by Portia Moore
And I want him to be happy. I realize that as I stand there shaking, trying to get my emotions under control, that I want him to be happy even if it means him not being with me. I screwed up, and I don’t want that to ruin his whole life, I don’t want him never to be happy or in love again just because I made a mistake.
My phone goes off suddenly, loud and shrill on the quiet street, and I look down to see that it’s Alyssa. I silence it quickly, my heart pounding, and turn to head down the block and call another Uber to take me back to Parker’s.
You have someone else to think about now, I remind myself firmly. Stop being so selfish.
I’ll figure out how to get in touch with Alex tomorrow to tell him about the baby. And that will be that.
And then, just as I’m raising my hand to wave down a taxi, I hear a familiar deep voice behind me call out my name. One that squeezes my heart and lifts it simultaneously.
“Madison?”
Alex
Present day
I can’t believe my eyes; it’s her standing right here in front of me. I feel like I’ve seen a ghost, and for a second I think I’m losing my mind, or that I’m drunker than I thought I was. Emotions flood me so quickly that I can’t make sense of them—anger for what she did and that she’d show up here after everything, devastated because of the divide between us, an overwhelming sense of disappointment that things between us turned out the way that they did.
But I can’t help the rush of excitement that fills me when she turns around and I see her face, because even after everything, it’s still Madison. And I still love her. I’ve missed her.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even through the tangle of emotions. She doesn’t say anything, chewing on her lower lip as she fidgets with her cell phone in her hand. “How did you get here?”
Anger wins out for a moment because she says nothing, and I grit my teeth, glaring at her. It’s chilly outside, I’m drunk, and I’m exhausted. I turned down a gorgeous woman’s attempts to have sex with me tonight because I’m still a mess—because of this woman in front of me—and I’m not in any mood to play games. “What are you doing here?” I demand, my voice growing harsher.
Her eyes fill with tears, spilling out over her cheeks as she looks up at me and stutters, “You…you c…called me.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “So you came all the way over here in the middle of the night because you thought I called you?”
She stands up a little straighter, stiffening her spine as she looks at me with a hint of defiance in her eyes. “Well, didn’t you?”
“How did you get here?” I ask, ignoring the question. I’m not in any mood to discuss that phone call.
She flushes red. “I took an Uber,” she mumbles, embarrassment clear in her tone.
A long moment, silence stretches out between us as we meet each other’s eyes. I can tell that she’s struggling with a million emotions too, and neither of us seems to know what to say. It’s as if we’re both rooted to the spot, aware that if one of us leaves, we might never see each other again.
Her eyes glimmer with tears. “Alex, I missed you. I’ve missed you so much.” The words come out in a rush, as if she’s afraid I’ll interrupt her, and she looks up at me with those wide, sad eyes, begging me to say something back.
I want to tell her that I’ve missed her too. That I’ve missed her every fucking day every moment since that clusterfuck of a night. But how can I say that? I don’t know if I can forgive her, or how, and I don’t think I can ever forget. What good does it do to say something that doesn’t make any difference?
“I’ll take you home,” I say gruffly. “I just need to get my keys.”
“You’ve been drinking,” she says, shaking her head. “You know I can tell. You can’t drive me anywhere.”
There’s that loaded silence again between us. I am a little drunk, and I try to fight through the fog of it to think of what to say, what I should say, but before I can come up with anything Madison takes a hesitant step towards me, and then another. She’s close enough to touch now, and I want to so badly. She’s as beautiful as the day I met her in that humid Miami bar, and the memory of her sunkissed and gorgeous in the blue bikini goes through me like an electric shock.
“Did you call me?” she asks softly, looking up into my eyes.
I can’t bring myself to tell her yes or no. No is a lie, but yes means admitting that I missed her, that I was thinking about her, that I still care after what she did. “I’m going to go up and get my keys,” I say quickly, almost stumbling over my words. “You can drive yourself home, I’ll have someone pick up my car in the morning.”
To my astonishment she chokes back a sob, her face momentarily crumpling as she wraps her arms around herself and looks up at me with her chin trembling. “I don’t have a home anymore,” she whispers. “You were my home.”
I thought my heart was finished breaking when it came to Madison, but her words go through me like a knife, twisting in the open wound that’s still in my chest. It’s all I can do not to pull her into my arms, every part of me screaming to make that look on her face go away, to hold her against me and stop her hurting, stop both of us hurting.
But instead I step back, looking away from her. “Come up with me,” I say shortly. “I don’t want you standing out here alone in the middle of the night.”
She follows behind me without a word, and when we walk into the apartment, and I turn around to see her standing in the living room, it goes through me like a shock. It’s surreal to have her standing there again, both as if she never left and as if she’s been gone forever. I thought I’d never see her here again, never see her walk in that door.
Ally jumps down off of the couch where she was sleeping the minute Madison walks in, padding over to her and winding around her ankles with a loud purring sound, and Madison picks her up immediately. “I missed you so much,” she coos at her, pressing her face against the soft fur and hugging her before setting her back down.
