11. Maddie
Maddie
“Never again, Baby.”
The words settle over me before I understand them, before I can even think about what they mean or why they feel the way they do.
They don’t ask for permission. They don’t explain themselves.
They just… wrap around me, low and rough against my hair, and something in my chest gives in a way that feels almost as overwhelming as everything that came before it.
He came.
When I heard his voice in the hallway—when I was slipping out of Tyler’s bedroom, trying to get to the door without being seen—I thought I was imagining it.
My head had been pounding, my thoughts scattered, the music too loud, everything too much.
It would have made sense that I filled in something that wasn’t there.
But he’s here. His arms around me like this isn’t something he had to think about before doing.
Why would Luka bring him? Why is he here?
The questions don’t stop, but they don’t matter either, not enough to make me move, not enough to make me step away from him when every part of me feels like it’s finally found something to hold onto.
I don’t want to let go. That realization settles slowly.
My hands press more firmly into his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric like I need something solid beneath them—something that won’t shift or disappear if I loosen my grip.
There’s noise somewhere behind us.
A voice. Luka. I know it’s him without fully hearing the words, his tone cutting through the space around us, but it doesn’t reach me the way it should. Everything feels muted at the edges, like I’m wrapped too tightly in this moment to let anything else fully break through.
My head throbs, a steady pulse that makes it harder to focus, harder to pull myself out of where I am.
Pressed against Dean. Held in a way that doesn’t feel temporary.
I lean back just enough to breathe, just enough to pull my face from his chest, and turn toward Luka’s voice.
The second he sees me, something in his expression shifts.
It’s not subtle. It’s immediate. Dark. His eyes move over my face, taking in more than I want him to see—more than I’m ready for anyone to see—and something low leaves him, something sharp and angry that I don’t fully understand but feel anyway.
The words come out in Italian. I don’t need to know exactly what they mean to understand them.
I see it in his face. In the way his jaw tightens.
In the way his shoulders square like he’s already made a decision.
He steps forward, reaching for me, his hand closing in on my arm like he’s going to pull me away from Dean, like that’s the obvious next step.
“I’m taking you home,” he says, his voice firm now, controlled in a way that leaves no room for argument. “We’ll get Addy, and I’ll call Doc.”
The refusal comes before I can think it through. “No.”
I turn toward him fully, the movement pulling me slightly out of Dean’s hold, even though I don’t really leave it.
His hands adjust instead, settling on my shoulders, steadying me in a way that keeps me from tipping too far in any direction.
I feel it without looking at him. The weight of it.
The quiet insistence that I’m not falling apart—Not while he’s holding on.
“No, Luka… you can’t tell Addy.” Saying her name does something to my chest. It tightens—not in fear. Something worse.
Luka exhales, the sound heavy, already carrying the answer I don’t want him to give. “I’m not lying to her, Maddie.”
“I’m not asking you to lie,” I say quickly, the words tangling as I try to keep them steady, to keep them from unraveling into something I won’t be able to pull back. “Just… don’t tell her you came here tonight.”
Don’t tell her what he did. Don’t make me watch her face when she realizes.
Because I know exactly what I’ll see. Addy doesn’t hide anything when it comes to the people she loves.
I’ve seen it a hundred times—the way her eyes soften, the way her whole expression shifts when she’s worried, when she’s hurting for someone else.
And I can’t…I can’t be the reason that look is on her face.
Not like this. Not where she looks at me and sees something broken.
Not where she tries to be careful with me, like I’m something fragile that might crack if she presses too hard.
My throat tightens, the thought sitting there heavier than anything else in this moment.
“I just…” I shake my head slightly, my voice dropping, softer now, thinner in a way I can’t quite fix. “I don’t want her to look at me like that.”
The words feel small compared to what they’re trying to hold. But Luka hears it anyway.
“Where are you going to go?” he asks, and there’s something heavier in his voice now, something that doesn’t push but doesn’t give either. “Are you going to be safe?”
The question stays there. Waiting. And I don’t have an answer.
Because going with him means Addy. It means her hands on my face, her voice soft, her eyes searching mine for something I won’t be able to hide.
It means being seen in a way I’m not ready for.
It means sitting in it, letting it be real, letting it have weight.
And I don’t know if I can do that yet. Not when everything still feels like it’s happening too fast. Not when I can still feel Tyler’s hand at my throat if I think about it too long.
But going home—My stomach tightens. Just enough that it spreads slowly outward, settling into something colder.
Tyler has a key. To my apartment. To my space.
To the one place that’s supposed to be mine.
He knows where I am. He knows where I go.
He knows how to get in. And the worst part—the part that makes something cold wrap tight around my chest—is how easy it would be for him to be there before I even realized it.
Waiting. Angry. Thinking I embarrassed him.
Thinking I left him. Thinking I owe him something for that.
