Content and happy. Adam rarely had moments when he felt either. This was one of those rare times.
Adam slipped the tip of his little finger into the warm ring nestled deep in the pocket of his jeans. He stroked the smooth and warm metal, wondering if he should go through with this crazy idea of his or wait until he was sure she wanted to marry him. They’d never actually talked about marriage, but he knew that family was important to her, and if he married her, he’d not only be her friend and her lover, he’d be her family. If their relationship was strong enough to get through last night without irreparable harm, then marriage would be a snap. Wouldn’t it? Of course it would.
He supposed there was no use in putting off the inevitable. He wanted her as his wife, so why wait?
Adam wasn’t one to get down on one knee and ask for anything, but he’d make the concession for Madison. She’d given him his life back; he loved her; she deserved the best. The best ring. The best proposal. The best husband.
Well, at least he knew the ring was good.
Adam took a deep breath, pulled the ring from his pocket, and sank to one knee in the soft moss at Madison’s feet.
Her eyebrows drew together in confusion as she stared down at him. Her lovely heart-shaped face made his heart thud just from looking up at her.
“Are you okay?” she asked, tilting her head to look behind him to see why his leg had suddenly given out.
He couldn’t help but chuckle around the nerves churning in his belly. “I’m perfect,” he said. Perfectly insane.
He took her right hand in his before remembering he was supposed to put the ring on her left ring finger. He kissed her knuckles before reaching for her other hand. Apparently the gesture made her realize what he was about to do. Her eyes widened, and her face went pale. She swayed slightly, and he wondered if she was about to faint.
“Adam!”
“Madison,” he began, searching for words and finding few. Perhaps he should have thought this through a little more. Not asking her to marry him—he knew without a doubt he wanted her to be his wife—but the actual proposal. He probably should have come up with something a little more romantic than a spur of the moment proposal in a bayou loaded with mosquitoes, a heron and maybe an alligator as their only witnesses. “I saw this ring and could think of nothing but how much I want to see it on your finger. How much I want you to be my wife. I love you, Madison. Will you marry me?”
He held the ring suspended over the tip of her ring finger, waiting for one three-letter word to leave her lips and greet his ears.
Her hand closed unexpectedly, preventing him from slipping the engagement ring on, and she took a step back.
“Adam,” she said in that calm, rational voice she used with her clients. The same voice she’d used on him so many times when he’d been going through treatment.
His breath caught, and the feminine fist he held clutched desperately in his hand seemed to punch straight through his breastbone and rip his heart free of his impossibly constrictive chest. Why wasn’t she squealing with excitement? Why wasn’t she wrapped in his arms and kissing his lips, pressing her body against him? Why wasn’t she wearing his ring? Why hadn’t she said yes?
“Madison,” he said, her name a whispered breath of anguish.
“This is rather sudden,” she said. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you love me,” he said, not sure why her face was so blurry all of a sudden. “Say you want me. Say yes.”
“Adam, I do love you,” she said calmly.
He didn’t believe her. Not when she said it like that.
“We need to talk about this.”
He didn’t want to fucking talk about it. He wanted her to accept him. All of him. He shot to his feet and crammed the ring back into his pocket. She reached for his arm, but he shrugged off her piteous touch. Had she ever truly loved him, or had it always just been pity?
God-fucking-damn it. Why had he ever trusted her with his heart? Why had he ever thought she’d want it?
He stalked to the Harley and climbed on. Whenever he wanted to escape what was currently eating him alive—it seemed to change on a daily basis—he took his bike for a long ride. But even as he started the engine, he knew running off wouldn’t work this time. He couldn’t escape Madison. She was under his skin. Lodged deep in his heart. And he couldn’t leave her here among snakes and other dangerous creatures.
“Get on the bike,” he said.
“Adam . . .”
“Get on the goddamned bike, Madison!”
Hands knotted in the hem of her T-shirt, she just stood there staring at him. “You aren’t leaving me here?”
That stung almost more than her rejection. “I love you enough to ask you to marry me, but you don’t think I love you enough to give you a ride?”
“But you’re mad.”
“I’m not mad,” he said. Hurt. Broken. Gutted. Worthless, hopeless, and devastated. Yes, all those things. But not mad.
“I’m sorry.” She blinked back tears, and if she started crying then he was going to be mad. She didn’t have the right to cry over this. He was the one who should be crying.
He ripped his gaze from her, stared straight ahead, and revved the engine. “Get on.”
“Adam, I—”
He clenched his teeth. “Get. On.”
“I think . . . I should go . . . home,” she said.
“Then I’ll take you to the airport,” he said, forcing his voice to remain calm. “But I’m not leaving you here.”
“Adam, I just need some time to think things over. This would be a big step for me. For us. I’m not sure we’re ready. Maybe if we talk about it—”
“I don’t want to talk about this now,” he said, revving the engine again.
“Then when?” she said.
“Maybe after I get my guts shoved back inside where they belong.” He released a small huff of breath and shook his head. This was why he pushed people away. Exactly this. He had a low tolerance for pain. Not physical pain—he could take his fair share of that. But every time he let someone in, they hurt him. This emotional bullshit had always ripped him apart. He couldn’t stand it. He had to escape somehow. On his bike. In his music or his art. With drugs or sex or some other vice. And since the only route available to him at the moment was the Harley, he revved the engine again.
Madison touched his sleeve, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He knew she’d be staring at him with pity, and that was the last fucking thing he wanted at the moment. And if she understood him, she’d know that.