Page 43 of Mad for Madison

“Oh?” Levi said, turning to look at me with a knowing smile. “A muse in the room. That explains a lot.”

“Don’t give him a big head,” Madison muttered, but the warmth in his voice was undeniable.

“I’m right here, you know,” I called over my shoulder. “And I don’t need a big head. I’ve already got charm.”

“Charm and vodka,” Luca quipped, raising an eyebrow as he watched me slice a lemon. “That’s a dangerous combination.”

“Better than charm and no vodka,” I shot back, earning a ripple of laughter.

The ease in the room was contagious, and even Madison seemed to relax as the conversation turned light. Parrish leaned back, his arm draped casually over Levi’s shoulders. “Madison, your work is stunning. I mean, we didn’t know what to expect, but this… It’s raw and powerful.”

Madison’s cheeks flushed a little, but he nodded. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Levi said with a grin. “Parrish is the world’s toughest critic. If he says it’s good, it’s really good. He once called my first draft of a book cover ‘a tragedy in four colors.’”

Parrish shrugged, unbothered. “It was.”

The room erupted in laughter, and I shook my head as I finished garnishing the drinks. “Alright, enough roasting each other. Drinks are up.”

I handed out the glasses, getting nods of approval as each person sipped. Luca raised his glass in a small toast. “To Madison’s talent.”

“Hear, hear,” Austin said, clinking glasses with him.

Madison glanced at me, his expression softer than I’d seen all night. “Thanks for this,” he murmured.

“Anytime,” I replied.

Madison’s hand brushed mine briefly, a silent acknowledgment of what had just happened. There was a future for Madison in this world, even if he’d spent all this time thinking he would never be good enough. Then he turned back to the group, his voice steady as he began to talk about the inspiration behind his latest works. The nervousness that had been there earlier was gone, replaced by something much more powerful—confidence.

This was Madison’s moment, and he was finally letting himself shine.

CHAPTER 10

A Family Night

Madison

After Lucaand the company left, Bradley stayed with me. He could see I was nearly shaking with excitement, restless fingers trembling and the corners of my lips ticking up and down as I tried to hide the hopeful smiles.

That night, we made love like never before. I pulled every trick I could think of to make him weep with pleasure and joy for being the wonderful man that he was.

Without you, I thought, then stopped myself. I didn’t want to think about the universe in which I was without him. I didn’t want to think about my empty existence, my lonely life, and the hard shell that defined me before Bradley.

For days, the hopeful excitement lingered. It buzzed in my ears, tingled in my fingertips, and made me hold my breath anxiously at times when I let my thoughts run away from me.

Surprises caught me in the most mundane moments. I would remember Levi Bartlet’s encouraging words while shopping for groceries to fill up the cabinets in the Peeling Palace. I would freeze there, holding a box of cereals and daydreaming of exhibitions. And sometimes, when I walked along the HudsonRiver, waiting for Bradley to finish work, I would catch myself picturing my old age. A small house in Vermont, a canvas set up in an apple orchard, Bradley sitting in a recliner with his iced tea, a paint-loaded brush in my hand.We’re happy in that life, I would think.We’re happy and old and with a wealth of memories. Lily colonized Mars and was digging up fossils. Our friends scattered around the world for a time but returned to the Burrow in the end, and we need to hurry up to meet them.

Then, I would blink myself back to the present, and I would realize that I was still a young guy on the verge of something like a real relationship. I was a toddler, stumbling around, thinking I could walk. But Bradley was there. He gave me balance.

I would see him later, taking off his apron, kissing Mama Viv on the cheek after a long and fruitful evening of work, noticing me by the door, and smiling to himself.

Life was good. It was going to get better, but it was good.

He was my anchor, my constant. And he didn’t even realize it.

One night, after another long shift at the restaurant, he met me back at the studio. His hair was damp from the cold drizzle outside, and his cheeks were flushed pink from the chill. He carried a bag of groceries, something warm and practical like soup and fresh bread, and greeted me with a kiss on the forehead.

“How’s my artist?” he asked, his voice low and familiar, like it belonged here more than the creak of the old couch or the hum of the radiator.

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