Chapter Fifteen
FIFTEEN
THE UNSPOKEN WEIGHT of Matthew’s promise holds me captive. Caught in his warmth, unable to find my voice, I let the stillness stretch until the rustle of leaves and city sounds fade away.
He gathers himself, clearing his throat to break the spell. “It’s getting late,” he says, his voice soft but regaining some of its usual practicality. “Let’s get you back to your car.”
Reluctantly, I pull my gaze away. He stands and offers his hand. This time, as I take it and rise, the contact feels less electric. More solid.
Comfortable.
We walk back to his car in silence, leaving the empty burger boxes in a nearby bin.
The drive back to the Edgewater feels shorter.
Unlike before, this silence is a different kind of tension.
The subtle strains of piano jazz fill the space, and I find myself stealing glances at Matthew’s profile: the lean line of his cheekbone, the curve of his lips illuminated by the passing streetlights.
He pulls up beside my car, shifting into park but keeping the engine running.
He exits, and my heart hammers against my ribs as I watch him walk around the hood to open my door.
He helps me out of the low seat, the warmth of his touch lingering even after I let go.
I grab my purse but leave the blue folder lying on the seat.
We stand between our cars. The space feels tight. His eyes search mine in the dim light, and I feel that magnetic pull again, stronger this time.
Neither of us speaks.
Neither of us moves.
“Remarkable,” I say, meaning the word with my whole heart.
“Statehouse or Sal’s food truck?” he asks, a mischievous smile playing across his lips.
“The company,” I clarify, biting my lower lip.
“The remarkable people.” His smile widens.
“Person,” I correct him, throwing caution to the wind. “One remarkable person in particular.”
“Oh, just one person…” Matthew repeats in a low rumble.
He erases the remaining distance. His gaze drops to my lips, his chest rising and falling. Air leaves my lungs as his face inches closer, a muscle twitching in his jaw. My eyelids flutter shut and I tilt my head back, leaning in to meet him.
He releases a harsh breath and presses his forehead to mine, framing my face with his palms. “I-I know, you told me to stop,” he rasps, struggling. “I didn’t forget.”
My eyes fly open. Disappointment, cold as ice, floods my veins, dousing the fire he ignited only seconds ago. “Matt…”
He caresses my cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, stealing my clarity. “Amy, tonight has been… perfectly simple.” He presses the softest kiss to my forehead before stepping back.
I shake off the daze enough to shrug off his blazer before I forget I’m wearing it. He steps forward, helping me ease it off, his hands brushing against my arms. His touch lingers a fraction of a second too long.
He folds it neatly over his arm, his gaze fixed on me, making it hard to breathe.
“Thank you,” I murmur, my gratitude encompassing the blazer, the burgers, this entire unexpected evening. Fumbling, I fish my keys out of my purse. I unlock the door and slide quickly into the driver’s seat, needing the physical barrier between us.
“Good night.” I push the word past the tightness in my throat, risking one last look at him.
“Please drive safely,” he whispers, his expression gentle, almost wistful. He shuts my door, sealing me in the sudden quiet.
My car feels too small, too confining, after leaving Matthew standing there.
The drive home is a blur of adrenaline and whiplash.
One minute, my heart hammers against my ribs, replaying his face inches from mine.
The next, frustration boils under my skin.
His strained voice echoes in my mind, reminding me I told him to stop.
But not tonight!
Not then!
The radio is just noise now, grating against my frayed nerves. I grip the steering wheel, knuckles white, taking the turns too fast. All I can think about is the madness.
The intense connection.
The almost-kiss.
The gentle rejection.
The tender forehead kiss.
The quiet promise.
It’s too much.
By the time I pull into the garage next to James’s empty spot, I feel like a tightly wound spring ready to snap.
The apartment door slams shut behind me, the sound echoing unnaturally in the thick silence.
James still isn’t home.
A month ago, even a week ago, the silence, the emptiness, would have gutted me.
Tonight?
I barely register it. My blood pounds too loudly in my ears, my nerves still frayed and buzzing from the push and pull that is Matthew.
Kicking off my heels, I storm into the bedroom. I let my purse fall to the floor and launch myself face down onto the mattress, burying my head deep into the pillow to let out a muffled, frustrated growl.
Why?
Why lean in like that?
Why make me hold my breath?
Why make me want it?
Only to then pull back and talk about respecting boundaries?
And the tenderness, the forehead kiss, the perfectly simple comment…
I flip onto my back, staring up at the dark ceiling, chest heaving. My fingers trace the path on my cheeks where his thumbs had brushed, then drift to my forehead where the ghost of his lips still lingers.
Despite the frustration, despite the confusion, a defiant warmth spreads through me.
Matthew.
The name itself is a contradiction.
Infuriating, confounding, kind, protective…
Undeniably magnetic.
Lost in the conflicting warmth, my eyelids grow heavy. Exhaustion finally claims me, right there on top of the covers, green dress and all.
