17. Maddie
Maddie
I’m still staring at his socks when the elevator doors slide open.
It shouldn’t be the thing my brain latches onto, not after everything that just happened, not with his hand still wrapped around mine like it belongs there, like it settled into place and decided not to move—but it is.
The contrast of it. The way he ran out after me without even stopping to think about something as simple as shoes.
The way that somehow means more than it should.
He doesn’t let go when we step out. He just walks.
And I go with him. Down the hall. Back to his door.
Into his space like I didn’t just leave it, like I didn’t stand there a few minutes ago and tell him we couldn’t do this.
My hand is still in his when the door closes behind us, the quiet settling around us again, softer than before, but not empty.
It hums with something I don’t understand yet, something that keeps my chest from feeling tight even when my thoughts start to catch up.
I pull my hand back. Not quickly. Not like I’m yanking away from him. Just… enough. Enough space to think. Enough distance to remind myself that I had a choice in this, that I didn’t just get pulled back into something without meaning to.
I should’ve gone with Addy.
The thought comes clear and steady, cutting through everything else for a second. I should be in her car right now. I should be sitting in her apartment with her hovering and Luka watching everything like he’s waiting for something to go wrong.
That would make sense. That would be easy to explain.
So why am I here? I take a step back, creating more space between us, and then I turn, the questions already rising, already stacking on top of each other faster than I can sort through them.
Why did he come after me? Why did he say that?
Why does it feel like something changed and I’m the only one trying to figure out what?
I open my mouth—And then I stop. Because he’s not looking at me. He’s putting his watch back on.
The movement is slow, deliberate, like he’s not rushing through it, like he doesn’t feel the same urgency sitting in his chest that’s building in mine. The band slides into place, his fingers working the clasp, and I catch it just before it disappears.
The tie. My tie.
My feet move before I think about it, closing the space I just created, my hand lifting without asking permission, my fingers brushing against the band before I hook them under it, pulling it slightly into view again.
“Why did you keep it?” The question comes out quieter than I expect, not sharp, not demanding—just… there, like I don’t even know what answer I’m bracing for.
His eyes lift to mine. No hesitation. No space to soften it.
“Because I wanted you with me.” He says the words slow. Steady. Like he’s not testing them, not second-guessing them. “Even if I couldn’t have you.”
Something in my chest stutters. Not pain.
Not exactly. Just… something that doesn’t know where to go.
Because I don’t understand that. I don’t understand what he means, or how long he’s felt it, or what changed between then and now that makes him say it like this, like it’s been sitting there waiting for the right moment to come out.
My fingers are still curled around the band.
Still holding onto something small that suddenly feels like it means more than it should.
I look at him, really look this time, trying to find something in his expression that explains it, something that makes it make sense.
But all I find—is that same certainty. And it leaves my head spinning in a way I can’t quite catch up to.
“I don’t understand.” The words finally come out, quieter than everything building behind them, like they’ve been sitting in my chest too long and don’t know how to leave any other way.
He looks down at me, and whatever I expect to see there—hesitation, distance, the version of him I’ve grown used to—it isn’t there. It’s softer. Careful in a way that makes my chest pull tight before I can stop it.
“Come here,” he says, his voice lower now, steady in a way that doesn’t push. “Let’s sit. We’ll talk.”
He doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t force the moment forward.
He just moves, and I follow him back to the couch without thinking about it too much, like my body already decided before my head could argue.
The TV is still playing, something light and ridiculous filling the background, but it feels far away now, like it belongs to a different version of this room.
I sit. My hands settle in my lap because I don’t know what else to do with them— because if I let them move, I might reach for something I don’t understand yet.
He sits close. Not touching. But close enough that I feel him there, steady and solid beside me—like he’s giving me space without stepping away completely.
For a second, neither of us speaks. And then—“I’ve always known you were different.
” My breath catches before I can stop it.
He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t soften it.
“I didn’t know what it was at first,” he continues, his voice even, unhurried.
“Just that every time you walked into a room, I noticed. Not because you were trying to be seen… but because you weren’t.
