Page 230 of Lovers' Dance

Matt tightened his robe and walked over to the fridge. His hair was damp, a bit wild from being towel dried. I watched as he took out an energy drink before closing the fridge door and turning in my direction. Matt kept his gaze on me as he cracked the bottle and took a drink before putting it down.

“Because I am?” he repeated in that emotionless voice. “And that matters why?”

“I—because—I thought—” The words couldn’t get past the lump and, the longer he regarded me with that lack of emotion, the harder it was to breathe.

“You thought what, Madison?” he asked, then his eyes darkened in anger. The first indication of his feelings. Why couldn’t it be a joyous welcoming look? Why did it have to be anger? “You refused to leave with me.”

“I’m here now,” I said.

“Why?” Matt queried, his tone now dark like the look in his eyes. “Is it because you remembered it was my plane that flew you here? You need a lift back home? Is that why, Madison?”

“What? No. That’s not—” I stopped, realization dawning. He didn’t care that I had sought him out. It was clear from the barely hidden derision creeping into his face. By not leaving with him, I had injured his pride, and Matt was a proud man. Quite unforgiving, too.

“This—” I held the back of my hand against my nose, hoping to staunch the flow. The tears I couldn’t stop and there were no more tissues left in the box from Mr Nice. “This was a bad idea. I’ll just—just go.”

Now I was completely numb. I had walked out on my family, thinking Matt would receive me with open arms. Man. I was stupid. I should have known better. Under his piercing gaze, I swallowed my sobs and made my way out of the kitchen. My family didn’t want me. Matt didn’t want me. I would figure this out. I needed to call a taxi, find a hotel somewhere, then call the airlines to book a flight back to England. Wait, I could call Sol, but no. What was I thinking? They were away. Her father was unwell and they had flown to California a day after Matt and I had arrived in New York. Hotel it was. Had I used all my dollars to pay the cab? I needed to find a currency exchange, unless I could find a hotel that accepted British pounds. Where was my cell? Google search would find one for me.

I was almost back at my suitcases when my wrist got grabbed from behind. I jerked in surprise, twisting around to see Matt right behind me. Damn. He was quiet. I yanked against his hold and got nowhere as he tightened his grip.

“Why are you here, Madison?”

I yanked again. “I told you. But it doesn’t matter because I’m leaving now. Let go.”

“Not until you tell me the real reason why you’re here,” he said in a raised voice.

“I can’t go home,” I yelled up at him. Stupid, tall man. Towering over me like that. “I chose you and I can’t go home. Are you happy? I walked out on my family. I left. And I can’t go home ever again.”

The grip he had on my wrist was suddenly gone. I rubbed my wrist and turned away from him, planning on getting my stuff and getting the hell out of here.

“Why?” he asked.

I swiped at the tears coursing down my face. How much more moisture could leak from my eyes? I would need to rehydrate or something.

“Why, Madison?” he pressed.

“Stop asking me questions,” I cried, wanting to flee this place. I wouldn’t humiliate myself any further, and I wasn’t sure which stage of grief I was in at the moment. Denial; no, there was no state of denial. I knew exactly what I had done, what had occurred in the house I grew up in.

Anger, yes. I was angry at…myself maybe. Matt, too, for being so damned cold with me. I was here, wasn’t I? Aunt Cleo…my chest tightened as I pictured her face when I left. Wait, isolation went hand in hand with denial. I did feel isolated. So I felt isolated, but wasn’t in denial. Great.

There was no bargaining to be had. Aunt Cleo had been clear.

Depression, oh depression. My leaking eyes and streaming nose were signs that I would be heading down that road soon.

And acceptance. I was numb so that might be a while in coming.

“Answer me, Madison,” Matt ordered.

“Stop calling me that.” It was the last straw. The impersonal way he called me by my first name. “I’m Poppet. I’m your poppet, and I chose you. I’m here because I love you. I chose you, Matt. Do you understand what I’m saying? I did something I never believed was possible. I chose someone else over my family. Over my family. What sort of person does that? I’ll tell you. Someone who’s disloyal, someone who’s selfish, someone who’s—” It was hard to breathe. Speaking and crying at the same time was making it hard for me to breathe.

“Why didn’t you leave with me?” he asked quietly. “Why would you make me leave alone if you were going to choose me? I could’ve supported you, been there for you. Why would you put me through this? Why would you make me feel like nothing in front your family—”

I smacked his chest before I knew what I was doing. Matt’s jaw clenched, and I took a few steps back then stopped. Fuck it. “Do you hear yourself, Matt? This isn’t about you. How you felt. I walked out on the only family I have left. They took me in when I had no one and now I’m alone again.” I burst into a fresh bout of tears.

Matt swallowed hard, then said, “I could have supported you during—”

“No,” I shouted. Why couldn’t he understand? “No. I had to do this myself. This couldn’t be about you, even though in a way it was. This was between me and my family, things that had nothing to do with our relationship and everything to do with the way I was made to feel growing up. It’s not all about you, Matthew Bradley. Get over yourself. I am having a bad day, a really bad day, and I don’t have the strength left to deal with your hurt feelings. I have to go.”

Matt closed the distance between us. “No. You’re not going anywhere.”

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