Chapter Twenty-Six
Mental note to self: Never drive in Manhattan again.
The ordeal of retrieving her car from the pay lot, then double-parking among a sea of honking vehicles to pick Madden up at
the front entrance and now circling Madden’s city block trying to decipher humanity’s most confusing signs to determine if
a spot was valid or she’d get her ass towed? Eve thought, Never again. Not that Madden seemed to mind sitting in her passenger seat, smiling to himself as she cursed and got stuck behind delivery
trucks, rickshaws, and yellow cabs.
“If I lived in this city, I would be homicidal.”
“No, you’d just adjust to taking Ubers or the subway.”
“Is that what you do?”
Finally, she found a metered spot that she’d only have to pay for until seven p.m. And tomorrow was Sunday, meaning no meters
were in effect. Hallelujah. “Unless I’m going to the stadium, I just walk everywhere,” Madden said.
“I can picture that,” Eve murmured, resting her hand on the back of his seat and maneuvering in reverse into the space, her
body all too aware of Madden’s proximity in the small car, those blue eyes tracking down the front of her dress, his palm
swiping slowly down the thigh of his sweatpants as if to dry it. “I . . . can picture you out walking by yourself in your
overcoat, looking all serious and thoughtful.”
His lips twitched. “It’s too many people for me. I’m usually just trying to finish my errand and get back to my apartment as fast as possible.”
“Not a city person.”
“No.”
Eve turned off the engine. “There’s a chance you could be here for a while. Or be asked to move to an entirely new city at
some point.” She set about collecting her things from the car—phone, keys—dropping them into her purse. “You could have a
long time left with the league. Over a decade.”
“If I’m lucky.”
“I have it on good authority that Irishmen are pretty lucky.”
Madden’s eyes ran an appreciative lap around her face, that palm drying itself once again on the leg of his sweatpants. “I
can’t say I disagree.”
This man’s directness was going to be the death of her. He hadn’t been lying when he said they’d never been good at small
talk. They always ended up in the deep end of the conversation within minutes. And Eve preferred the way they communicated,
but this . . . spending the night together, being his emergency contact, informing the nurse station at the hospital that
she was Madden’s wife, the whole team being aware of his marital status? They’d broken new ground. What happened to her determination
not to turn too much soil?
“Let me come around to your side and help you out,” she said, pushing open the driver’s-side door. “You’ve been enough of
a hero for one day.”
“Now, love, I don’t want a fuss.”
“You’re getting one.” Eve shut the door before he could protest again, waiting for the oncoming traffic to zip by before circling around to Madden’s side, growling at him when she found the door already open, his feet planted on the sidewalk.
“You know, you’re the only person I know who is more stubborn than me. ”
“I’m glad you noticed,” he said, gripping the roof of the car with the hand of his good arm, gritting his teeth and hauling
himself out before she could help. “I like you knowing I’m going to keep showing up.”
“Like a bad penny,” she quipped, although he was towering over her now, grizzled and messy from his ordeal, so the joke came
out sounding kind of breathless.
“No, Eve.” Without looking, he closed the passenger door behind him with a neat little slam. “Like your husband.”
Small talk? I don’t know her.
Eve swallowed the legion of butterflies unleashed by the word husband and turned in a circle, scanning the high-rises blocking the night sky on all sides. “Which one is yours?”
He jerked his chin. “One block that way.”
“Okay.” She locked the car, testing the handle once, then they fell into step beside each other, the pedestrian noise growing
louder as they passed a pub, several patrons outside smoking or making calls. The mood was drunk.
“Oh my god,” yelled a guy in a Yankees jersey who promptly threw down his cigarette and stomped it out. “It’s Bad Madden.”
“Shit,” Madden muttered, taking Eve’s arm and steering her past the crowd at a quickening pace. “It stuck.”
A chant of the nickname started in their wake, more and more people spilling out of the bar to watch them advance down the
block.
“Give them a little wave,” Eve cajoled, struggling to keep up with his long strides. “It’ll make their night.”
Sighing, Madden turned slightly and nodded at the bar patrons over his shoulder, sending them into an absolute meltdown.
“Was that so hard?”
“I’m never going outside again.”
Eve bit her lip to stifle a laugh. “I guess we’re ordering you takeout tonight.”
Madden guided her beneath a long red awning, muttering a greeting to the doorman as they entered the building. “You’re not
hungry?”
