Chapter 28
Istride through the brownstone’s interior, now transformed into a makeshift headquarters for my fledgling startup. The once serene space overflows with programmers and their equipment—laptops litter every surface, cables and test VR sets snake along the floor. My housekeeper, Elena, gracefully navigates around plates stacked with half-eaten sandwiches, picking up dishes to carry to the already humming dishwasher. She has the patience of a saint alright, but the generous pre-Christmas bonus also did not hurt.
Our new venture, Reconstruxion, gained momentum rapidly in the few short weeks since I split dramatically from my father”s empire. After deciding to quit Whitmore Tech, I managed to convince several key allies to join me.
Cade was the first. “I expected this was coming sooner or later,” he’d said, patting me on the back. Luring the others away from the cushy corporate job took incentive and persuasion. Cade, Amanda, Chad, and two lead programmers would gain partial ownership in addition to their salaries. Inspired by my vision for revolutionizing PTSD treatment, they took the chance on me.
I knew snagging Chad meant a chunk of Whitmore’s VR team would eagerly follow. He persuaded several developers by highlighting the product’s impact potential and the exciting work culture at our new firm.
Now I watch him across the cluttered dining room as he cracks open sodas, toasting the programmers celebrating a technical milestone. In the living area, Amanda clicks away on her laptop, finalizing press announcements while Cade marks aggressive product rollout schedules on a towering whiteboard calendar.
Seeing the motley crew rallied behind our crusade fills me with amazed gratitude. Maybe this is what people mean when they talk about a chosen family. I squeeze Cade”s shoulder, locking eyes with my battle-tested friend.
“Two months till the first veteran trauma patients will trial Reconstruxion”s immersive therapy software.” He taps the timeline on the whiteboard. “Not bad progress for this ragtag crew you pulled together, brother.”
The doorbell rings, and more programmers file in wielding monitors and trailing charger cords. My spirit soars realizing Walt no longer controls the reins, or me. I can finally do things on my own terms.
Grasping my phone, I slip into the library. The app tracker blinks reassuringly, Maddie”s icon hovers safely over her apartment”s location uptown.
I know she would scorn me if she found out that, unbeknownst to her, I’m tracking her phone’s location. And to be honest, I do feel a bit creepy about it. But after the incident with Preston, paranoia gnaws at me.
I hit her number, imagining her curled on her couch.
Her phone goes straight to voicemail yet again. I have been trying to reach her for two weeks now, but she clearly doesn’t want to speak to me.
Only after I released the one-million-dollar payment from escrow, did she send a short text letting me know she received it and thanking me.
Well, what did you expect, genius? That she would run back to you? It was a business transaction, and she held up her side of the bargain impeccably.
I wander out to the living room. Amanda is showing Chad and Cade the images for the Facebook ad campaign.
“Hey, Amanda, have you heard from Maddie at all?” I interrupt them. “I”ve been trying to get in touch with her, but I think she”s screening my calls.”
Amanda shakes her head. “No, I haven”t spoken to her since she quit her job at Whitmore Tech right after you left. I thought you broke up?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” I hiss through gritted teeth. I shove my hands in my pockets, feeling frustrated. “Things got messy with Walt, and then the incident with Preston didn’t exactly help. I thought letting her put some distance between us was the right call.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “But she would be a godsend right now, don’t you think?”
Amanda raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Oh yes, definitely. We could use some of her unconventional ideas. But if you want my humble opinion, I don’t think you’ll have much luck.” She gives me an apologetic glance. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, buddy.”
Cade looks up from his laptop with a sympathetic smile. “Well, she’s not far. Go and see if you can change her mind.”
“Who knows, maybe she has come around after some time and space,” Amanda chimes in, while Chad nods reassuringly. “If you do manage to get in touch, I”m happy to talk to her and try to convince her that Reconstruxion is the perfect next step.”
Determined, I throw on my coat and head uptown. While the cab crawls through the heavy afternoon traffic on the FDR, butterflies swarm in my stomach. I rub my palms against my jeans, trying to ignore the jitters.
Because if I’m honest with myself, asking her to come work on Reconstruxion is just a lame excuse. As the cab slowly inches uptown, I”m forced to confront the true reason I’m so desperate to see Maddie.
