. You seemed to have a little issue with your wall. It offended you somehow and you punched the c.r.a.p out of it. But you didn't lay a finger on me. Why?"

I relax, my shoulders settling back to where they should be. Thank G.o.d.

"I didn't mean that like it sounded." I attempt to cover. "I meant in the taxi, when I dropped down on top of you..."

My fumbling attempts are interrupted by Mila and Pax's return.

Thank you, G.o.d.

Madison smiles up at her sister and almost imperceptibly moves away from me.

The moment between us is over but I have more questions than I know what to do with. Did she put me to bed? What did I say to her? This whole time I've tried to pretend it doesn't matter. I've tried to tell myself that it doesn't matter.

But it does.

What did I do?

I don't f.u.c.king know.

She looks at me, amus.e.m.e.nt in her eyes. She likes that I'm puzzled. She likes thinking she has the upper hand. She likes playing this game.

Whatever she witnessed that night, she thinks it gives her an edge. She thinks she's the cat in this conversation.

f.u.c.k that.

I turn to Pax. "Hey, dude. You about ready? I've got a date tonight. I should get going."

I turn to smirk at Madison, but the look on her face deflates me. For just a second, before she closes up again, she looks crushed and I f.u.c.king hate that I did that. I only meant to take the upper hand again. I didn't mean to actually hurt her.

Before I can add that my date is with my friend Brand, Madison gets up and turns her back on me in dismissal as she makes a pointed effort of asking Mila about a piece of art on the wall.

I sigh as I follow Pax to the door.

Sometimes being the cat isn't as fun as it should be.

Chapter Nine.

Madison

Oh my G.o.d. What. A. f.u.c.king. p.r.i.c.k.

My thoughts form in time with my feet as they pound against the packed sand of the beach. I tossed and turned all night because of that egotistical a.s.shole and here I am out running at seven a.m. This is so unlike me. I don't go running. I don't feel the need to burn off nervous or frustrated energy.

I don't.

Yet here I am. Because I can't get that c.o.c.ky grin out of my head or the way he so casually told me that I was into him, then turned around and mentioned that he had a date. As if I care who he dates or who he f.u.c.ks.

And he was so surprised that I walked him home. How the h.e.l.l did he think he got home? Does he truly not remember it at all? Is that why he hasn't mentioned it?

If that's the case, what in the h.e.l.l is wrong with him?

Did I hurt you?

What a strange thing to ask. His rushed explanation didn't hold water because we hadn't been talking about the taxi crash at all. We were talking about me being in his bedroom.

Did I hurt you?

Did I hurt you?

I can't get his question, sudden and anxious, out of my head.

My feet fall hard, one after the other, as I slam them into the ground. The crisp spring air stings my throat as I suck it into my lungs, trying to breathe, but at the same time enjoying the discomfort. It distracts me from the p.i.s.sed-off feelings coursing through me. I hate feeling affected like this. I hate that he affected me like this.

Because I do care who he dates. And who he f.u.c.ks. I don't know why; all I know is that I do.

Effffff.

The sun is beautiful at this time of day and regardless of my p.i.s.sed-off state, I can't help but appreciate it. The lake is calm this morning, tranquil and silent. There isn't even a breeze to stir the gra.s.s on the dunes above me. It's like G.o.d is giving me a break, letting me get my thoughts together.

The problem is, I can't make sense of my thoughts. I can't make sense of why I'm attracted to a guy who has an ego bigger than the state of Michigan and who clearly has two tons of personal baggage.

Everyone has baggage, though, my inner voice tells me. Even you.

Screw that. My baggage doesn't come close to his. My parents died. End of story. Well, maybe I have a few trust issues because of their relations.h.i.+p. But who wouldn't in my shoes? Well, maybe not Mila. But that's just because she didn't see as much as I did. I s.h.i.+elded her from it.

Seriously. It's no wonder that I suck at relations.h.i.+ps.

