Chapter 35
MADDY
Then
Ibrace myself as I meet Ben’s gaze. He’s practically buzzing with excitement, lit up from the inside out, completely unaware that I’m about to break him. Break us.
“I talked to my agent today,” he says, oblivious to the war inside me. “Everything’s set. I head to Philly for training camp in a few weeks, and wait ‘til you see the apartment they found for us—Madness, it’s unreal.”
“Ben—”
“You should just come now,” he barrels on, grinning. “There’s probably still room on my flight. Hell, I’ll buy you a seat if I have to.”
“I’m not going.”
He rolls his eyes, playful. “Alright, alright—next month, then. I still don’t get why—”
“I’m not going,” I repeat, louder. Sharper.
The words land like a gut punch. His smile falters, confusion flickering in his eyes. “What?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m not moving to Philadelphia.”
Ben laughs, but it’s hollow, unsteady. “Okay, very funny. You almost had me.”
“I’m not joking,” I whisper.
His brow furrows in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about? Of course, you’re coming.”
“Ben…” My voice breaks around his name. “I can’t.”
He stares at me like I’m speaking another language. He doesn’t get it. He’s not even trying to.
“My mom needs me,” I say, the words coming fast and brittle. “It’s been eight months since my dad died. She’s alone, Ben. I can’t just leave her.”
“She told you she’d be fine,” he says, jaw tightening.
“She lost my dad.” My voice cracks, and this time I can’t stop it. “She lost everything. I’m all she has left.”
“And what about me?” he fires back.
“Don’t do this,” I whisper, my chest caving under the weight of his pain.
“Don’t do what? Fight for us?!” His voice splinters. “We had a plan, Mads.”
I shake my head. “You had a plan. I never said I’d go.”
His mouth falls open, then closes like he can’t find the words. “You never said you wouldn’t.”
“I have school. I want to finish my degree. I want to get my master’s.”
“You can do that anywhere! There are schools in Philly.”
“But I don’t want to transfer.” My voice is shaking now. “I don’t want to uproot everything just to—just to follow you.”
He looks at me like I’m someone he doesn’t recognize. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“My mom needs—”
“I need you!” he yells, his voice breaking like glass. “Did you even think about that?”
My lips tremble. “Ben…”
His eyes are pleading now, red-rimmed and raw. “Do you really want to do long distance?”
I don’t answer.
And that silence—that one breath where I say nothing—ruins him.
“You don’t,” he whispers, devastation bleeding through every syllable.
I shake my head, barely able to look at him. “Neither do you.”
“No, I want my girlfriend to move to Philly with me so we can start our happily fucking ever after. But I don’t want to lose you over this. Please. We can figure it out.”
I’ve played out every version of this moment in my head, but they all end the same. No matter what I say, someone loses.
His hands clench at his sides. “So that’s it? You’re throwing this away?”
“I’m not the one who decided my future without asking,” I say, my voice barely holding together. “You chose for both of us and expected me to follow.”
He stares at me like he’s trying to memorize my face, like he already knows he’s losing me. “You’re making a mistake.”
“Then it’s mine to make.”
The silence stretches, thick and final. I see it—the exact moment something in him gives up. His eyes dull, the fight draining from his shoulders.
“Madness,” he says softly, stepping forward.
I take a step back.
His face crumples, and he stops. He nods, jaw working like he’s trying not to scream. “Fine,” he says at last, voice flat and lifeless. “Have a nice life, I guess.”
Then he turns and walks away.
The door slams behind him, and the sound rips through me like shrapnel.
My legs give out. I fall to the bed and bury my face in the pillow, the sobs tearing from somewhere deep, somewhere I didn’t even know could hurt this much.
A warm weight lands beside me—Cheshire, curling against my ribs like he can hold me together with fur and purring. I pull him close, shaking, broken.
I made the right choice. For both of us.
So how come it hurts so much?
NOW
“Are you on Crack?” Ivan asks without a hint of judgement.
“Excuse me?” I sputter.
“Crack. That supplement all the models and starlettes are on? Collagen, Retinol, Antioxidant, Vitamins C & K. You know, CRACK.”
“No, Ivan. I’m not on any form of Crack. Why do you ask?”
“You’re radiant, that’s all. Glowing. I thought maybe you were upping your beauty routine before the Gala.”
I purse my lips to keep them from curving upward and fix my gaze straight ahead as we walk through the hotel lobby. I’ve noticed it as well. My skin looks brighter. My smile, too. But it has nothing to do with a trendy health fad and everything to do with the company I’m keeping.
Being with Ben again is a remedy to an ailment I’ve been ignoring for far too long. I’ve never felt so loved and supported. So wanted and valued.
