23. Maddie
Maddie
I’m out of the truck before he can say a word.
I don’t think about it. I don’t wait for him to tell me to stay or to let him handle it or to give me that look he’s been giving me all day when he thinks I need protecting more than answers.
I just move. By the time he turns, I’m already beside him, close enough to see the tension in his jaw, the way his hand is clenched tight around the paper like it’s the only thing keeping him from doing something else.
I reach for it. He pulls it back. Not rough. Not fast. Just enough to keep it out of my grasp. And something in me steadies instead of backing down.
“I’ve learned today that I really like when you’re that protective, controlled guy,” I say, keeping my voice even, not rising to match the tension sitting in him, even though I feel it pressing into me. “But I’m not letting you keep things from me.”
I hold my hand out again. Not asking this time.
Waiting. He looks at me for a second, something flickering behind his eyes, something caught between instinct and restraint.
I can see it—the part of him that wants to handle this for me, to decide what I do and don’t need to see.
And then he exhales. The tension doesn’t disappear, but it shifts, settles into something he can control.
He places the paper in my hand. Reluctant. But he does it. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth like he needs something lighter to cut through everything else sitting between us.
“You really like me controlling you, Baby?” His hand lifts like he’s going to touch my cheek, like he’s forgotten where we are for a second, and then he catches himself just as fast, dropping it back to his side like the reminder hits all at once. I roll my eyes, but there’s no heat behind it.
I unfold the paper. And the second I see the handwriting—everything in me tightens.
Tyler's. My fingers still slightly as I read.
I’m assuming you went to Addy’s. I hope you told her the good news. We leave in 3 days. Go pack, Madison. I gave you a head start.
~Love, Tyler.
The word sits there longer than anything else.
Love.
My stomach turns. I’ve never said that word to him.
Not once. Not in passing. Not in a fight.
Not in a moment that felt too big to hold.
And he never said it to me. Not until now.
Not until he’s writing it down like it belongs there.
Like it means something. My fingers tighten around the paper before I can stop it, the edges crumpling as I ball it up and shove it into my pocket, like getting it out of my sight will make it easier to ignore. It doesn’t.
Dean’s watching me. I can feel it without looking at him, the weight of it steady and sharp at the same time.
When I finally glance up, his eyes flick away from me for just a second, scanning the parking garage like he’s already calculating everything around us, like he’s looking for something that might still be a threat.
A movement catches my eye and I watch as he pushes under his watch and rubs my hair tie. He doesn’t realize I saw him do it.
And now I hate that I made that rule. That we have to keep space between us out here.
Because right now—I want to step into him.
I want his arms around me, that solid, steady hold that shuts everything else out for just a second so I can breathe without thinking about what’s waiting in that apartment.
He looks back down at me like he hears it anyway. Like he feels it.
His expression softens just slightly, the edge easing just enough that I don’t feel like I’m standing here alone with it. “I know, Baby.”
The words are quiet. But they land somewhere deeper than everything else has today. He doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t close the space. He just waits. I pull my keys from my bag, my fingers a little slower now as I unlock my door, the click louder than it should be in the stillness around us.
“I’ll follow you home,” he says from behind me.
My hand is on the handle when he stops me.
“Let me go in first.” The words aren’t loud. He doesn’t grab me or pull me back. He just steps around me like it’s already decided, like this isn’t something I get to argue with even if I wanted to.
I let out a small breath that almost turns into a laugh. “Tyler isn’t going to be in there.”
It feels ridiculous to even say it out loud. He left a note. He’s not waiting inside like something out of a bad movie. Dean doesn’t respond. He just pushes the door open. Slow. Controlled. Like he’s hoping I'm wrong. Like part of him wants Tyler to be in there.
He steps inside first, his body blocking most of my view, his shoulders tight in a way I haven’t seen since we pulled into the parking garage. “Maddie?” Something in his voice shifts.
It’s not loud. It’s not sharp. But it’s off. My chest tightens instantly. “Yeah?”
He doesn’t answer. And that’s what makes me move. I duck under his arm before he can stop me, stepping into my apartment—and everything inside me goes still.
Boxes. Everywhere.
Stacked neatly in the living room. Lined along the dining room wall.
Not messy. Not chaotic. Organized in a way that makes my stomach turn because it means time was spent here.
Thought. Intention. Nothing is gone. But everything has been touched.
He was here. The realization settles heavy and immediate, pressing into my chest in a way that makes it harder to breathe.
“Get what you absolutely need,” Dean says behind me, his voice low, controlled in a way that tells me he’s holding something back. “Do it quickly.”
He’s already moving before I can respond, stepping past me and into the apartment like he’s mapping it out, like he needs to see every corner before he lets me take another step.
I hear him opening doors. Closets. The bathroom.
My bedroom. Every space I didn’t even think about checking.
There’s a phone at his ear now, his voice low and steady, speaking to someone I can’t make out, but I don’t focus on it. I can’t. Because I need to move.
I grab my suitcase from the closet, the familiar motion grounding in a way that nothing else is right now, and I start pulling clothes from my dresser without overthinking it. Favorites. Essentials. The things I know I’ll reach for without having to search.
My hands move fast. Not frantic. Just… focused.
Like if I stop, I’ll start thinking about the fact that Tyler stood in this room.
That he touched my things. That he decided something about my life without asking me.
I don’t let myself think about that. I just keep moving.
A second bag for toiletries. The things I’ll need for the next few days.
The next road trip. The next stretch of games where everything is supposed to feel normal.
It won’t. But I still pack like it will.
By the time I zip everything up, Dean is back in the room. He doesn’t ask. He just takes the bags from me, one in each hand like they weigh nothing, his attention flicking over me once like he’s checking for something before he turns back toward the door.
“My friend Harvey is coming to change your locks,” he says, like it’s already handled. “I’ll get your new keys to you. Okay?”
I should argue. I should tell him he doesn’t get to make decisions like that without asking me first. I should push back the way I have all day.
But I don’t have it in me. Not right now.
Not standing here, looking at everything that doesn’t feel like mine anymore.
So I nod. And instead of saying anything else—I step into him.
It happens without thought, without hesitation, like my body already knows where it needs to be before I can catch up to it.
He drops the bags and his arms come around me immediately. Tight. Secure. One hand sliding up and down my back in a slow, steady motion while the other cups the back of my head, pulling me in closer, pressing me against his chest like he’s not letting anything touch me while I’m there.
And just like that—everything settles. The tightness in my chest eases. The noise in my head quiets. The apartment, the boxes, the note, all of it fades just enough that I can breathe again. It feels like coming home. Not the space around me. Him.
“I got you, Baby.” His voice is low against my hair, steady in a way that doesn’t waver. And for the first time since I walked through that door—I believe him.