18. Madelyn #3
But listening to Miles talk about his parents, the way his entire face changes when he remembers them, I can’t help but believe they’re still together somehow. Maybe that’s what soulmates really are. Maybe they don’t just find each other once, but over and over again no matter what happens.
“At least they weren’t alone,” I whisper.
I press a soft kiss to his chest, right over the tattoo that carries their memory. My fingers lace with his, holding onto him as tightly as I can.
“They had each other. Until the very end.”
His eyes flick down to me, and I can see the sadness there.
“I’m just sorry you had to go through it alone.”
A humorless laugh escapes him, and he looks away.
“It definitely felt like I was alone,” he says, his fingers tightening around mine. “I lived with my Uncle Benny after that. He was a piece of shit. Still is, actually.”
I don’t interrupt, just listen, because I now know what it feels like to have someone finally hear the things you’ve been carrying.
“But I’m not alone now.”
My breath catches when he lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. There’s something different in his expression now—something softer.
“Now I have you.”
Miles hums quietly to himself as he moves around the kitchen, completely at ease. I’m perched on one of the bar stools at the island, elbows resting against the cool countertop as I watch him cook like it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.
He’s already crisped the potatoes until they’re perfectly golden, grilled the asparagus, and now he’s standing over the stove with two thick steaks, basting them with butter, garlic, and fresh herbs.
How could one man be so damn perfect?
In all my life, I never expected a man would cook for me.
Growing up, my father always expected my mom to do everything.
Cooking, cleaning, laundry, literally anything to do with the house, it was her job to make sure it was done.
I always thought that was the way life was supposed to be.
The man does whatever while the woman does everything else for the home.
Miles doesn’t seem to believe in any of those gender roles. He cooks because he enjoys it, cleans as he goes, and doesn’t expect me to lift a finger. He’s out here breaking every rule I grew up believing, and somehow he makes it all look effortless.
He carries our plates over a few minutes later before grabbing two beers from the refrigerator. He sets one in front of me along with a perfectly cooked steak, roasted potatoes, and asparagus before taking the stool beside mine. The plate looks like something I’d order at an expensive restaurant.
“You’ll have to teach me how to cook one day.”
He freezes hallways through taking a sip of his beer. When I glance over, he’s staring at me with the stupidest grin spread across his face.
“What?” I laugh.
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
“I just…” He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost embarrassed. “I like the way you said that.”
“Said what?”
“One day.”
I raise an eyebrow, hoping he elaborates.
“You said one day.” His smile softens. “Like there’s a future.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. I hadn’t even realized I’d said it. A few hours ago, I was furious with him. Ready to walk away because he’d dug into my past without asking. Now we’re sharing dinner in his apartment, talking about tomorrow like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
It’s terrifying how quickly he makes me forget I’m supposed to be running.
“What did you find out about me, anyway?” I ask, cutting into my steak.
The knife slides through it effortlessly. Perfectly medium rare. Exactly how steak is supposed to be. Not cooked to death until it’s chewy, but not still mooing at me either.
Miles hesitates for a second, taking a drink before answering.
“Honestly, not much. I found some articles. Mostly stuff you already told me.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I read about the house fire, and after everything you told me…”
I stop chewing. “What house fire?”
His brows knit together. “The one your father died in.”
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. What the hell is he talking about?
“There was an article about it,” he continues carefully. “It happened a couple months ago, right before you moved here. It said there was one fatality, but they hadn’t officially identified the remains yet. I just…I assumed. I figured that’s how you killed him.”
My fork slips from my fingers. The metal crashes against the ceramic plate. The sound echoes through the apartment and everything else disappears. My heartbeat pounds so loudly that I can’t hear anything else. A house fire? The thought slams into me with enough force to steal the air from my lungs.
He wasn’t in the house. He must have set it on fire, made everyone think he was dead. He’s still alive.
My vision blurs as panic tears through me.
He’s still out there. He’s looking for me.
He’s coming.
“Maddie?”
Miles is beside me before I even realize he’s moved. His hand wraps gently around my forearm. “Maddie, look at me.”
I can’t. I can’t breathe.
“Maddie…” His voice is softer now. He almost sounds afraid. “Did you not kill him in the fire?”
I force myself to look at him. Tears spill down my cheeks before I realize I’m crying, my lips trembling.
“No.” I shake my head. “I…I beat him with a rock.”