“Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
I gave her a half-smile. “No, I need to think right now. Don’t worry about me. Go on.”
“All right.” She gave in and stood up. “Jax is having a party next door after the race, so come over if you want.”
Nodding, I grabbed my Kindle off my lap and pretended to start reading as she left. My fingers tapped on my thigh as if I were playing a piano, and I knew I probably wasn’t going to get any reading done tonight.
I didn’t want to read. I wanted to do something. There was a tiny snowball in my stomach that was turning and turning, building to something bigger the longer I sat.
Sexting.
Madoc deserved more than that.
Okay, he deserved that and more.
“Sorry” just seemed empty. I needed to say more, tell him more, but I didn’t know how to start. How do you tell someone that you stayed away, never giving them closure, had a secret abortion and then in a post-traumatic stress blackout tried to hurt yourself, and then were responsible for them losing their home? What do you say?
What will stop him from running away from a train wreck like me?
Digging my phone out from between the cushion and the chair, I squeezed the shake out of my fingers as I typed.
I don’t know what to say.
I hit Send and immediately shut my eyes, letting out a pathetic sigh. “I don’t know what to say”? Seriously, Fallon?
Well, at least I said something, I guess. Even if it was moronic. Consider it a warm-up.
Five minutes passed and then ten. Nothing. Maybe he was in the shower. Maybe he left his phone in another room. Maybe he was already in bed. With someone. Ashtyn, maybe.
My stomach hollowed.
An hour passed. Still nothing.
I didn’t read a single line of my book. The sky was black now. No noise from next door. Everyone must still have been at the race. Or did Tate say they were getting something to eat first?
I threw my Kindle down and got out of the chair, pacing the room.
Another twenty minutes passed.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and snatched my phone.
Great. I was texting him again after not getting a response. I was like those creepy, overbearing girls that scare the shit out of men.
Please, Madoc. Say something . . .
I leaned back against Tate’s wall, bobbing my foot up and down and keeping my phone in my hand. Twenty minutes later and still nothing. I buried my face in my hands and took some deep breaths.
Swallow it down.
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale, exhale.
And then I dropped my hands, tired tears rimming my eyes.
He wasn’t listening.
He didn’t want to talk to me.
He’d given up.
I typed in one last message before bed.
I’m a shit.
My chin shook, but I calmly set the phone down on Tate’s nightstand and switched off her lamp.
Crawling under the covers, I looked out her French doors and saw the moon’s light casting a glow on the maple outside. I knew that tree was the inspiration for Jared’s tattoo, but Tate would never really talk about their story. She said it was long and hard, but it was theirs.
I agreed. There were things I don’t think I’d share with anyone that wasn’t Madoc.
My phone chimed, and my heart skipped a beat as I shot up in bed and grabbed it off the nightstand.
I let out a relieved laugh, wiping a tear off my cheek.
I’m listening.
Every part of my body tingled, and I almost felt giddy.
I didn’t know what to say, so I just typed the first thing that came to mind.
I miss u.
Why? he shot back.
My mouth was suddenly as dry as a desert.
He wasn’t going to make this easy, I guess.
My fingers just went. Jumbled or poetic, it didn’t matter. Just tell him the truth.
I miss hating you, I typed. It felt better than loving anyone ever had.
That was the truth. My mother, my dad, any friends I’d had, no one made me feel alive like him.
After a couple of minutes he hadn’t texted back. Maybe he didn’t understand what I’d meant. Or maybe he was just trying to think of what to say.
I’m f**ked-up, I told him.
Keep going, Fallon.
I remembered all of the things he’d said to me in front of the mirror that night, so I told him what was in my heart.
I miss your eyes looking down at me, I said. I miss your lips in the morning.
I’m listening, he finally texted back, urging me on.
I bit my bottom lip to stifle my smile. Maybe Tate was right about sexting after all.
I miss your hunger. I miss the way you touch me. It’s real, and I want you here.
He only took about ten seconds to respond. What would I do to you if I was there right now?
The rush of blood through my heart warmed my body instantly. God, I wanted him here!
Nothing, I responded. It’s what I would be doing to you . . .
I curled my legs in and set the phone in my lap, covering my very happy and embarrassed face with my hands. I was sure I was ten shades of red right now.
My phone chimed again, and I nearly dropped it twice trying to pick it up.
What the f**k?! Don’t stop! Madoc texted, and I couldn’t contain my laughter.
This felt good, and Madoc liked it. I can do this.
I wish you were na**d in my bed right now, I taunted. I wish my head was under the sheets, tasting you, my tongue all around you.
What would you be wearing? he asked.
Madoc liked me in my pajamas. He’d said so once. I’d borrowed a fitted baseball T-shirt and short sleep shorts from Tate. Not really lingerie, but Madoc wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off me either way.
You can see it if you want. I’m only an hour and fifty-eight minutes away.
His response came back within seconds.
I’ll be there in fifty-eight minutes.
I burst out laughing in the empty room. Of course, he’d risk his life speeding for any opportunity to get laid.
I shook my head, my face stretched with a smile. I’ll try not to touch myself until you get here, I texted.
Goddamn it, Fallon!
I crashed back onto the bed, laughter and happiness shooting out of every pore.
CHAPTER 22
MADOC
I rubbed my hand over my mouth, blaring Trapt’s “Headstrong” the entire way home. I’d gone round and round today, wondering if I should come back for the race. Wondering if Tate would’ve dragged Fallon along. Wondering, hoping, and then giving up.
For some reason, Fallon didn’t want to stick around to see if we were going to be something, and I only had so much pride to spare. Maybe Jared was right and I needed to chase harder.