“Have you witnessed the stacked buffet in the VIP suite? I’m not going to be hungry until Monday.” Eve nearly sighed out loud
over the vintage chandelier that hung in the lobby, the persimmon-colored carpet that stretched from one end to the other.
The gold light fixtures. The half-moon checkerboard floor in front of the elevator. “I like what you’ve done with the place,”
she murmured, as they stepped into the elevator and the door closed. She watched as Madden tapped the button for the twenty-fourth
floor, a little alarmed to find his hand unsteady. “Is your shoulder hurting?”
“It’s fine.” The car moved upward at a rapid pace, but she couldn’t tell if it was the elevation or the way Madden watched
her that caused her stomach to feel weightless. “I’m just always picturing what it would be like to bring you back here, and
now . . . here you are.”
Eve held her breath, then exhaled. “Bet you didn’t picture yourself with only one arm.”
“No, I did not,” he said, chuckling and sounding kind of . . . nervous. “I haven’t done much with the apartment yet. I don’t
know, it feels odd to settle in when the city doesn’t feel . . .”
“Like home?” The elevator door opened and Madden gestured for Eve to precede him, which she did, her pulse leaping when he
settled his left hand on her hip, squeezing to nudge her down the left corridor. “Where feels like home? Cumberland?”
“Definitely more like home than Manhattan, but it’s my aunt’s home.
That’s how I’ve always thought of it. Florida felt temporary too.
” He produced his keys, unlocking the black door with a gold G above the peephole.
“I’ve no nostalgia for Ireland, as hard as I’ve tried to recall the good parts of it, because there are some.
A lot, actually.” He paused. “I’m not sure where I’m meant to put roots down. ”
They stood in front of the door, making no move to open it, even though it was unlocked. “Cumberland is starting to feel less
and less like home to me, lately,” Eve said quietly, as if imparting a terrible secret. “It feels like a betrayal to say that
and I don’t know why. It’s a town that’s never wanted me back.”
She could hear Madden’s hand flex into a fist, an audible squeeze of tendons, and she reached over and covered it with her
own. He said, “You’re wanted here. With me.”
“I know.” Maybe it was the sudden, intense need to lighten the mood after his hospital trip or maybe she genuinely felt a
little giddy, a whole night in front of her in this strange land called Manhattan. So far from real life and all her responsibilities,
the moment seemed like a dream. “Let’s play house tonight.”
Madden did a double take, but his expression warmed. “Go on.”
She’d set a record today for blushing and now she was breaking it. “This is home for the night. We both belong here. We’ve
put down roots and . . .”
“We’re husband and wife, home after a long day, dying to put on pajamas and relax.” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s not that far-fetched
if you think about it.”
“I guess it’s not.”
Madden nodded at the handle. “Shall we, love?”
It was a visceral thing, shedding the Teflon she wore as a second skin.
Was it being outside Cumberland’s borders that made it possible?
Or being with Madden? Or . . . both? “We shall,” she said, her smile unfettered as she pushed open the door.
And gasped. “Oh, Madden. The view.” Eve walked inside, dropping her purse on the closest surface, coming to a stop in front of the glass door that opened onto
a small rectangular balcony. “I’m completely turned around. Is that New Jersey or Brooklyn?”
“New Jersey,” he said behind her, the dead bolt sliding into place.
“I mean . . .” She fluffed her hair. “Obviously, I already knew that, because this is my home and I’m here every day.”
“I already love this game.”
Eve crossed back through the functionally decorated living room toward Madden, framing his face in her hands. “You didn’t
get to shower after your game, honey. Do you want to take one now?”
His chest dipped so low, she thought it was caving in. “I know I must smell like death, I just don’t want to miss a second
of you being here.”
“But I’m always here,” she said, feigning confusion.
“Right.” He tilted her chin up in his left hand. “You look like you could use a good wash yourself.”
Eve gasped.
Madden winked at her.
“Is my husband trying to get me into the shower?”
“Aye,” he rasped, his breath shallowing.
Reaching back, she lowered the zipper of her sundress, bringing it down until the material started to slip, past her hips and onto the floor, leaving her in a black strapless bra and matching high-waisted panties.
More than anything in this world, she wanted to get completely naked in front of him, but that wasn’t possible.
She’d have to make it work in a way that kept her secret hidden.
“Who am I to disappoint Bad Madden?” she said, taking his hand and leading him to the bathroom.