9. Maddie
Maddie
Two weeks on the road always catches up to me the second we land.
It isn’t just the travel or the games or the constant movement from one place to the next.
It’s the way everything stacks without giving you space to come down from it.
Early mornings, late nights, adrenaline that never fully settles before you have to build it back up again.
By the time I’m walking through the airport toward my car, it feels like my body is running on something thin and stretched, like if I stop moving for too long, I might actually feel how tired I am.
All I want is my bed. A shower. Quiet. My own space, where nothing is expected of me and no one is watching. I’m already picturing it, already halfway there in my head, when my phone buzzes in my hand.
Tyler
Come to my place. I’ve got something to tell you. Big news.
I slow, my steps losing some of their momentum as I read it again, like the meaning might shift if I give it another second. There’s excitement there. I can see that. But there’s something else threaded underneath it, something sharper that doesn’t sit right in my chest.
Can it wait? I just got back.
The response comes before I even lower the phone.
No. You’re gonna want to hear this in person.
I stand there for a second longer than I should, the noise of the parking lot moving around me while I stay still in the middle of it, caught between what I want and what I already know I’m going to do.
I don’t want to go. I’m tired in a way that makes everything feel heavier than it should.
My head feels too full. My body feels too slow.
But I go anyway. Because that’s what I do.
Because it’s easier than explaining why I don’t want to.
By the time I pull into his building, the exhaustion has settled deeper into my bones, heavier now that I’m not forcing myself to keep moving.
The kind of tired that makes the idea of walking upstairs feel like more effort than it should.
This won’t take long. That’s what I tell myself as I park.
In and out. Then home. The elevator ride is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels too still after the constant noise of the last two weeks.
I lean back against the wall for a second, closing my eyes just long enough to feel it, to let my body exist without pushing it forward. Just a minute. That’s all.
The doors open, and the second I step into the hallway, something feels wrong. It hits me before I fully register it.
The music. It's loud. Too loud. It spills out into the hallway in heavy waves, bass thudding through the walls in a way that doesn’t belong on a random weeknight. My steps slow without me meaning them to as I move toward his door, each one more deliberate than the last as the sound grows stronger.
There’s laughter too. Voices layered over each other.
Too many voices. My stomach tightens, not sharp, not sudden, just enough that I feel it settle there and stay.
He didn’t say anything about a party. I reach his door, my hand lifting automatically, ready to knock and then I notice it.
It’s already unlocked. The handle turns easily under my fingers.
And something in me sinks. I push the door open slowly.
The apartment is packed.
People everywhere. Bodies moving in tight spaces, music blaring, drinks in hands, voices raised just to be heard over everything else.
It takes a second for my brain to catch up to what I’m seeing, to understand that this isn’t something small or casual.
This is a full party. A celebration I didn’t know I was walking into.
The door closes behind me, and the sound wraps around me instantly, thick and overwhelming in a way that makes it harder to think.
Dread settles low in my stomach. Quiet. Heavy. I move anyway.
Through the crowd. Between people who turn when they see me, who smile, who say my name like this is normal, like I’m expected to be here.
“Hey, Maddie.”
“Glad you made it.”
I nod. I smile. I respond when I have to.
I don't stop to talk because I’m not here for them.
I’m looking for him. My eyes move quickly, scanning faces, bodies, movement, trying to find him in the middle of all of it.
And then I see him. Center of the living room.
He sees me at the same time, his entire expression shifting, lighting up in a way that should make something in me respond.
It doesn’t. Something else moves instead. Something quieter. Uneasy.
“I did it, babe!” he shouts as he pushes through the crowd toward me, his energy too big, too bright, like it doesn’t leave room for anything else. “I got called up!”
The words land, and for a second, everything inside me stalls. Because this is what he’s been working for. What he’s been waiting for. This is supposed to be everything. So I make myself match it. I pull the smile into place, push the excitement into my voice, force my reaction to meet his.
“That’s amazing,” I say, even though it doesn’t quite reach where it should. “Tyler, that’s—”
He doesn’t let me finish. His arms wrap around me, lifting me off my feet as he spins me, laughing, his excitement spilling over in a way that feels too big for the moment.