As the week got busier and work demands became more hectic, having Ben in my corner was everything. Whether it was stopping by my office with a chai latte, listening to me vent about the latest thing to go off the tracks, or simply reminding me that I’ve got this and the event is going to be great.
He also supplied me with so many orgasms, I’m not sure if my body is even capable of producing cortisol. That’s how stress-free I’m feeling.
We approach the towering double doors of the ballroom.
I reach out and pull one open, motioning for Ivan to go ahead of me.
As we step inside, the space greets us with the faint echo of our footsteps against marble floors and vaulted ceilings.
The stage is set just as I envisioned—lights hung, backdrop secured, and monitors in place—but the rest of the room is still mid-transformation.
Stacks of banquet chairs line the perimeter, leaning like dominoes against the tall cream-coloured walls. Round tables—some bare, some draped in half-placed linens—are scattered across the floor in no discernible order, as though someone hit pause halfway through a setup.
“This looks…” Ivan murmurs, trailing off as his gaze sweeps the controlled chaos.
“There’s plenty of time,” I assure him with a calm I don’t entirely feel. “The event doesn’t start for another twenty-eight hours. And the stage looks great. That’s all we really need for the run-through.”
I head toward the center of the room, scanning for the stage manager.
After spotting her near the podium, clipboard in hand, I begin confirming that everything’s in place—sound check, lighting rig, scripts.
With Alyssa out sick yesterday and again today, it’s just Ivan, Keely, and me.
Strangely enough, everything is running smoother than usual.
It’s almost peaceful without Alyssa hovering behind me, second-guessing every direction I give.
I’m mid-discussion with the lighting director, running through cue timing, when Keely arrives, her heels clicking briskly against the floor, followed closely by Annika Lei. Annika’s clutching a tote bag and brushing her hair off her face as she hurries toward the stage.
“Sorry I’m late!” she calls up, slightly out of breath. “Traffic was insane.”
“No problem at all,” I reply, glancing at my watch. It’s 4:10—ten minutes past the requested arrival time for the hosts. Not terrible.
Ben’s still not here. He’s likely caught in the same traffic that delayed Annika.
Rather than go through everything twice, we decide to hold off until he shows up.
Ivan takes Annika for a quick tour backstage, pointing out the entrance cues and green room location, while I stay up front to finish final notes with the lighting director.
At twenty-five past the hour, Ben still hasn’t arrived. I check my phone, but he hasn’t texted or called. Concern starts to prickle at the base of my neck as I hit his contact and press the phone to my ear. The call goes to voicemail immediately. I try again and once more get his voicemail.
It’s fine, I tell myself, forcing the words into something that sounds like truth. He probably got delayed at practice. He’s on his way now.
But deep down, I know better. Ben would’ve texted. Called. Something. Silence isn’t like him—not when he knows how much I count on him showing up. The longer I stare at the empty entrance to the ballroom, the harder it becomes to ignore the twisting knot of worry forming in my gut.
What if something happened? What if he’s been hurt?
I swallow the thought like glass, forcing a smile onto my face as Ivan and Annika step back onto the stage, mid-conversation.
“I just need to make a quick call,” I say, my voice light, even as my pulse starts to climb.
They nod, and I slip out of the ballroom, the door clicking softly shut behind me.
In the quiet hallway, I scroll past Ben’s contact—still no new messages—and tap on a different name.
“Hey!” Beth’s voice is bright and cheerful, the kind of energy that grates against the nerves humming under my skin. “I was just thinking about you. Ben said you two are coming for Christmas dinner! I’m so excited. Do you like ham? We were going to do turkey, but—”
She keeps going—rambling about stuffing and side dishes—but her voice fades into background noise. My mind is spinning through every possible scenario, none of them good.
“Maddy?” she says, her voice cutting back through. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt, but…have you heard from Ben?”
There’s a pause. A beat of silence that tightens my chest.
“No. Why?” The excitement in her voice vanishes.
“He was supposed to be here for the dress rehearsal thirty minutes ago. He never showed, and his phone’s going straight to voicemail.”
Beth goes quiet. I can almost hear her trying to work through it the same way I have.
“Maybe his phone died?” she finally offers. “He mentioned it’s been doing that a lot lately.”
Right. He has been complaining about his phone—how it shuts off randomly, how the battery barely holds a charge. I let the explanation settle over me, but it’s like a too-thin blanket. It doesn’t cover all the worry.
If practice ran long and his phone died, he would’ve borrowed someone else’s. Foster’s. Will’s. He wouldn’t just disappear.
“Is Foster home yet?” I ask, the edge creeping into my voice.
“Yes,” Beth replies softly. “He was already home when I got in—about an hour ago. He’s outside with Cujo. I’ll go ask if he heard anything.”
“Thank you,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, trying not to let the panic thread its way into every syllable. “Really.”
Where are you, Ben?