Chapter 24
TWENTY FOUR
MY HEAD LOLLS against the headrest, the streetlights flashing past, eyelids heavy.
Through the haze of exhaustion, I’m aware of Matthew’s gaze on me, a silent, watchful presence.
The music, which has been a low throb in the background, fades to almost nothing.
A shiver runs through me, but then, a gentle warmth.
A faint whisper of air brushes my skin as Matthew adjusts the heater.
“Car… at club…” I mumble. A sense of peace settles over me, and I close my eyes.
I wake with a start, heart pounding.
The car is stationary, the engine off.
Where are we?
I’m disoriented, my thoughts sluggish.
“It’s okay,” Matthew says softly. “We just got to my place. You fell asleep.”
I blink slowly, struggling to pull his face into focus. The dim glow of the dashboard lights paints him from below, carving his jaw into a sharp angle and leaving his eyes in deep shadow.
The man I know, rendered in a way I don’t.
Familiar and foreign all at once.
I sit up straight. The awareness of his closeness makes my nerves spark. I reach for the seatbelt, needing space, but my fingers refuse to cooperate. They poke uselessly at the release button, clumsy and disconnected.
“Here, let me help.” Matthew swiftly steps out of the car.
He comes around and opens the passenger door, the interior light momentarily blinding me. He leans in, reaching for the buckle, his arm pressed lightly across my front. His face is close to mine. Warm breath fans my cheek. The scent of his skin fills my nose.
My heart stutters.
Our eyes meet.
For a long, breathless moment, the world narrows down to this small space, to the intense green of his gaze, to the inches separating our lips. A question lingers in his eyes, mirroring the pull twisting inside me.
The buckle clicks open, breaking the spell.
“There,” he says, the word catching on a rough edge. He steps back quickly, giving me space.
He opens the door wider, extending a hand.
I take a shaky breath and accept his offer. His fingers close around mine, warm and strong. I push myself up, using his hand for support as I swing my legs out.
I stand, steadier than I expected.
I take a step, then another, pulling my hand free. “Thanks, I’m good,” I mumble, smoothing down my dress and avoiding his gaze.
But just as I take another step, my ankle twists on a loose stone. I stumble forward with a sharp cry.
Matthew catches me instantly, arms wrapping around my waist. “Careful.” His grip tightens. “You okay?”
I lean against him for a moment, face burning. “I’m just a walking hazard tonight,” I mutter, trying for a light tone despite the tremor in my voice.
“Then we better get you inside while you’re still in one piece,” he says with a hint of a smile, his arm firm around me.
A giggling sigh of relief bursts out of me. I’m grateful he’s making light of my wobbly state.
As we walk toward the house, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to ignore the way my body molds against his with every step.
“Almost there,” he murmurs near my ear.
Still holding me steady with one arm, he fishes a key from his pocket, unlocks the door, and pushes it open. “After you.” The touch of formality feels strangely at odds with the way he’s holding me.
I step into the familiar foyer, but the comfort it normally brings is gone. The alcohol is starting to fade, and in its place, reality floods in.
The cold block letters of Bancroft’s lease termination notice.
James’s sneering face offering his twisted deal.
A nauseating collage of my life in ruins.
I inhale sharply, chest tightening against a rising tide of panic. “About that huge mug of yours…” I say, forcing a lightness into my voice.
Matthew chuckles, tilting his head at me. “You sure you’re still up for that coffee?”
“Of course! The night is young,” I reply with a touch more enthusiasm than planned. “Don’t tell me you work on Saturdays?”
“No, but you do,” he reminds me, eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Did you make it your mission to kill my buzz?”
“Guilty.” Matthew raises both hands in mock surrender. “But I’m a man of my word. So, coffee it is. How about poolside?”
“Dreamy,” I reply instantly.
Matthew’s smile shifts, becoming softer. More intimate.
“It’s a date then,” he concludes gently.
“Umm…” I tug at my sweater dress, making his smile widen.
“Oh, don’t you worry, I've got a tracksuit with your name on it.” He points up the stairs. “But you go first. I’ll be right behind you, in case you fall.”
“I’m not that drunk,” I retort, giving him a playful glare over my shoulder
“Hey, tonight is one of those nights.” He gives a slight shrug. “I’m not taking any chances.”
A small giggle escapes me as I turn toward the staircase.
It stretches upwards forever. I start climbing, one slow step at a time. My legs feel heavy, weighted with lead. My hand grips the polished railing, a tremor running through my arm.
“All good?” Matthew asks, his voice close behind.
“Fine.” The word comes out too quick, trembling.
I feel his presence, a silent, watchful guardian. Then, the warmth of his hand lands on the small of my back.