I can’t take it. I turn sharply away from them both, stalking into the kitchen where I left my keys, and trying to keep my emotions in check. I suddenly regret drinking so much at the party; it’s not helping me figure out how I feel at all. I’m not in any state to make decisions. I hadn’t thought about how it would feel to see Madison in my apartment again, what used to be our apartment, because I’d never thought there was even the slightest chance that it would happen.
My heart is being ripped out of my chest all over again.
I stride back into the living room and hold out the keys to her. “Here,” I tell her, trying not to notice how flushed her face is, how her eyes are still shiny with tears that she’s trying to hold back as she looks around the room. “Take the keys,” I tell her, shaking them, but she doesn’t reach out to take them.
“Madison,” I say, my voice hard. “Just take the fucking keys.”
She looks up at me, wiping the tears away from her cheeks. “Is there anything I can do?” she asks, her voice cracking a little as she chokes out the words. “Alex, I’m so sorry…I can’t even explain how sorry I am…”
“Madison, just stop.” I feel exhausted. “Stop, please.”
“You called me,” she insists, looking up at me. “I know you did, so there is still a chance.” She takes a step towards me, moving closer, and I can’t bring myself to back away. She’s so beautiful, everything about her making me want to let her come to me, to put my arms around her. This is harder than I thought it would be.
“Just tell me if there could still be a chance for us,” she whispers, close enough now that she’s almost brushing up against me.
And, before I can say anything, she rises up on her tiptoes and brushes her lips softly against mine, kissing me.
Madison
Present day
My heart is beating so hard in my chest as I approach him that it almost hurts. I’m terrified of his reaction, terrified that he’ll tell me to ge
t the fuck out, that he doesn’t care what happens to me or how I get home. I still remember the fight, how awful it was, how he was someone I didn’t know or recognize, but I can’t stop myself from trying now, even though I know there’s a chance he’ll rip my heart to shreds again. I’m here, in the apartment, everything familiar and warm around me, and I have to try. I’ll regret it forever if I don’t try.
He doesn’t move as I approach him slowly, as I lean up and kiss him, my lips brushing over his in a gesture that’s a peace offering and a plea all at once. A dozen emotions flood me as I kiss him—sadness and hope and desire and fear, and I’m afraid that he’ll push me away, but he doesn’t. He stands there frozen in place for a moment, and then his arms go around me with a groan that seems to come from his soul, and his lips press hard against mine.
I can feel everything in this kiss, all of his sadness and pain and anger, and his hands dig into my waist as he pulls me roughly against him. His hands slide down over my hips, fingers digging into my ass, and I can feel how hard he is, how much he still wants me. My arms wind around his neck, my hands tangling in his hair as my tongue slides into his mouth, and I kiss him desperately, hungrily, and he does the same in return.
I can hardly believe this is happening as he picks me up, my legs going around his waist as he goes to carry me down the hall. He stumbles once, my back landing against the wall as he rights himself, and for a second I think we’re not going to make it any further as he growls against my mouth, his hand knotting in my hair as he kisses me hard and drives his hips up against me, letting me feel how much he wants me, how desperately he’s missed me. He doesn’t need to say anything, I can feel all of it raging through him, and he grabs my shirt, yanking it over my head and throwing it aside. His hand is on my breast then, squeezing it in his hand, his thumb rolling over the nipple as I gasp, the pleasure going through me like an electric shock. I never thought he’d touch me this way again, and I want him so badly that it hurts as he puts me down for a moment, fingers tearing at the button and zipper of my jeans as I pull his shirt off, wanting to touch him, to feel his skin against mine.
“Bed,” he mumbles thickly as I kick my jeans aside, but he pushes me up against the wall, kissing me again roughly, nipping at my lower lip. I reach down, undoing his jeans and sliding my hand inside, and he groans against my lips as I touch him, my fingers wrapping around his erection as he thrusts his hips into my hand desperately.
He grabs me, picking me up and shoving the door to the bedroom open. We fall onto the bed together, his body atop mine as he pushes my legs apart, the rest of our clothes ending up in a pile on the floor until we’re both naked and gasping, the tip of him brushing between my legs as he leans over me, panting.
I wonder if he’s going to grab a condom, a laugh bubbling up in my throat as I think it doesn’t matter anymore, but he’s too far gone to think about it anyway. I expect him to shove himself roughly inside of me, to take me with the same furious passion that carried us down the hallway and into the bed, but instead he stops, his hand gently cupping my face as he looks down into my eyes.
He’s barely touched me other than to kiss me, but I’m so turned on it doesn’t matter. He slides into me in one slow stroke, and I gasp, struggling not to let tears come to my eyes as I feel him inside of me again. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him into me, and I feel him shudder as he looks down at me, his eyes meeting mine as he begins to move—slowly.
I arch my back and match his rhythm, my arms going around his neck as I kiss him softly. I want to remember every second of this, every touch and every kiss, because I have no idea if it’s going to happen again. My heart aches with the thought that it could be the last time, but I can’t think about it, or I’ll start to cry. He feels so good, all of him, his skin against mine, each thrust of his hips burying him inside of me as deeply as he can go, and I throw my head back as I feel my whole body shudder as I start to come, my first orgasm washing over me with a force that makes me cry out and cling to him, the pleasure racing over every nerve.