I want her back in my life for good.
While we were pretending to be engaged, it was easy to lie to myself. I kept her at arm’s length even while I pulled her close. But now that we are done and she is avoiding me, the realization sets in that I can”t stand being without her.
I think back on the progress I”ve made recently with the VR therapy for my PTSD. Diligent, daily exposure to simulation exercises has been transformative. I don”t remember the last time I had a nightmare. The software seems to be rewiring my trauma responses.
Maybe, just maybe, it would be possible for Maddie and me to try again for real. With my symptoms more manageable now, perhaps we could have a shot at an actual, functioning relationship.
But a moment later, doubt creeps back in. I treated Maddie unfairly. My constant mixed signals couldn’t have been easy to interpret. She has every right to want me permanently out of her life after the hot and cold treatment I have been giving her. If I ask her for another chance, she’ll probably slam the door in my face.
Still, even just a sliver of hope propels me forward. I have to try and see if there’s any chance we might start over. Without the fake relationship pressure and without my father’s expectations. Losing her for good without even attempting to make amends would haunt me forever.
The cab rolls to a stop outside of her simple elevator building on 77th Street. I exit the car and pause on the sidewalk, looking up and remembering being here months ago. A brisk November wind rustles through gently swaying branches, their empty limbs hinting at winter”s steady approach. Dull sunlight filters weakly between buildings, casting the sparse remaining foliage in gold and amber hues across this sleepy Upper East Side block. Residents passing on the sidewalk pull coats tighter and tug scarves up higher to brace against the chill creeping in with the fading daylight.
Steeling my nerves, I hit the intercom with more force than necessary, my pulse thundering in my ears as I await a response.
Finally, a hesitant voice answers, “Hello?”
It”s Grace. My heart sinks a bit.
“Hey, it”s Jack. Can I come up to talk for a minute?”
A tense pause follows before she replies uncertainly, “I suppose.”
The door buzzes open, and I almost run through the clean lobby, taking the steps two at a time and wondering if coming here was a mistake. Before I can turn back, I”m knocking at apartment 2B.
Grace opens the door cautiously. Her eyes scan me up and down before stepping aside to let me in. I hover awkwardly just inside the entrance to the cozy but chaotic space I remember from months back.
“Is uh . . . is Maddie home?” I manage to get out gruffly.
Grace folds her arms, face unreadable. “Yes, but she’s resting.”
My heart leaps before sinking again, realizing she won’t want to see me.
“Oh, I see.” I shuffle my feet, unsure what to do. “How is she doing? Sorry to barge in on you like this, but she’s not answering my calls.”
Grace shrugs noncommittally. “She”s been sleeping a lot.”
I frown, realizing Maddie must still be struggling with what happened. Guilt gnaws at me that I couldn”t protect her.
“Do you think . . . Would it be possible for me to just have a quick word with her? I won”t stay long. I know she probably doesn”t want to see me.” I hear the desperate note creeping into my voice but push on. “I just want to apologize to her in person for how things ended between us.”
Grace looks uncertain, hovering in the hallway, glancing between me and a closed door I assume leads to Maddie”s room.
“Please, Grace,” I implore quietly. “I”m worried about her, and I have some things I need to say, even if she doesn”t want me back in her life.”
Grace wavers before finally nodding slowly. “Let me just go check if she”s up for a visitor.”
She cracks the bedroom door open softly. I hold my breath, scarcely daring to hope as quiet murmurs reach me. After a muted back and forth, Grace steps back out.
“You can come in for a few minutes.”
I let out a relieved gust of air. “Thank you. I promise to be brief.”
Grace steps aside, granting me access. I enter the cheery, sunlit space and pause to take it in. The room suits Maddie perfectly with its mix of vintage finds and sleek modern details. Soft peach walls give off a warm glow, enhanced by the late afternoon sunlight streaming through sheer curtains. The focal point is a carved oak bed framed by a button-tufted headboard, its white and peach floral bedding looking straight off a Pinterest mood board.
