I reach out and squeeze his hand.When I go to pull away, he tightens his grip.
“He was glad I wasn’t there, worried it could’ve been me.And when I tried to apologize after the accident, he shut me down so fast, told me to leave…” He drifts off, gaze now staring down into his glass.“I took that so hard, as confirmation that I’d failed him, but it had nothing to do with that.He was in so much pain and didn’t want me to see him like that.
“Then, when he died, Mom and I found out almost immediately about the debt.”His throat bobs as if something is caught there, and when he continues, his voice is quieter, more exposed.
“We agreed not to tell Katie.It was too much, and she was young.I have to tell her now, but I worry it could shatter her memories and beliefs of a man she adored.A man who deserves her love and admiration.Most of that debt was because of me.To cover all the racing and training.”
I try to picture him at barely eighteen, still half boy, half man, forced to reconcile his perceived role in his father’s death, the guilt, only to then discover the family finances, or lack thereof.How easy it would be to take that on as his fault, too.
I can see how all of that, lodged deep inside him, would’ve shaped his choices thereafter.He doesn’t have to say it, but I can’t help filling in the gaps.
The shift from teaching to racing would’ve given his family the sudden infusion of cash they needed.The way responsibility would have tightened around him, leaving little room for anything else.
After all, what other way could he have turned things around so quickly, ensured his mother and sister would never want for anything?
He shifts, his knee brushing mine—barely there but enough to tether me to the moment.
“And knowing how close we were to losing everything after we’d already lost him… I can’t accept that he chose to leave us.It was the pain.He took too much, miscalculated.”
“You loved him.He was a good man.”I rest my hand on his forearm.“That matters more than the questions people asked, their speculation, and more than the struggles and problems he carried.”
He brings his other hand over mine, palm warm, and for a heartbeat, the world contracts, and there’s only the warmth between us.The stillness.The quiet understanding humming in the space we share.
“I don’t know why I told you that.”His laugh is anything but light or funny.
“I do.”
Because he trusts me.
Because he sees me.
Because something between us has shifted—tilted just enough to slide us toward each other.
His gaze searches my face, like he senses the change moving through me even if he doesn’t know what it is yet.His thumb drifts once across the back of my hand before he lets go, slowly, reluctantly.
I shiver.
“You cold?”
“No.”And I’m not.Not really.
There’s more we need to talk about.I just don’t want to be the one to bring her into the room.Like his father, like this moment, I want him to choose when to speak.I want him to tell me about Erica when he’s ready.
“I’ll start a fire.”He rises to his feet, and I follow him into the living room.
The fire catches quickly, flames licking up the logs, filling the room with warmth and a low, continual crackle.
Maddox crouches in front of the hearth longer than necessary, as if stealing a moment, and when he finally straightens, he doesn’t look at me right away.
He settles on the edge of the couch, elbows braced on his knees, hands loosely clasped.I sit across from him, close enough to feel the heat from the fire and from him.
“Erica was my first.”The words are even and matter of fact.“My first everything.”
I nod, already aware of this, the broad strokes anyway, and surprised by the absence of jealousy or sting.We both had lives before this… us.Whatever we are.
“We grew up together, started dating in high school.”His mouth tilts, almost a smile.Almost.“We were engaged when we left Winslow Grove.Both of us eighteen and thinking we were on top of the world.I thought I knew her.”
The fire pops softly.