Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
her stomach the farther she got from Madden, his words rolling like dice around her head. I don’t give a fuck what anyone is saying. You’re the only thing I’ve ever given a fuck about.
He’d thank her one day, wouldn’t he?
Down the road, he’d agree distancing themselves was the right thing to do.
Eve closed her eyes and listened to the whoosh sound every time the elevator passed another floor, trying to remember which
direction she’d parked the car. If she had enough gas to get home. How much damage had she done by marrying Madden?
“I thought you looked familiar,” murmured the woman beside her, holding up a copy of the New York Post. On the front page of the newspaper was a truly iconic shot of Madden, flat on his back, holding the baseball in a cloud
of dust at home plate, beneath the headline “Introducing Bad Madden.” In a smaller picture below, Eve had apparently been
seen by a photographer as she left the hospital beside Madden, one shoulder wrapped in ice, the other arm draped across her
shoulders. She was smiling up at him more dreamily than she knew herself capable of, Madden leaning down to kiss the crown
of her head. She couldn’t even read the caption beneath the photo. Maybe she didn’t want to.
“I can’t believe I live in the same building as Bad Madden,” said the woman, eyeballing Eve’s bare feet. “I hope there’s no
trouble in paradise.”
Eve pressed her lips together and said nothing, the line of white, illuminated circles blurring in front of her eyes. Finally, they reached the lobby and the woman sped off, most likely due to Eve’s pathetic vibes, and after a beat, she entered the lobby too.
Okay. Just need to get to my car.
Flashes went off one by one outside the building, blinding Eve through the glass double doors. At first, she was merely confused
by the sudden ripple of voices that increased into shouts, but she slowly became aware of what was happening.
They were there for Madden.
They were there for her.
Shaking, Eve turned her back and searched the lobby for a place to sit down and put on her shoes, no choice but to use the
lip of a giant potted plant. She had two options. Brave the throng of reporters who had taken a sudden and alarming interest
in their lives. Or go back upstairs to Madden and be convinced to stay. That’s exactly what would happen. They would fight
and they would end up in bed. And she would tell him she loved him and confide how scared she was—and then he’d be stuck.
As stuck as all these people would eventually believe him to be.
Go. She had to go.
Eve stood and squared her shoulders, clutching her purse and phone to her chest.
Just as she reached for the door, prepared to propel herself through the wall of people and cameras, a door burst open to
her left and Madden stepped into the lobby, his chest covered in a light sheen of sweat.
“You took the stairs?”
“There’s only one elevator,” he muttered, his complexion whitening as he took in the gathered media with a dawning visage
of dread. “What the fuck?” He pointed a very stern finger at her. “Eve, do not go out there or you’ll give me a heart attack.”
They stared at each other across ten feet of space.
Run to him. Do it. He’ll protect you.
No, you have to protect him or he won’t protect himself.
Eve yanked open the door, put her head down, and tunneled through the mass of people.
Madden’s bellow echoed in her wake and it occurred to her the scene they were making. A lovers’ spat. Airing their marital
woes on the New York City sidewalk. It was the worst way to detract from the abundance of attention already being paid to
them, but she’d lie low after this. After she escaped.
Behind her, she heard a grunt of pain and recognized the sound as coming from Madden, her heart flying up into her mouth.
Madden’s shoulder. Oh god, this couldn’t be good for his injury. He was going to hurt himself even worse trying to follow
her. Why couldn’t she do anything right this morning? “Hey,” she shouted, backtracking through the crowd, pulling reporters
out of the way, shoving cameras without thinking. “Watch his shoulder. Hey! Please, watch his bruised shoulder!”
With a collective mutter, the crowd stepped back to give him space. Eve, as well. The tangle of voices silenced little by
little until there was nothing but herself and Madden looking at each other from a short distance, their audience waiting
in rapt stillness for something to happen. It was impossible not to acknowledge how truly gorgeous Madden looked with his
naked, muscular torso, a stark white bandage on his shoulder, his finger-brushed hair, the low-hanging black sweatpants.
A puckered scar on the lower corner of his stomach.
He looked surly as hell, his eyes like twin blue bonfires.
Hard to believe this was the same man she’d played house with last night.
Heck, if she had a camera, she’d be filming him, too, but for now, the paparazzi seemed inclined to let things play out, but what did they think was going to happen?
Nothing, that’s what. She was getting on the road where she belonged.
No sooner had Eve turned to go than a familiar hand grabbed her wrist, jerking, causing her to whirl around and lose her balance
at the same time. She crashed into Madden’s chest, his hand catching her chin to tilt her head back, that mouth stamping down
on hers with such possessiveness, she lost her train of thought along with her reasoning skills and sense of survival, allowing
him to take her mouth in a determined kiss that caused wires to cross and snap and fizzle inside her head.
Madden kissed her long and hard while the cameras shuttered away, and by the time she realized his intention, the damage was
already done.
“You’ll get no distance from me, Eve Donahue,” he rasped against her mouth, keeping her jaw in his hand while delivering a firm, meaningful look. “I can see I’m not going
to get through to you today, but I’m telling you right now, in front of God and everyone, you are my wife and that’s how you’ll
stay.” He kissed her stunned mouth one more time, hard. “Drive carefully. My heart is your passenger.” Turning in a circle,
he shouted, “If she doesn’t get to her car safely, I’ll get myself traded to Boston.”
A gasp blew down the block.
And with that, Madden turned and stalked back to the building, nearly ripping the door off the hinges to get back inside.
Slowly, Eve walked to her car without incident, although there was the sporadic snap of a camera lens.
And the gradual dimming of what might have been.