“It’s happening,” he says. “I told you it would.”
“I know,” I say, the words automatic. “I’m so proud of you.”
Someone shouts from behind him.
“Go Denver!”
Everything inside me stills. Tyler sets me back on my feet, still grinning, still riding whatever high he’s on, and I stare up at him for a second longer than I should.
“Denver?” I ask. It comes out quieter than everything else around us. But he hears it.
“Yeah, babe,” he says easily, like it’s obvious. “Denver.”
My chest tightens. “Wait,” I say, shaking my head slightly. “You’re… going to Denver?”
He laughs, like I’m missing the point. “We’re going to Denver.”
“I’m not moving to Denver,” I say before I can stop myself. The smile on his face falters. Just slightly. “My job is here,” I continue, my voice steadier now. “My friends are here. Everything I have is here.”
He looks down at me, and the shift is immediate. The excitement doesn’t disappear. But something darker slides in underneath it.
“But I’m in Denver,” he says. Like that should be enough. Like that answers everything.
“We’ll talk about it later,” I say quickly, glancing around the room, suddenly too aware of the people watching, of the way this conversation doesn’t belong out here. “Not right now.”
His hand closes around my elbow. Tight. Too tight. The smile snaps back into place as he turns, pulling me with him.
“Come on,” he says, his tone light for everyone else, his grip anything but. “Let’s go talk.”
I stumble slightly as he drags me down the hallway, his hand never loosening as we pass people who laugh, who cheer, who don’t notice anything wrong because he’s smiling at them like everything is exactly how it should be.
The music fades the farther we go. The door to his room slams shut behind us. And the second it does—everything changes.
“What the fuck, Madison?” The words hit hard, sharp, nothing like the tone he used two seconds ago. I straighten, pulling my arm free from his grip, ignoring the way it throbs where he held it.
“I’m not moving to Denver,” I say, holding my ground. “That’s not something you just decide and then tell everyone like it’s already happening. We should have talked about it first.”
His jaw tightens. “You just embarrassed me out there.”
I let out a breath, disbelief pushing through the shock. “You did that all on your own.”
The slap comes fast. Sharp. Loud enough that it echoes in the room.
My head snaps to the side, pain blooming across my cheek before my brain can catch up to what just happened.
For a second—I don’t move. I don’t speak.
I just stand there, trying to process it, trying to understand how we got from one moment to the next so fast.
Then I look back at him. “I’m leaving.” The words feel distant, like they’re coming from somewhere outside of me. I turn toward the door. I don’t make it.
His hand slams into the wall beside my head causing me to spin around and look at him. His other hand wraps around my throat, pushing me back hard enough that the breath leaves my lungs in a sharp, startled gasp.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, his voice low now, controlled in a way that’s worse than yelling. “You’re going to pull yourself together, you’re going to walk back out there, and you’re going to be happy for me.” His grip tightens slightly. “You’re going to be excited about moving with me.”
My hands come up instinctively, fingers wrapping around his wrist, not pushing yet, just… there. Trying to breathe.
“Do you understand me?”
I nod. I don’t know if I mean it. I just know I need him to let go. He watches me for another second, like he’s deciding something, then releases me just as suddenly as he grabbed me. I suck in a breath, my lungs burning as I press back against the wall, trying to steady myself.
“Fix your face,” he says, already turning toward the door. “And come out when you’re ready.”
The door slams behind him. My hand lifts to my throat, fingertips brushing over skin that feels too warm. I swallow once, then again, trying to steady something that won’t quite settle. Then I move.
Fast.
I cross the room and yank the door open, stepping into the hallway—and he’s there. Like he knew I would try.
His body turns toward me immediately. “Don’t push me, Madison.”
The warning sits between us. Heavy. I stare at him for a second.
Then I close the door. Slowly. And walk further into the room.
Because right now—I don’t know what else to do.
My hands shake as I grab my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen, my mind racing through options that don’t feel like options at all. And then I stop thinking.
Me:
Are you awake?
Luka:
Yep! Everything okay?