Chapter 48 #2
“Amy, you okay?” Grace’s voice sounds distant, muffled by the roaring in my ears.
I can only manage a jerky nod, my feet already moving. I rush down the short hallway, my heels clicking a desperate rhythm.
I freeze.
My blood runs cold at the sight of my office door.
Wide open.
Every fear of him seeing my messy reality solidifies into a sickening certainty.
With soul-crushing dread, I step into the ruins of my own carefully guarded secret.
My heart plummets into the icy depths of my stomach when my eyes land on a grim Matthew, sitting in my chair, behind my desk. His elbows are planted on the worn oak surface, his long fingers steepled in front of his mouth.
He’s looking right at me. His gaze intense, holding a chilling stillness.
“Matt—”
“How long have you been living like this?” His voice cuts through my attempt to speak, sharp and incisive.
Shame, hot and potent, floods my cheeks. “I’ve been meaning to—”
“How long, Amy?” he interrupts again. His voice drops even lower, gaining a hard edge of insistence.
He doesn’t move, his eyes pinning me where I stand.
I throw my purse onto my open suitcase, kick off my heels, and collapse onto the couch. “I don’t need your pity.”
Matthew plants his palms flat on the desk, dropping his head back in exasperation. “Please tell me we’re not back to you shutting me out.”
His words, a plea laced with frustration, strike right at the heart of my defensive pride.
“It’s temporary,” I clip out.
The muscle pulses in his jaw. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The hurt is an undisguised shadow in his eyes.
“The timing has been shitty, okay?” I finally snap, embarrassment bubbling into sharp anger.
Something shifts across his features. His gaze goes distant, then refocuses on me, filled with a horrified clarity. “He threw you out.” It’s not a question. It’s a dawning realization.
He looks from my face to the open suitcase on the floor, then back, the pieces clicking into place. “When James said that at Hydra… he wasn’t just being an asshole. He actually threw you out. You had nowhere to go.”
Shame burns hotter under the weight of his horrified understanding. I can’t meet his gaze. “Yeah,” I whisper, staring at my hands, twisted in my lap. “Not exactly a proud moment for me.”
The silence stretches.
I hold my breath, bracing for more tough questions, more pressure.
I hear the soft roll of the chair as Matthew lets out a long, heavy sigh and stands. He walks to the door and clicks it shut before returning to pick up the two coffee mugs from my desk. He sinks onto the couch beside me and holds one out. When his eyes meet mine, they hold no judgement.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of, love,” he says, his voice deep with an aching tenderness.
A kindness so potent my eyes well up instantly. A hot, overwhelming surge of emotion I can’t stop.
He saw it all.
My messy, broken reality.
My deepest shame.
And instead of pity…
Grace.
Unconditional grace.
My unshed tears blur his beautiful face into a soft watercolor. My throat tightens, a sob aching for release. I know if I stay here, looking into those eyes, I will fall apart.
I can’t.
Not after he’s seen so much of my brokenness already.
With a trembling hand, I lift the mug to my lips and take a sip of tepid coffee. A desperate fight against this emotional tidal wave.
Spurred by that same frantic need to show him I’m not a mess he needs to clean up, I force myself to my feet. “I already started looking,” I say, my voice wobbly but gaining strength.
I go to my desk, turning my back to him, grateful for a moment’s reprieve from his perceptive gaze.
I clutch the legal pad where I had scribbled the list of potential rentals and hold it out to him. “These are available places I plan on calling.” Unable to sink back into the vulnerability of sitting near him, I remain standing. Holding the notepad out to him like a flimsy shield.
He doesn’t take it. His gaze remains on my face, studying my every feature with a perceptive intensity. It feels like he can see right through my attempt at control, straight to the trembling girl beneath.
A small, almost sad smile touches his lips.
Bypassing the notepad, his fingers gently close around my wrist. “Come here,” he requests softly.
With an insistent tug, he encourages me to sit. My legs obey, and I sink back onto the couch beside him. He gently takes the legal pad from my hand and, without glancing at it, places it behind him.
“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” he says softly. “I know you have it handled. There was never a doubt in my mind. But you’re not going to need that list.” He takes both my hands in his, his eyes locking with mine. “You already have a home with me.”
James’s face flashes in my mind.
Not the monster he became. The charming savior he was at the beginning.
This is how it begins, a frantic fire alarm whispers in my soul.
The support.
The rescue.
The overwhelming gratitude I mistake for love.
No.
My hands rip from his as if his touch is a brand. Averting my gaze, I shrink back into the cushions, needing space between my weakness and his overwhelming grace.
How can I possibly explain that his goodness feels like the most dangerous thing in the world right now?
I shake my head, looking at him, a desperate plea in my eyes. “I-I can’t, Matt.”
He watches, his brow furrowed in concentration as he deciphers my panic.
“You’re afraid.” A slow breath leaves him, his eyes softening with sorrow for me.
For the scars that man left. “You think this is just another trap. An investment I expect a return on.” He pauses, his words piercing right through my panic.
“Will you please look at me, Amy?” His request is a hoarse whisper.
He doesn’t move closer. He doesn’t touch me. He respects the space I’ve taken.
My eyes sting with tears of self-reproach as I finally muster the strength to meet his gaze. “I can’t tell the difference anymore,” I confess, the words a broken, barely coherent, admission of my deepest fear.
Matthew absorbs the full weight of my confession. “If you let me, I’ll show you the difference,” he says, his offer resolute.
I look up at him, my eyes still swimming with unshed tears, unable to form a response.
“Come over for dinner tonight after you close,” he continues. “I’d love to make you my go-to comfort food.”
A tear escapes, and I quickly wipe it away. “You cook?” The question slips out, a whisper of surprise.
“There’s this one pasta dish I’ve perfected.” A small, uncertain smile touches his lips. “Not sure that makes me a cook, but I manage.”
The self-deprecation coaxes a watery laugh out of me. A shaky sound, but it’s the first real release of tension since I walked in here.
“Okay.” I nod, my throat still tight.
A beautiful smile spreads across Matthew’s face. Warm like a sunrise. “Good.” He takes one of my hands, bringing it to his lips, his gaze never leaving mine as he presses a soft, lingering kiss there. “It’s a date then.”
My heart flutters. My eyes follow him as he stands. He looks around the cluttered space, a muscle clenching in his jaw.
“But for tonight, at least,” he says, his gaze snapping back to mine, “I can’t sleep knowing you’re spending the night on this couch.”
I let out a long, shuddering sigh and drop my face into my hands. When I finally look up at him, it’s in a silent appeal against his unwavering kindness.
“Matt…” His name is a soft plea.
“Amy,” he counters immediately, with an unyielding tenderness.
The fight drains from my shoulders on a weary sigh.
He bends, cupping my chin to lift my face to his. “Pack your suitcase, love.” He speaks with gentle authority before pressing his lips to mine in a kiss that leaves me breathless. “I’ll see you tonight.”
And with that, he turns and walks out of my office, closing the door softly behind him. He leaves me with my lips still tingling from the seal of his kiss.
My world tilted on its axis once again.