He speeds up then, kissing me over and over again as he thrusts harder, and I can tell that he’s close, too, as he runs one hand through my hair and braces himself with the other. “Come for me again,” he whispers, his words running together slightly, driving himself into me with those long, steady strokes that he knows drive me insane, and I can feel the next climax building on the heels of the first.
“Come with me,” he groans, his body starting to shake, and the thought of it brings me closer still, his lips on mine again as I feel him, hard and thick inside of me, losing control as I wrap my legs around him tighter, holding him against me.
“Madison!” he calls out, his back arching, his whole body shuddering with the force of it as he thrusts into me once more, hard, and the sound of my name on his lips again brings tears to my eyes.
“Alex,” I whisper, clinging to him as the feeling of him falling over the edge takes me there again too, my body quivering helplessly as, for a moment, we both forget about everything except the sheer pleasure of being together again, and the way this makes us feel.
I don’t remember falling asleep afterward, if he held me or not, but when I wake up he’s not there. I roll over, touching the empty space next to me, and bury my face in his pillow for a moment, breathing in the scent of him as the ache of missing him washes through me. I don’t know what last night meant, if it changed anything, but I can’t regret it even though I know it will make losing him hurt a hundred times worse.
I get up and dress slowly, finding all of my clothes piled neatly in the chair next to the bed. When I walk out into the living room Alex is standing by the couch, and I approach him slowly, hesitantly. I’m afraid to speak, afraid that anything I say will shatter this fragile thing between us, take us back to where we were before last night. He hears my footsteps and turns to face me, and I can’t read his expression or tell what he’s feeling. He looks thoughtful, reserved, as if all of the emotions of the night before have been neatly bottled up and put away, and I swallow hard, trying not to let tears come to my eyes.
I want him to say something, anything, but he only looks at me with eyes that slowly turn from thoughtful to sad, and I feel my heart sink. This isn’t going to go the way you hoped, I think, biting my lower lip as I try to gather up the courage to say something to him.
“Do you regret what happened?” I whisper, my stomach twisting with anxiety as I look up at him. “Last night?”
His jaw tightens. “I don’t know,” he says finally, and I feel a small flare of hope that maybe he doesn’t, followed by the realization that he might, which makes my heart drop. What I wanted him to say was that of course he doesn’t regret it, but I should have known that was too much to hope for.
And then he says something that makes me feel as if the sun has come out for the first time in weeks.
“I still love you,” he says quietly, his eyes meeting mine. “I can’t help it, even after everything that happened.” My heart leaps at his words but immediately drops because his tone is pained. He may still love me, but he doesn’t want to.
“I need time to think,” he says quietly. “I need space from you.” He’s exasperated and still deeply hurt, and I know he’s not going to close the space between us the way I hoped he would after those first few words. He’s not going to kiss me again or take everything back to how it was.
“Do you need me to take you home?” he asks, his voice neutral again, and I feel disappointed, caught off guard by how quickly he’s switched between “I still love you,” and “it’s time for you to go home.”
“No,” I say, biting my lip. “I’ll be fine.”
I reach for my purse where I dropped it the night before, and for a moment I start to turn around and tell him the truth, what I’d planned to come here today and tell him. Today was supposed to be the day that I told him about the baby, regardless of what there was or wasn’t between us, regardless of whether he wanted me back or
not.
But I can’t bring myself to say it. There’s still hope, if I give him time, that he’ll come around. He made love to me last night. He said this morning that he still loves me. And I want more than anything to tell him after he’s decided to come back to me, when it doesn’t feel like a trap, a way of clinging to something that’s already gone.
So instead, I just give him a small smile, and walk out the door.
13
Alex
Fucking Madison James.
I’m reeling as I watch Madison walk out of the door. My emotions are all over the place because of what happened. It was as if all of my missing her and longing for her came to a breaking point last night. I wished for her to appear and then she did. She was just as beautiful as I remembered her, maybe even more so—everything I ever wanted. She’s always been, since the moment I set eyes on her. I sit back against the couch and rub a hand over my face, trying to collect myself.
I wasn’t supposed to sleep with her last night, but once she’d kissed me I couldn’t stop myself. I was hungry for her, desperate, and underneath all of that…the love that I had for her was still there, too, as strong as it had ever been.
But I don’t know what to do with it. So we still want each other, we still love each other, but what does that change? After everything is said and done, she still slept with my father and lied about it. How can I get over that? How can I ever look at her and not think about it, not remember that I’ve seen them together? I don’t know how to get past it—and I don’t know how to get over her, either. Because after last night, it’s clear that nothing about the strength of our feelings for each other has changed.
I need to talk to someone, and not my mom or Alyssa. I’m still furious with Alyssa, and I need another man’s perspective—I need my father. The man who I looked up to as my father my whole life, far more than Jackson.
