Chapter 2 #2
He paced for what must have been an hour, tracing endless circuits that did nothing to quiet the whirlwind of emotions that peeled back his carefully constructed defenses, leaving him raw and exposed.
Each step seemed to echo against the floor—remnants of a life that no longer felt like his own.
With each passing minute, the familiar heaviness settled deeper into his bones, a leaden weight that made even breathing seem an impossible task.
Stalking to the small writing desk in the corner, he dropped into the chair and opened his journal.
The leather-bound pages had been his lifeline for the past few years, the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity on the days when the darkness threatened to consume him entirely.
The familiar act of putting pen to paper had saved him from devolving back into excessive drinking more times than he cared to admit, giving him a safe place to voice the turmoil that often overcame him in a tide of hopelessness.
But now, as he stared at the blank page, words seemed inadequate to capture the tempest within.
The haunting memory of Maddie’s face swam into focus once more, those gray eyes full of hurt and loss. When he closed his eyes, he could still see her.
He dipped his quill in ink and began to write.
I saw you today. Really saw you. And I wish I hadn’t.
John continued writing, forcing the thoughts out of his head so that he might come to terms with how he really felt. The words flowed from him like blood from a wound, dark and painful but somehow necessary.
He sat back in the chair and raked his fingers through his hair, an angry breath escaping between clenched teeth.
His mind returned to the moment they collided, to her stormy eyes and the slight parting of her lips.
The remembered image sent a shiver throughout his body, momentarily pulling him from the fog that so often clouded his mind.
As much as he knew she hated him, he couldn’t help but remember a time when they were so in love that all they saw was each other.
The first time he’d made love to her . .
. waking up Christmas morning with Maddie in his arms staring back at him with a half-drowsy smile.
She whispered that she loved him in his ear as they lay entwined, dreaming of their perfect life together.
That had been just before he had made it back to his own chamber undetected.
How could the sight of Maddie unravel him so completely?
He’d worked so hard to make some sense of himself again after those first black years when he could barely summon the will to rise each day.
But how could her presence do what a thousand miles of ocean could not—drag him back to the man he once was, or at least the man he once hoped to be?
He closed his journal and then blew out the candle on the desk.
Moving over to his bed, he sat heavily on the edge, head in hands.
Maddie. It was all Maddie. Even the way she fled from him now was a perfect echo of the way she had once run toward him, all fire and grace and fearless conviction.
Back when he had felt deserving of her love, before the darkness had claimed him and convinced him he would only bring her down with him.
John rid himself of his coats and cravat and then undid the top buttons of his shirt, shrugging out of it with deliberate slowness, as if shedding its constraints could bring any relief.
He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to push her from his mind.
He lay there for so long, willing his heart and body not to want her the way he did. But it was hopeless.
Finally, John rose and stripped off the rest of his clothing.
The chill against his skin was a reminder of the solitude he had brought upon himself.
The heaviness inside him was almost unbearable, an urgent mix of grief and longing that pulsed with every beat of his racing heart.
He pressed his fists to his eyes, fighting the way his body ached with it, the way his whole being seemed to cry out for the one thing he had no right to claim.
After he fell back into his bed, he let himself remember everything—the sweet torture of Maddie’s kisses, the way she looked when he undid her hair and watched it fall around her bare shoulders.
He let himself feel everything—the rush of desire, the crash of despair.
He let the past and present blur together until somehow it all merged into nothing but insatiable desire.
The realization broke him open, and before he could stop himself, his hand had fisted the base of his cock. He closed his eyes, picturing her with such vividness that it took his breath away.
His strokes were steady, deliberate, every motion a plea that his need might be sated. His breath quickened and caught in his throat, and he matched the rhythm of his thoughts to the fevered pace of his own desperate hand.
He could almost feel her beneath him, feel her warmth and softness and the way she would whisper his name over and over . . . until he finally came—an explosion of sensation that left him gasping.
As the pleasure racked his body, so did the resolve he’d so painstakingly built.
He was left with nothing but a pool of warm liquid across his hand and the inevitable emptiness that always seemed to follow.
It had been much the same for years—brief moments of escape followed by a void that seemed to grow deeper each time.
Collapsing back against the mattress, John squeezed his eyes shut, cursing himself again for being such a damned fool.
Spent and defeated, he reached for a cloth from the bedside table and wiped himself clean.
He felt utterly pathetic, a shadow of his former self.
He was an earl, for fuck’s sake. He used to be one of the most confident of men.
Some might have described him as arrogant.
And yet here he was, reduced to this—a man barely able to face each day, drowning in regrets and what-ifs.
He had crawled back from the immensely deep pit he’d created for himself, just to fuck his own hand and fear what facing his past might do to him.
As the darkness of the room closed in around him, John stared up at the canopy, knowing sleep would be elusive yet again.
The familiar weight settled over him like a shroud, and he wondered, as he often did, if he would slip back into the darkest place he’d found years ago.
But Maddie’s presence, her goodness and light, served as an unexpected lifeline.
Even if she hated him and her eyes held nothing but ire, he wanted to be better for her.
Her very existence pulled him back from the edge.
And for her—for the mere hope of redemption in her eyes—he would try to be more.
Clinging to her light might be the only thing that kept the darkness from taking him entirely.