Electric awareness darts through me.
I lean back, pressing against his palm for a fraction of a second.
“No rush,” he murmurs.
His hand remains a steady pressure as we climb the stairs.
Matthew opens the guest room door and I step inside. The large bed with its neatly folded duvet, the cream wall with giant blush roses…
It’s like stepping back in time to that first night.
The raw vulnerability. The desperate kiss. The reenactment. The…
Humiliation.
My skin prickles with the phantom sensation of his touch. My hands remember the feel of his skin. That night lingers here. A ghost in the air between us.
My fingers glide over the soft linen, my back to him. “I…” My voice chokes on the memory.
Behind me, Matthew doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. But his gaze is a palpable weight.
I inhale a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “F-for what you saw. With that guy…”
The silence stretches, filled only with my ragged breathing. Then, soft footsteps approach. He stops just behind me. Close enough to feel him, but he doesn’t touch me.
I tense. Every muscle coils tight.
His hand gently rests on my shoulder. My eyes close at the sharp tremor running through me. With the slightest pressure, he turns me.
I don’t resist. My body is pliant, stripped of will.
When our eyes meet, his gaze is intense. Searching. A hard edge of anger sets his jaw. Old pain flickers in his eyes. And underneath it all, a raw heat that makes my heart pound against my ribs.
I bite down on my lower lip. The sharp sting a welcome distraction from the turmoil swirling inside.
His gaze drops to my mouth, eyes darkening.
A muscle jumps in his cheek. Without a word, he reaches out, cupping my jaw.
The warmth of his palm sears my skin. His thumb brushes my lower lip, a featherlight touch.
Gently, insistently, he coaxes it free from the grip of my teeth.
His eyes flick up to meet mine, the question in their green depths unmistakable.
My hand reaches up and grasps his wrist, trembling slightly.
I look at him. Pleading. Desperate.
He stills. His gaze drops to where my fingers clutch his wrist.
“I’ll go grab that tracksuit for you,” he says. The words rumble up his arm, an uneven vibration beneath my fingertips.
The moment he’s gone, my legs give way. I flop onto the edge of the bed.
Sinking into this cozy, oversized navy tracksuit, warmth seeps into my bones. It’s the first true ease I’ve felt all night. The soft cotton smells of laundry detergent and something subtly comforting.
Like home.
A scent that makes the hard, concrete floor of the club seem a lifetime away. I pull the sweater down over the sweatpants. I remember how Matthew had brought it over, barely looking at me. He acted like a hotel clerk delivering towels.
My hand hesitates on the doorknob. Uncertainty washes away my earlier bravado.
It’s not just the abrupt shift from intense closeness to his cool distance.
It’s everything.
James.
The café.
The mess I’ve made of things.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door.
Downstairs, warm light spills from an open doorway, accompanied by the rich aroma of fresh coffee. It calls me, promising comfort, normalcy, and maybe a brief respite.
The stairs creak softly with each step. At the base, I pause when I hear the faint clink in the quiet.
I follow the sound, stepping around the corner.
The kitchen is spotless, gleaming under soft lights.
My eyes scan past the counters to the two white mugs and the French press sitting on the island.
Then I see him.
Matthew leans against the far counter, back to the doorway.
He’s wearing the same navy sweatpants as I am, but with a simple white tank top that leaves his sculpted arms and shoulders bare.
His hair is tousled. He stares out the window into the darkness, his posture relaxed but holding a hint of tension.
He turns as I enter. A stillness comes over him as his eyes settle on me.
The sight of him, so casually at home, so unexpectedly domestic, disarms me.
A warmth spreads through my chest. For a moment, the turmoil, the anger, the exhaustion simply…
Dissolve.
I just…
Stare back.
“You look…” he starts, then clears his throat. “Comfortable. It’s good to see you relaxed.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, glancing down at the oversized tracksuit. “For letting me wear it. Again.”
“You’re always welcome to anything you need here,” he says, his eyes losing their guarded edge.
His words wrap around my battered heart and my cheeks color.
“Well, that coffee smells incredible,” I say with a forced lightness, stepping toward the island.
He chuckles, a warm, genuine sound that eases the tension in my chest. Reaching for the French press, he pours the coffee into the mugs.
I take the one he offers me and try my hardest not to giggle. “This is the biggest mug you own?” I ask with mock disappointment.
“Careful, or I’ll switch it out for a thimble.” A playful smile spreads across his face.
A giggle bursts past my lips.
“Lead the way, please,” he says, the warmth lingering in his eyes.
With the heat of the coffee mug seeping into my icy fingers, I leave the kitchen and head for the glass doors leading to the backyard.