My lips press together, my teeth catching the inside of them as I try to keep everything from spilling over, from turning into something bigger than I can hold onto.
I don’t have an answer. Not one I can say out loud. Not one that doesn’t sound as bad as it feels. Before I can force something into words, before I can try to make it make sense, Dean’s hands tighten slightly on my shoulders. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to ground.
“She’s coming home with me.” His voice is low. Steady. But it settles into the space between us in a way that doesn’t leave room to question it. “I’ll take care of her,” he continues, his grip still firm, still anchoring me where I stand. “If she needs a doc, I’ll handle it.”
I don’t turn to look at him. I don’t need to.
I feel it in the way his hands stay on me.
In the way he hasn’t stepped back. In the way everything in me has already stopped fighting for somewhere else to go.
There’s something about the way he says it that makes everything else go quiet, like the decision already exists whether anyone agrees with it or not.
Luka doesn’t like it. I feel that before I see it, the shift in him sharp enough that it presses into the space between all three of us. It isn’t anger. Not at me. Not even at Dean. It’s something heavier than that. Protective. Unwilling to step back when he doesn’t have to.
“She should come with me,” Luka says, his voice steady, but there’s tension threaded through it now. “I’ve got her.”
My chest tightens at that. Because I know he does.
I know exactly what he’s offering without him needing to say anything else, and part of me leans toward it instinctively.
Toward the people who have always shown up.
Toward the place where I wouldn’t have to think, wouldn’t have to decide anything for myself.
But that means stepping into it. Letting it be real.
Letting them see it. And I’m not there yet.
Not when everything still feels like it’s happening too close to the surface, like one wrong look will make it crack open wider than I can hold together.
Dean doesn’t move. Doesn’t step in front of me. Doesn’t raise his voice. But something in him locks.
“She’s coming with me,” he repeats, quieter this time, but it lands heavier, like it’s already been decided and he’s just stating it out loud.
Luka exhales, slow, controlled, his gaze flicking between us like he’s measuring something he doesn’t fully like. “Coach—”
“I’ll take care of her.” The words cut in. Not sharp. Not aggressive. But final in a way that doesn’t leave room for anything else to be added to it. Silence settles for a second.
Luka studies him, something unspoken passing between them, something that doesn’t need to be said out loud for it to be understood. “If anything changes,” Luka says finally, his voice still tight, still carrying that edge that hasn’t gone anywhere, “you call me.”
“I will.” No hesitation. No pushback. And that’s what does it. Not because Luka agrees. But because he believes him.
His eyes shift to me then, softer now, searching in a way that makes something inside me pull tight. “You call me too.”
I nod, the movement small but certain. “I will.”
He holds my gaze for a second longer, like he’s trying to make sure of something, like he’s deciding if he can walk away from this.
Then he does. Reluctantly. Dean’s hand shifts from my shoulder to my back, steady and warm, guiding me forward without rushing, without asking, just…
there, keeping me moving when my body still feels like it’s trying to catch up.
We reach his truck before I fully realize we’re walking.
He opens the passenger door, his movements efficient, controlled in a way that feels different from the tension sitting underneath them.
I climb in without thinking. Without questioning.
Because the moment I do, something in me settles just enough to notice it.
The space is his. It smells like him. Clean, but not in a way that feels empty.
There’s something deeper underneath it. Something warm.
Something steady that fills the air in a way that doesn’t overwhelm but doesn’t disappear either.
He leans in, his presence filling the space around me as he reaches across, his arm brushing lightly against mine as he pulls the seatbelt across my body and clicks it into place.
The movement is careful. Precise. Like he’s paying attention to every inch of space between us, making sure he doesn’t hurt me without needing to ask where it would.
A small sound slips out of me before I can catch it.
A soft, breathy laugh that doesn’t match anything about how I should feel right now.
My head throbs with it, the movement pulling at the ache that’s settled behind my eyes, but I can’t quite stop it.
“I can buckle myself,” I murmur, my voice quieter now, softer, like it’s still trying to find its way back to normal.
Dean doesn’t answer right away. “Just let me do it,” he mutters, his voice low, rougher now, like it’s pulled tight over something he’s holding in.
The belt settles against me. Secure. He pulls back, closing the door with a solid thud that cuts off the outside world just enough to make the inside feel quieter.
Safer. I watch him through the windshield as he rounds the front of the truck.
He doesn’t get in right away. He stops. Just for a second.
His head tilts back slightly, his gaze lifting toward the sky like he’s looking for something there, like he needs a moment before stepping back into everything waiting inside the cab.
Like he’s making sure he has himself under control before he gets behind the wheel. Before he gets back to me.
He drops his gaze, moves again, and pulls the driver’s door open.
The truck shifts slightly as he climbs in, the space filling with him again in a way that feels immediate.
Solid. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look at me right away.
He just starts the engine and pulls us out into the night, the city lights stretching out in front of us as we leave everything behind.