Chapter 29 #2
I leave Jefferson tangled in my sheets, his chest rising slow and steady, the exhaustion of the night finally catching up to him. He looks peaceful, unguarded–satiated by our night together. I brush my fingers over his shoulder, then slip out quietly.
Some things can’t wait.
By the time I’ve made it through the drive-thru and parked outside Madison’s place, the weight of two large coffees in my hand feels less like a peace offering and more like armor.
She answers the door in sweats, her hair twisted up, eyes already glassy with guilt.
Relief flickers across her face when she sees me.
“Ingrid,” she breathes out, like she wasn’t sure I’d ever show up.
I hold out the coffee. “Figured we’d both need caffeine for this.”
She takes the offering, but I’m not feeling overly generous. I’m not joking about the caffeine. I’m going to need to be sharp if I’m going to handle this the right way, because Madison has been my friend since we were kids, but what she’s been doing? It’s not okay.
I step past her and enter the kitchen. My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, but I don’t back down. “We need to figure this out.”
Madison twists her fingers in her sleeves, then blurts, “I’m sorry. Again. For all of it.”
I fold my arms, holding her gaze. “Sorry doesn’t cover pushing Jake in front of me at every turn even after I told you that our relationship was toxic. Or telling me about Jefferson’s list when you knew how much it would hurt me. You’ve been pulling strings in my personal life, Madison. Why?”
She flinches and I think for a moment she’s not going to answer me, but she sighs and says, “Because I was tired, Ingrid. Not just physically but mentally. Tired of being in the shadows. Tired of always being the assistant, the sidekick, the one cleaning up after whatever guy you were with took the spotlight. Jake, Jefferson, whoever the boyfriend was sucking up all of the oxygen in the room. They took precedence, always, and I guess I thought that if I stirred things up, if I controlled the narrative a little, I could matter.” Her voice cracks, and she wipes her cheek with the back of her hand.
“I told myself it was helping you by keeping you relevant, distracting the press when you needed cover. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about you and started being about me.”
The coffee sits between us, untouched, steam curling like the last fragile thread of patience. “But why Jake? You know how much he hurt me and how hard it was to get over him.”
Guilt flickers in her eyes. “I guess I knew that Jake wouldn’t take you away from me. That it wasn’t ever going to be long term, and every break up kind of brought us closer. You know?”
The admission sends me reeling, so much so I’m unable to speak. She was pushing us together so that I would get hurt. So I would need her.
“I hurt you. I know that. I’m sorry.”
“You did more than hurt me. You made me question someone I love. That’s not your place. It was never your place.” I try to manage the emotions stampeding through my veins. “I trusted you, Mads. Implicitly. I gave you access to every part of my life and in return you used it against me.”
“I know. It got out of hand.” Madison’s voice cracks, tears finally spilling free. “I just don’t know where we go from here.”
For the first time in weeks, something like clarity settles in my chest. I set my coffee down and fold my arms. “I think we start with a break. The tour is over, and other people can handle my schedule for a minute. I think we both need to take a little time off to rest and recover. The past two years have been insane.”
Madison lets out a tired laugh. “Absolutely insane.”
I smile back because we both feel that exhaustion down to our bones. “Once we have space to breathe,” I continue, “maybe we can try again. But with different boundaries for both of us.”
She nods, slow and earnest. I mean more than the words.
Madison needs help. She needs boundaries, therapy, a team that isn’t run entirely through her own fear of being invisible.
But that’s not the same as tossing her aside.
Professionally, I have access. I can get her the help she needs and keep her close while putting rules in place.
Personally, we’ll have to rebuild trust.
I stand, slipping my bag over my shoulder. “Jefferson told me you helped him last night, that you got Marv to stand down.”
She looks startled. “I felt like it was what you would’ve wanted me to do.”
“I appreciate that.” I mean it. “He does too.”
She searches my face. “So you’re back together?”
“We are.” I grin, feeling the truth in my chest like heat. “He’s important to me. I love him. If you want us to be friends and work together in the future, you’re going to have to accept that.”
Madison’s mouth flattens for a second, then she nods, quicker this time. “I can. I do. This was never about Jefferson.”
Her words are earnest; I believe her. It doesn’t erase everything, but it’s a start.
I step toward her and, impulsively, pull her into a hug. She stiffens, then melts, and for a breath we’re not boss and assistant, not the pop star and the fixer–just two people who’ve been splintered and are trying to stitch themselves back together.
When I pull away, the late morning light slants across her kitchen table. “Tomorrow,” I say, “we’ll make a plan–therapy, PR guidelines, a clear line you don’t cross.”
Madison swallows. “Thank you. For not throwing me away.”
“We’ve been friends for a long time, Mads. I’d never throw you away.”
She watches me head for the door, a mix of relief and guilt in her face. I close the car door, breathe in the warm air, and drive home feeling raw and tired and, for the first time in weeks, like I’m steering my own life again.