But my issues are nowhere near the level of Gabriel's. I don't know exactly what he's dealing with, but it's far worse than anything I've known. I can see it in his eyes. And of course there was that question. Did I hurt you?

My phone buzzes, interrupting my thoughts, and I reach into the pocket of my hoodie, stooping over to breathe as I read it.

I have a free morning. Want to get breakfast?

Ethan.

I feel a stab of guilt. I've ignored a few of his texts this week or just barely responded. I can't keep ignoring them; it's rude and he doesn't deserve that. At the very least I should tell him in person that we can't date. Or maybe I'm wrong about the whole thing. Maybe I should try going out with him one more time.

Sure. I'm jogging, let me change my clothes and take a quick shower, I answer. It takes him two seconds to reply.

Perfect. I'll pick you up in 30.

I jog home and quickly shower and dress. Ethan picks me up in thirty minutes on the dot. He looks like a model in GQ magazine this morning, wearing khaki shorts, a b.u.t.ton-up and a hundred-watt grin.

"Morning, gorgeous," he greets me when I open the door. "I was thinking we could go to that little cafe on the beach in Oval Cove. Sound good?"

"That actually does," I admit as I grab my purse. "I haven't been there in forever."

"I'll have to stop and get gas first," Ethan says as we walk to his car. "But then we're outta here."

I have to smile. Yes, he's vanilla. He's bland. He's even boring. But I know him. And he knows me. There's definitely comfort in familiarity.

And he'd never play dumba.s.s games that would hurt me on purpose. I know that.

Maybe I shouldn't dismiss him so quickly.

We chat as Ethan drives down the road to a gas station. Bland, yet safe conversation. How many babies have you delivered this week? Four? That's incredible. I still can't get over the fact that you're a doctor. He laughs and I laugh and there is absolutely no chemistry.

But I'm not giving up yet.

Maybe we could be one of those couples who grow into love. And who cares about the chemistry? There are people out there in arranged marriages. They've got it way worse than this.

As Ethan pulls into the gas station, I'm distracted by wondering if arranged marriages are still actually a thing.

And then I'm distracted by my bladder, which is apparently as small as a peanut. Using a gas station bathroom is disgusting, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. I find it surprisingly clean, though. Thank G.o.d. I still wag my b.u.t.t above the toilet, refusing to touch the seat, just in case.

As I make my way back outside, I pause at the doors, staring through the gla.s.s.

Jared Markson is at the pump next to Ethan's, filling up his work truck. Ugh. After the other night, he's the last person I want to see.

I stare at the bulldog set of his jaw, at the way he almost seems dirty even before his workday has begun, and I shake my head. I can't imagine what Jacey ever saw in that guy. He was a jerk even back in high school. Some things never change.

With a sigh I glance over at Ethan. Oblivious to Jared, he's filling up his BMW, talking on his phone and glancing at his watch.

Some things definitely don't change.

Ethan is perfunctory and efficient. Perfect for a doctor, but probably not the best qualities in bed.

I remember Gabriel slipping his fingers into me and then licking them. Holy s.h.i.+t. My cheeks ignite. Where did that come from?

I shake the thoughts from my head and push open the door, walking toward Ethan's car, but of course Jared catches sight of me and turns. His top lip is split and scabbed over, but that doesn't stop it from spreading into a leer and exposing chew-stained teeth, one of which is missing.

Gross.

"Madison," he calls. "You can tell your s.l.u.t of a friend to stop lying about me."

What the h.e.l.l? I can't imagine what he's talking about but I would rather die than ask. I continue walking, trying to ignore him.

"Mad-dddyyy," he calls mockingly.

He steps around the concrete island and approaches me. Ethan looks up now, distracted from his phone call by Jared's loud voice. Surprisingly, though, he stays put, leaning against his car and watching curiously rather than hanging up his phone.

Geez. Thanks for the backup, Ethan.