Page 44 of The Truth of Our Secrets

“You always say you can’t read situations about yourself.” My thumbs massage her temples.

“It’s more than what I’ve seen. The moment I met him, I trusted him.” She sighs. “My parents made trust hard. I’ve trusted three people on sight: Alec, him, and you in that order.” She ticks off her fingers.

“I’m not saying you can’t be friends with him. Baby Girl, he didn’t know we share. That isn’t for everyone. He might not want a relationship like ours.” I roll so she’s on top of me.

“He helped you with a panic attack. You didn’t like him, but now that’s changed, right?” she argues.

Stroking her hair, I choose my words carefully. “I can’t trust him with you yet.”

She lifts her head, and I continue, “You are my number one priority, and I’d rather die than see you get hurt emotionally or physically. I can’t put blind faith in him not hurting you.”

“He wouldn’t,” she insists.

He has a bloody past and there’s evidence I shouldn’t have, so I say, “He hurt you before.” I am going to hell.

Her face falls, but she nods. I’m hurting her with the truth caused by a lie, but it’s better than risking her safety. That’s the truth I hang on to. To protect her body and heart.

For the first time, my argument feels weak. As if I’m missing some crucial information. What I’ve been told and seen with my eyes is in direct conflict with my sense of smell and gut reaction to him.

Madyson’s so sure of Emmet. Doubt creeps in.

I have to be sure I’m protecting her and not myself.

The only way to be sure is to spend more time with him.

Chapter seventeen

Emmet

Ihave no idea what I’m doing. I’m an idiot, bumbling through life and now apparently a grocery store. Never thought I’d find myself looking for a specific brand of oat milk, wandering tightly packed shelves at night.

She didn’t even ask for this. I should’ve texted her back. Messaged her that I’m okay. But I typed, deleted, typed, and deleted for a day and a half. Then she sent a text with a question mark. No words, only the question mark.

Instead of responding, the idiot in me decides that a surprise visit with groceries is a good idea. Sometimes I think one part of my brain spews out bad ideas and the other part thinks a bad idea is better than nothing.

When we were cooking, I saw she was running low on some staples in her fridge. With my luck, she has a delivery schedule.

But I’ve got a basket half full of items and I’m committed, so this is where I’m at—an idiot in the grocery store buying things for a couple that I kissed and don’t know what they want from me. Or what I want from them.

It’s also embarrassing to explain to the doorman with a bag full of groceries that no, they weren’t expecting me. And then be told to wait in the lobby because they’re not home.

Fuck my life.

I could teach a class on idiocy.

This is a terrible plan and I should leave, but Madyson sashays in and stops short when she sees me.

She gives me the once-over and takes in the bags of groceries.

“Emmet, thanks for coming,” she says as if she invited me and this is totally normal. “Come on up.” She exchanges a few words with the doorman before we enter the elevator.

The tension in the small space consumes me. We don’t say a word even when she unlocks her apartment, takes her shoes off, throws her purse on a side table, and walks straight back to the kitchen.

“Whatcha got?” She leans on the island and surveys the recyclable cloth bags.

“Umm,” I stutter, “I grabbed a couple of things that you were running low on when we were cooking?” I say it as a question, not a statement, and my neck gets hot.

Madyson doesn’t say a word. She takes the bags and sets them on the counter. Her eyes are wide as she removes each item. Her gaze flicks to mine every few seconds and I’m dying to read her thoughts.

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