Chapter 30 #2
Matthew weaves through the tables, his gaze fixed directly on me.
A sharp, unnerving intensity in his eyes makes the air feel thin.
He looks devastatingly put-together. A navy blazer, over a grey knit top, and faded dark jeans.
He commands attention without trying, unlike James’s performative confidence.
Yet, as he gets closer, I notice a faint tightness around his mouth and a tension in his shoulders that clashes with his relaxed outfit.
“I owe you an apology, young man,” Lou declares the moment Matthew reaches us.
Matthew’s focus snaps to Lou. “Hello Louis.” His eyes cut briefly to me in a quick, unreadable assessment before returning to the old man.
“Just Lou, please.” Lou smiles wryly. “I completely misjudged your intentions regarding my Amy’s café.”
“Lou,” he repeats, giving a short nod. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
The instant his words are out, Matthew pivots back to me. His gaze locks with mine, sharp and searching.
He’s looking for something…
An answer?
For…?
Don’t do it, Amy.
The memory of his strained plea returns.
“Please join us,” Lou invites, reaching for empty chair.
“Not this time.” Matthew holds up a hand, halting his movement, his gaze never leaving mine.
“Please don’t let me interrupt.” He gives Lou only the briefest glance before his intense focus locks back onto me.
“I’ll just wait in your office,” he states.
His voice is low, attempting politeness, but carries an edge of simmering impatience.
There is no doubt he means to wait, and that this conversation will happen.
“Okay.” The word escapes me as a whisper, my mind caught in the force of his gaze.
“Nice seeing you, Lou,” Matthew offers, tone clipped, already turning toward the hallway.
“You as well,” Lou calls out warmly after him.
I turn back to Lou, trying to gather my scattered thoughts and force a smile, but then Matthew’s words slam into my brain.
My office.
My suitcase.
Panic flares, icy and sharp.
“Excuse me, Lou,” I say in a rush, pushing my chair back. I place a hand on his arm to steady my shaky legs.
Lou looks from Matthew’s retreating figure back to my distressed face. A knowing smile touches his lips, eyes twinkling with fond amusement.
Oh, if only he knew.
He sees me flustered by a man’s attention. He has no idea I’m hiding evidence of my life falling apart.
“Of course, dear girl. Go ahead,” he says warmly, picking up his newspaper. “Don’t keep the young man waiting.”
Heart pounding, I hurry after Matthew. My footsteps echo my panic as I round the corner into the hallway and spot him just ahead, his hand already on the doorknob.
“Matt, stop!”
He spins around. His intensity transforms into sharp concern. He scans my face, taking in my breathless state.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, taking a step toward me.
Think, Amy, think!
My mind scrambles. My hand flutters to my throat. “I don’t… I can’t…” I stammer, gesturing back to the main area. “It-it’s still really busy out front.” The excuse sounds flimsy even to me. “I don’t have time for this right now. Sorry.”
Matthew watches me. His gaze is perceptive.
He glances past me toward the empty front counter, his concern deepening with frustration. “What is this really about?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. I just wasn’t expecting you.” I shut my eyes briefly.
“Well, I happened to be in the area.” He slides his hands into his pockets, trying to contain his restless energy. “And after the way we left things yesterday… I needed to see you.”
Happened to be in the area.
The casual phrase feels instantly wrong. It lands with a sickening thud of familiarity, instantly transporting me back.
James.
His smooth, practiced voice using those exact words. The drop-ins that were never just drop-ins. They were checks. Calculated moves disguised as spontaneity. The memory of that constant, low-level manipulation flares hot inside me.
“Funny,” I say, the word tasting like acid. “That’s exactly the kind of thing James used to say. You both are so alike in—”
“Don’t,” he bites out, his voice terrifyingly quiet, stripped bare of any warmth, vibrating with a tightly leashed tension. “Don’t you ever”—his voice drops, heavy with pain—“compare me to him.”
He stiffens, recoiling half a step as if warding off an attack. Color drains from his face. A muscle jumps near his temple. When his eyes finally meet mine again, they are flat and cold. Like shields have slammed down, locking everything away.
Seeing him shut down. That frigid look in his eyes. And hearing the pain vibrating beneath his controlled words…
The realization of what I’ve done hits me.
My stomach plummets. My defensive anger vanishes, instantly replaced by sickening regret.
“Matt, I—” My voice is a choked whisper. I desperately want to pull the words back. Undo the damage.
He shakes his head sharply. One hand comes up, palm held out flat like a shield. His pained expression deepens, twisting his features.
“No,” he says. The word is quiet but absolute.
Then, something shifts. The fight drains from him, replaced by a chilling resignation. It’s the look of someone whose bleakest expectations have just been confirmed.
“This is why.” He gestures between us. “This is exactly why.” He swipes a hand down his face. “I make myself available. I step in. I try to help. Even start to open up. And inevitably…” He pauses, looking past me. “… inevitably, I get put in the same category as my—”
He cuts himself off.
I watch a faint tremor run through his fingers before he clenches them into a white-knuckled fist.
“… As James,” he finishes, voice controlled again. “I get put in the same category as James.” His gaze is distant, withdrawn, looking through me to some bleak landscape only he can see.
“I wasn’t—” I start, the words rushing out, desperate to bridge the icy chasm between us.
“You were right,” he cuts me off, toneless. His distant gaze flickers back to me, offering no warmth, only that same flat emptiness. “You don’t have time for this.” He pauses. “Neither do I.”
With that dismissal, he strides past me. His shoulders are set in a rigid line, gaze fixed firmly on the exit.
My legs tremble, threatening to buckle.
What have I done?
The crushing weight of my unfair comparison, of the trust I just shattered, presses down on me.
I stumble toward the staff washroom, my fingers fumbling with the knob.
I fall inside, slamming the door and leaning my forehead against it as I click the lock. I try to drag in a breath, but my throat has closed up. My chest is clamped in a brutal vise. Air scrapes in, thin and useless. Panic claws its way up, icy and serrated.
I stagger to the sink. My hands clamp down on the cold porcelain edge, knuckles straining white. My reflection swims in the small mirror. A pale, haunted face. Eyes wide with disbelief.
Another choked gasp for air that won’t come.
My lungs burn.
The harsh fluorescent light pulses. The room tilts.
My last vestiges of control shatter. A strangled sound rips from my throat. Tears finally break free. Hot, furious streams pour down my face. Choked, ragged sobs erupt. Sounds I muffle against the back of my trembling hand.
James’s cruelty. Bancroft’s threat. Homelessness. It all pales against the unbearable realization that I’ve pushed away the one person who truly sees me. The only one who seems to understand the fight I’m putting up.
I’ve lost him. Truly lost him.
It all floods through me. I shake uncontrollably, gasping for breath between the gut-wrenching sobs, clinging blindly to the sink, the only solid thing left in a world that is irrevocably falling apart around me.