Hazy images float through my mind…
Gentle hands exploring…
Warm and seeking…
Fabric sliding up my legs, bunching uncomfortably…
A feathery soft breath over my skin…
Matthew…?
But the hands moving over my thighs are rough, clumsy, insistent…
Wrong.
The fumbling sensation rouses me. My eyes fly open to find James leaning over me, grappling drunkenly with the hem of my dress hiked up around my waist. His face is far too close.
His breath reeks of stale whiskey, his eyes bloodshot and hazy.
Bile rises in my throat as he paws at my bare legs.
The floral sweetness of an unfamiliar perfume clings to his rumpled shirt—a final, sharp insult.
Adrenaline surges. With a strangled gasp, I twist and scramble, sliding frantically out from under his weight to tumble off the edge of the bed onto the cold floorboards. I scramble to my feet, trembling hands yanking the crumpled fabric of my dress back down.
James barely registers my escape, his body slumping onto the mattress where I’d been moments before. “Fucking tease,” he slurs, his face partially buried in my pillow.
He lies there completely unmoved, already succumbing to a drunken sleep, softly lit by the grey, pre-dawn light filtering through the blinds.
He looks peaceful. Not angry or demanding.
This is the only time I get a glimpse of the man who proposed we spend the rest of our lives together.
When he’s completely oblivious and dead to the world.
My anger dies, leaving behind an icy feeling of pity.
For me or for him?
Us.
For us.
For what could have been.
A crushing heartbreak, cold and heavy, settles deep in my chest.
This is it.
This is what we’ve become.
After quickly freshening up and swapping the green dress for my powder blue billowy sweater and jeans, I leave the bedroom, gently shutting the door on James’s thundering snores.
The kitchen is quiet, bathed in the first signs of morning light. I head straight for the coffeemaker. I slide out the filter basket, insert a fresh filter, and grab the dark roast from the cupboard.
My preferred blend, not James’s.
I scoop three level measures in before sliding the basket back with a soft click.
After topping it with water, I press the red button.
The machine hums to life, a low gurgle starting almost immediately.
I lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching the first few drops of dark, fragrant coffee splash into the carafe.
A familiar process on a morning that already feels anything but ordinary. The rich aroma slowly fills the air.
I look past the coffeemaker, beyond the wide expanse of the grey-veined marble island, to the dining area.
A heavy dark wood table surrounded by modern cream chairs dominates the space.
Beyond that, a plush grey sectional sofa sits in the corner under two large windows, its deep purple cushions meticulously arranged.
I stare at it. The memory of the afternoon it was delivered hits me.
James had paced the floor, practically vibrating with impatience while the delivery guys assembled the pieces.
His eyes constantly flicked between them and me, holding a possessive glint I recognized all too well.
The instant the apartment door clicked shut behind them, he grabbed my hand and pulled me down onto the slightly stiff cushions that still smelled faintly of new fabric and plastic.
“Finally,” he growled against my mouth, his kiss urgent. “Look at us, Mimi. We’re making a home.” He grinned down at me, his eyes bright with excitement.
“It’s just a couch, James.”
“It’s a start,” he countered, before his mouth found mine again, his hands working their way under my top as he pressed me back against the cool grey velvet.
Back then, that kind of impatience, that raw possessiveness, that promise of a future, had felt exciting. Intoxicating.
Now…
“The start of our end,” I mumble under my breath, filling my mug with the freshly brewed coffee.
I push open the sliding glass door. Mug nestled in my palms, its heat seeping into my cold skin, I step onto the narrow balcony and lean against the metal railing.
The crisp morning air bites my cheeks. Below, the streets of Madison are quiet, just beginning to stir under a sky brightening from grey to a pale, hazy blue.
The mix of older stone buildings and newer glass structures stretches out before me.
I sip the hot, strong coffee, my gaze distant.
The image of James reeking, pawing, and mumbling insults before passing out, resurfaces. It brings back the crushing reality of moments ago. Only now, the pity and heartbreak solidify, crystallizing into a hard certainty.
No more.
No more excuses, no more waiting for him to change, no more pretending this is a relationship.
It’s over.
Looking out at the awakening city, clutching my warm mug, I know what needs to happen next.
James’s loan and his blasted breakup clause.
Anxiety knots my stomach. For months, that clause has kept me walking on eggshells, forcing me to endure his moods, his absences, his...
This.
It felt like a chain, tethering me to a relationship that was already dying.
But staring out at the horizon, feeling the fresh air clear my head, remembering Matthew’s quiet confidence last night…
Something shifts.
The fear of financial fallout is still there, but it’s overshadowed now by a stronger, harder resolve. He used that money, that clause, to control me.
Not anymore.
As soon as he surfaces, we need to talk.
Properly talk.
About us ending.
About the money.
I’m done letting him hold it over my head. We need a real, fair repayment plan, something manageable, something separate from us.
It’s time to untangle it all, finally and completely.
It’s time to take back my freedom.