Next to the bed, a vintage chaise upholstered in emerald velvet provides a cozy reading nook. Scattered across it and the nearby nightstand are glossy fashion magazines and classic novels. Near the window, a crystal chandelier casts rainbow prisms across the polished wood floors. The boho style continues in embroidered throw pillows and a patterned wool rug underfoot.
Throughout the feminine space, hints of Maddie”s humor and charm shine through. Playful touches like neon letter lights spelling out “Dance Party” and snapshots with her sisters in kitschy photo booth frames make me smile.
Curled up against the tufted headboard is Maddie herself, tucked under a thick ivory down comforter. Seeing her looking small and delicate amid the cheerful surroundings makes my chest squeeze with emotion. This bright, happy room suits everything I love about her creative spirit. She looks pale, but otherwise just as radiant as her usual self.
I clear my throat softly. “Hey there.”
On her lap lies a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. She points at it, giggling apologetically. “I know what you’re thinking. But when else would I have the time to read Jane Austen?”
I chuckle as I approach and tentatively sit on the edge of the mattress near her feet.
“How are you, Little Bird?” I ask gently.
There is a flash of surprise on her face at hearing me call her that name, but she doesn’t comment on it. She places a bookmark in the pages before closing the novel. “I”m doing better, taking it slowly,” she replies carefully. “And thank you again for the contract payment. I appreciate you making good on your word.”
I nod, guilt still gnawing at me. “Of course. After everything . . .” I trail off, rubbing my palms against my jeans. “You haven’t been picking up my calls,” I say.
Maddie looks away, fidgeting with a stray thread on her comforter. “It’s better for me to not talk to you for a while.” She meets my eyes briefly. “Our arrangement ended. What else do we need to discuss?”
Her blunt dismissal stings even though I expected the brush off. I exhale slowly, carefully keeping any accusatory notes from my voice.
“I deserve the silent treatment, I know. But I still care about you, Maddie. I want to make sure you are alright. And I wanted to let you know about a bunch of us leaving Whitmore Tech. In case you are interested in a new opportunity.”
She shakes her head, unmoved. “I appreciate the gesture, Jack. But I”d prefer keeping a clean break between us.”
I nod mutely, throat tightening. This visit is clearly as far as she is willing to let me back into her life. I came hoping for a sliver of possibility, but her walls are firmly fortified. I have no choice but to respect her wishes for now, at least until she starts feeling better.
“I understand,” I rasp out in defeat. “I”m glad you seem to be recovering. Please look after yourself, Maddie.” I stand reluctantly, taking one last look at her before turning to go.
“I”m heading to Paris next week,” she blurts out. “I’m going to stay with my Aunt Vivian for a while.”
“Oh, a change of scenery will do you good,” I manage to grind out, holding the door handle. “How long will you be staying?”
“A few weeks,” she says slowly, as if gauging my reaction. “Or months. We’ll see.”
I pause at the door, another concern I”ve been mulling over escaping in a rush. “Have you thought any more about your social media presence? After everything with Preston, I worry other crazies seeing your videos may get ideas too.”
Maddie”s eyes flash as she sits up straighter. “What exactly are you implying, Jack?”
I lift my palms placatingly. “I just mean maybe it”s best to lie low for a bit, don”t give the creeps any fuel, you know?”
“Absolutely not,” Maddie fires back. “Posting online is my livelihood and creative outlet. I refuse to hide away out of fear just because entitled men think they can take whatever they want.”
She crosses her arms defiantly. “A woman minding her business and dancing in public is not an invitation for harassment or assault. The problem is predators grasping at excuses to justify their behavior, not me expressing myself to fans.”
I rub the back of my neck, having clearly touched a nerve. “You”re right, I apologize. I just hate thinking of you being in danger again because of the attention you attract. But I know that”s not fair.”
Maddie nods curtly. “I appreciate your concern, as misplaced as it is. I’m not going to cower under a rock.” She lifts her chin determinedly. “I won”t let him or anyone else take my spark away.”
This fierce woman doesn”t need my clumsy concern.
“I understand. I”m glad to see your fighting spirit is intact.” I offer a small smile. “Be well, Maddie.”
She dips her head in farewell as I close the door quietly behind me.