“What’s wrong?”
“Just a lot of stress at work.”
“I wish you wouldn’t lie to me.” Madox’s gaze leaves me and it feels like a punishment. I can feel his disappointment. That’s how much power and control this man has over me. I hate disappointing him.
“I don’t know that I want to talk about it,” I answer hesitantly. “I don’t want to upset you.”
Madox considers me for a moment, his forehead marred by a deep crease and his dark green eyes swimming with questions.
“I respect that,” he tells me with sincerity. His voice is low though, as if he hates to allow me that freedom of not confiding in him.
He changes the subject, but to something I didn’t expect.
“I saw my mother today.”
“Oh?” I ask him, glancing just for a moment to the waiter who’s suddenly at my side, offering him a small smile he doesn’t see as he clears the table of the porcelain plates.
Madox finishes his thought only once we’re alone again. “So I had a rough day as well.”
“How is she?” I ask. “Is it still the way it was?”
“The two of us not speaking and pretending there’s anything at all we could talk about? Yes. It’s exactly like that.” He may not realize it, but every time he speaks about his mother, there’s anger in his tone. Coupled with an impatience I don’t see from him often.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, and my words are calm and gentle, as is my hand reaching out to him. He accepts my offer, lacing his fingers between mine.
It feels so good to touch him. I have to close my eyes for a moment to remind myself that this is real. He’s really here and he’s even talking to me about his mother.
Maybe I’m not the only one who read some self-help books after I left.
“Don’t be,” he tells me as his thumb rubs circles along my wrist. “We haven’t had a relationship since my father…” Madox doesn’t finish that sentence, but then he adds, “And I doubt we ever will.”
“Even if it feels like you have everything, it’s okay to be upset about the things you don’t have. You know that, right?”
His eyes flash to mine with an intense heat, and he stares at me as if what I’ve said is foolish. “I do. I’m well aware of that … even as I sit across the table from you right now.”
It hadn’t occurred to me that my words could be used against me, which is exactly what this feels like. My hand slips from his grasp, and he allows it. I drag it back to my lap.
“What’s holding you back?” Madox asks me.
“Back from what?”
“Your guard is up. Not just a little. I can barely see you. The real you.”
I clear my throat and try to meet his eyes so I can be honest about how I’m feeling, but I can’t even do that. “You intimidate me,” is all I manage to get out.
“I’ll listen to whatever you tell me. Just talk to me,” he says, and his voice holds an edge of desperation. It’s something I’ve never heard from him. Not like this.
Staring down at the barren white tablecloth, I speak, letting it all come out.
It’s a real conversation. That’s what this is. Our first real conversation. Probably ever. It’s so much easier to allow fears to be unspoken.
“I’ve only just come back to New York, days ago. I don’t have a grip on anything at all in my life right now. I feel an immense amount of pressure. I’m worried and excited at the same time. I’m happy…” With that admission, I can look him in the eyes as I continue, “For the first time in a really long while.” My throat gets tight and tears prick at the back of my eyes, but I hold them back. “And I’m afraid that I’m going to be swept up by you, and I’m going to lose this part of me that’s actively working to choose happiness and create a stable income. More than that, I’m afraid this isn’t going to last and I’m going to let myself fall, only to be shattered at a time in my life where I can’t afford that.”
I can barely breathe, waiting for Madox to say anything at all. A moment passes, more dishes are placed in front of us – although there’s no way I could possibly eat a damn thing right now – and it’s not until the doors behind us close again, leaving us to ourselves that Madox asks me, “You didn’t plan on coming back to see me then?”
It fucking hurts to see the pain etched in his expression right now.
“I didn’t know… I haven’t spoken to you in so long. … Trish never told me that you messaged until today. When I told her I saw you, she told me you asked about me. I didn’t know you were thinking about me. I would have never thought you’d make an effort like you are right now, because it never felt like you did back then.”