13 RYAN
RYAN
Didn’t know Madelyn Hazel Gracelyn could get nervous
Jesus Christ—my back is killing me. Hot water pounds down my shoulders, steam already thick in the bathroom as I let my head fall forward and breathe it in.
Training’s been brutal this week. Running, lifting, getting thrown into mats, and then doing it all again the next morning. And somehow I pushed even harder in the gym today. No wonder everything hurts like a bitch.
I head downstairs in nothing but my grey sweatpants, because I feel like a marshmallow on a stick, so a shirt is not happening. My hair’s damp, water sliding down the back of my neck and the doorbell rings just as I hit the bottom step.
“I got it!”
I yank the door open and my brain blanks for half a second, because Maddy’s standing on the porch.
“Uh… hey,” I say.
She’s still in her Hazel “What about your mom? What does she do?”
Shit. The air shifts and Maddy’s smile tightens just a fraction. Bailey sees it instantly, her face dropping. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. That was an automatic question.”
“It’s okay,” Maddy says gently. “Really.”
But I still catch the small tension in her jaw.
I remember her Mom, Hazel, so vividly. Even when she was sick, she was still… her. Still had that way of walking into a room and making everything feel lighter.
When she passed, I tried to be there for Noah as much as I could. He was quiet, yeah, but he could still talk about it. But Maddy was different. She disappeared in long walks, headphones, and silence that didn’t match her.
Because she’s the opposite. She’s like caffeine in human form. Sometimes, when Maddy talks too fast or trips over her words, I see pieces of her Mom in her.
Maddy shifts, nodding toward the door. “Well… I should probably head home. I didn’t mean to interrupt your night.”
“You would never, darling,” Mom says warmly. “You should come by properly sometime.”
“I’d like that,” Maddy says and Mom gives her one last soft smile before heading back toward the kitchen.
Bailey watches the two of us with a look that is way too knowing. “It totally makes sense,” she says.
I narrow my eyes. “What does?”
She shrugs. “I always knew you had a thing for blondes.”
Maddy lets out a slightly awkward laugh beside me while I huff and wave Bailey off. “Oh, get out of here.”
I jerk my chin toward the door, glancing at Maddy. “I’ll walk you out.”
As we stop in front of her car, I have to fight a grin, but apparently fail, because she looks at me, her eyebrows lifting slightly. “What?”
“You were nervous in there.”
Her eyes widen immediately. “I was not nervous.”
“Uh-huh.”
She rolls her eyes hard enough I’m surprised they don’t stick. Then I shove my hands into my jacket pockets and tilt my head at her. “You want to do something dumb and public tomorrow?”
She pauses halfway through opening her car door and looks back at me, suspicious already. “Define dumb.”
“A date.”
Her eyebrows lift. “A fake date?”
“Yeah.”
She leans against the car for a second, considering it. “Okay… where are we going?”
“That’s a surprise.”
She gives me a look. “You do realize you don’t have to do the whole surprise thing on a fake date.”
I shake my head. “Just wear something nice.”
“You know,” she says slowly, “that ‘just wear something nice’ is the most confusing thing you could possibly say to a woman.”
I huff a quiet laugh.
“You’re basically giving us no clue,” she continues. “Like, do you mean nice nice? Or normal nice? Or fake nice?”
“I’ll pick you up at six.”
She narrows her eyes. “Six-thirty.”
“Nope. Six.”
“Ryan—”
“Six.”
She sighs dramatically. “Ugh. Fine.”
I grin a little. “Goodnight, Mads.”
“Goodnight, Ryan.” She slides into the driver’s seat, the door shutting with a soft thud before the engine turns over.
A second later the headlights sweep across the driveway as she backs out and disappears down the street.
I head back inside, already turning to head to my room when I notice Bailey sitting halfway up the stairs with her arms crossed.
“I knew it,” she says. “You like her.”
I stop at the bottom of the stairs. “Go to bed, Bailey.”
“You’re so obvious,” she continues, ignoring me completely. “Like, painfully obvious.”
“Bailey.”
She clasps her hands together dramatically. “So when’s the wedding? Do I get to be the flower girl? Actually—no, wait. I want to be maid of honour.”
I drag a hand over my face and hear Mom laugh softly from the kitchen. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, sweetheart.”
“I’m just saying, I can totally picture it. Maddy walking down the aisle, you standing there all serious but secretly in love—”
“Okay,” I cut in quickly. “That’s enough.”
Bailey just grins at me, clearly very pleased with herself. I shake my head, walk past her and head upstairs while her giggles follow me.