” My fingers curl slightly in my lap. “Everything about you felt real in a way most people don’t.
” Something in my chest tightens around that, unfamiliar and too warm all at once.
“I’d catch myself watching you without meaning to,” he admits, and there’s a faint edge of frustration in it, like it used to bother him more than it does now.
“The way you take care of everyone before you think about yourself. The way you stay after games when you don’t have to.
The way you watch everything like you’re making sure it doesn’t fall apart. ”
I swallow hard. Because he saw that. All of it.
“And no matter how many times I told myself it didn’t mean anything…
” his voice dips, quieter now, “it always came back to you.” My heart stumbles over itself.
“Every time.” There’s no hesitation in him.
No second-guessing. Just… truth. “I felt different around you,” he continues.
“More aware. Like I needed to be careful with something I didn’t even understand yet.
” He exhales slowly, his jaw tightening for just a second before he continues.
“But you worked for me—” he stops, the words clearly hitting wrong as soon as they’re out.
“You don’t work for me. We work together.
” There’s something firm in the correction, like it matters more than anything else he’s said so far.
“I didn’t want anyone looking at you and thinking you were only there because of me,” he says, his voice steady again, but heavier now.
“Didn’t want anyone questioning what you’ve built for yourself or what you bring to that team.
” His eyes lock on mine again, sharper this time.
“You’re good at what you do. Really good. ”
Something shifts in me at that. Not loud. Not overwhelming. But enough that I feel it.
“Do you really think that?” The question slips out before I can stop it, softer than I meant it to be.
He doesn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.
He leans closer, his hand lifting to my face again— careful, his fingers settling along my jaw without touching the bruise, like he already knows exactly where not to press.
And when he answers—there’s nothing uncertain in him. “You’re fucking amazing, Maddie.”
Something in me… snaps. Not loudly. Not in a way I can track or understand.
Just—gone. The distance. The hesitation.
The careful way I’ve been holding myself together since last night, since the kitchen, since the moment he said my name like it meant something different now.
It all disappears in a single breath. And before I can stop it—before I can question it—I’m moving.
My hands find him first, gripping his shirt, pulling him toward me like I’ve been holding that need back for too long and don’t know how to do it gently anymore. My lips crash into his, not soft, not careful, just… there, like I need to feel something real and he’s the only thing that makes sense.
For a second—he doesn’t move. And that second stretches.
Too long.
My stomach drops hard, panic flashing through me faster than I can catch it, because what if I read it wrong? What if everything he just said wasn’t what I thought it was? What if this is where he pulls away and I’m left standing here with too much of myself already out in the open?
I start to pull back. Just barely. Already bracing for it—And then he moves. Not away.
Into me.
His hand comes up fast, firm at the back of my neck, holding me there before I can get too far, before I can take it back. The kiss changes instantly, deepening in a way that steals whatever breath I had left, his control sliding into it without hesitation now that he’s decided.
A quiet sound slips out of me before I can stop it, my fingers tightening in his shirt as he shifts, pulling me with him, guiding me without breaking the kiss until I’m in his lap, the movement smooth and deliberate.
His hands settle at my waist, firm, grounding, holding me in place like he’s not letting me disappear again now that I’m here.
And the way he kisses me—It’s nothing like I expected. Not rushed. Not careless.
There’s heat in it, yes, something sharp and consuming that makes my head spin, but underneath that there’s something else. Something controlled. Intentional. Like he’s paying attention to every reaction I give him, like he’s learning me in real time and adjusting without breaking the rhythm.
His mouth moves against mine, slower for a second, like he’s giving me space to breathe, and then he nips lightly at my bottom lip, the sensation sending a sharp, unexpected spark through me that makes my entire body react before I can think about it.
My hands slide up without meaning to, finding his shoulders, then his neck, holding on like I need the anchor, like I need something solid to keep me from floating away in whatever this is.
Because it feels different. Everything about it feels different.
Maybe it’s the way he’s holding me. Maybe it’s the way he didn’t hesitate once he decided.
Or maybe—maybe it’s because I’ve wanted this for longer than I let myself admit.
And now that I have it—I don’t know how to let go.