Chapter 14 Vince
Vince
She had stopped replying to my messages, and hadn’t returned one of my calls. The message was obvious, I’d scared her off.
And maybe that was smart of her.
Smart girls run when they see the edge. Smarter ones don’t wait around for the fall.
I wasn’t angry at her. I was angry at the ache sitting in my chest like a second set of ribs. The kind you couldn’t cut out without tearing through everything else.
Tonight, I drank. Harder than I’d been in years. Slurred, staggering, barely able to punch the elevator code. I missed the number twice. Got the third time right by leaning on the wall. I was beyond fucked up.
I kicked off my boots in the dark. Was about to stagger across the room to my bed. Until I saw her. She was sitting on the couch like she lived here.
My first thought was that the liquor finally broke something in my head. She was a hallucination.
But she moved and our eyes locked.
“Madeline?”
“You’re drunk,” she said.
I forgot I gave her the code to get up. I blinked, took a step closer, then leaned against the wall to steady myself.
“Fuck, you’re really here.”
“I came to talk. But not like this.” she slowly looked me up and down.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair. “I mean—not because I don’t want you here. God, I want you here. I just—fuck.” I exhaled hard, the words coming out too fast before I could catch them. “I thought I ruined everything.”
She was still looking at me. Fuck. The timing couldn’t be worse.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” I stumbled a few steps forward. “I know I did. I could tell after… after that night. And then nothing. Not a word. I thought—shit—I thought maybe I hurt you. Not physically. Never that. Fuck. Never. But emotionally, I—I talk too much. It’s the wrong things.”
“You’re rambling.”
“I’m wrecked,” I slumped down beside the couch. My head leaned against the edge of the cushion where her thigh was. “You don’t get it. I’ve been sitting in my own mind for two weeks and every thought ends in you.”
She reached for the glass of water on the coffee table. Held it out.
I looked at her hand like it was a lifeline, then took the glass and drank. It didn’t help. Still felt like my chest was caving in.
“Why’d you come?” I asked, eyes locked with hers.
“I wanted to see you,” she said. “Face to face. No hiding.”
“You came to end it properly.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because you matter to me. And because…” she glanced down. “You didn’t deserve silence.”
“I deserved worse,” I whispered. “You should’ve screamed at me. Said you hated me. At least I’d know you felt something.”
“I did feel something.”
Her words gutted me.
And maybe the alcohol made it worse, everything in me cracked wide open, but I shifted, pressed my forehead against her knee like some broken thing crawling back to the warmth it didn’t deserve.
“I thought you were a fever. A flash. Something too good to keep. But you stayed, and it fucked me up, Madeline. You fucked me up. In a good way, but still—fuck.”
She ran a hand through my hair. Her fingers touching me so softly as if I would break.
“You need sleep,” she said softly.
“I need you.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
I let her help me up. Didn’t argue when she took my arm and looped it around her shoulder. I leaned on her more than I should’ve. But she didn’t flinch.
Step by step, she walked me to the bedroom. Said nothing about the state of it. The untouched bed. The shirt she’d worn and left behind. I’d folded it. Kept it like an idiot.
She guided me to the mattress and eased me down.
“You okay?” she asked.
“No.”
I’d taken the weight of Villain, rising six kids since I was seventeen but it was a twenty year old blonde with a killer smile that broke me.
She climbed in beside me. Pulled the blanket over both of us. I turned into her before I could stop myself. Her hand rested on my chest, over my heartbeat.
“It hurts,” I shut my eyes. Let my head fall to her shoulder. And then, because she was there and I couldn’t stop myself from talking.
“I really liked you.” I murmured. “I don’t like many people. No one. If I’m honest.”
Her eyes widened immediately.
“I’m not saying that to trap you. I’m saying it because it’s true. And I just didn’t know what it was until it started to hurt.”
She touched my jaw.
“I’m drunk,” I added, “but not that drunk.”
“I know.”
Her fingers stayed there, tracing the edge of my stubble. I leaned into it. Desperate for contact. Gone my whole life never needing it. Now I was addicted to her touch. It was so fucking pathetic. Yet. I couldn’t stop myself.
She smiled then. Just a flicker. But it grounded me more than anything else had in weeks. Her palm stayed over my heart like she was keeping it from breaking again.
She looked the same. Completely untouchable.
“Madeline, you’re beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m also right.” I shifted slightly, enough to see more of her. “You’re…too beautiful. Like, it hurts to look at you sometimes.”
She gave me this look, like she wasn’t sure if I was teasing or unraveling.
“That’s the alcohol talking.”
“No,” I tried to shake my head. “That’s me. I don’t say shit when I don’t mean it. Not even drunk.”
I sighed tracing her wrist. “I missed your mouth. Not even the kissing. Just your mouth when you talk. The way you smile. How you say things like you’ve already weighed the consequences.”
Her nails ran down my shoulders. “Vince—”
“I missed your eyes. The way they shift shades depending on the light. I missed your hands. I missed that sigh you make when you sit down too fast. I missed your laugh. I missed your walk. I missed you stealing my shirt and calling it a rental.”
“Stop—”
“I missed everything.”
Finally, she moved. Her hand reached for mine beneath the sheets, threading our fingers together. I held her like she might vanish.
“I just needed a minute,” she whispered.
“I wasn’t going to disappear forever. I just…
I was scared. Not of you. Okay, maybe a little.
But I scared myself more. Because I didn’t see what they saw.
You looked like something out of a nightmare and all I could think was—I know those hands.
I know those eyes. I came in his arms two days ago, and now the whole world’s terrified of him and I’m not. What kind of girl does that make me?”
“The kind who knows me.”
“Do I?” She looked down.
“You think I wanted you to see that? That wasn’t for you. That was business. That was—just syndicate shit.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know.” I sat up slightly, bracing my arm beside her head. “You think I’m proud of it? You think I don’t hear their voices in my sleep sometimes? The shit I’ve done? The lives I’ve ended? That night was tame.”
She gripped my arm tighter. “I know,” she said again, gentler now. “That’s why I came back. Because no matter what the world sees, I saw you.”
I leaned into her, brushing my forehead against hers. I really wasn’t subtle drunk. “You’re gonna leave when the sun’s up.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You say that now.”
“I’ll say it when you’re sober too.”
“That’ll be the real test.”
She laughed softly. “You’ll be grumpier. I’ll have coffee ready.”
I shut my eyes. “You’ll be here when I wake up?”
“Yes, Vince.”
I didn’t believe in things like promises. Not in my world. So if I woke up and she was gone. I’d understand.