Page 45 of The Truth of Our Secrets

She clucks her tongue and turns to face me. “How did you do this?”

I’m not sure what she means. “I went to Trader Joe’s.”

“No, I mean, how did you know what to buy? These are my favorite brands.”

It sounds like a trick question. “I told you I noticed when we were cooking. I didn’t break in and take inventory or anything.” It’s tempting to stuff all the shit in the bags and make a run for it. Fuck it. I could just run.

“I get that. But you remembered the specific brands.” Her shrewd eyes assess me.

I feel the need to answer even though it’s not a question, but the words don’t come. I shrug.

“Jayce can’t remember the brands and he lives here and eats the food.”

“I’m sorry?” I can’t figure out if she’s mad or upset with me, or maybe Jayce.

She throws her head back and laughs. It echoes around the kitchen and fills me up. Her entire face shows her joy and suddenly, I want to kiss her again. Take in that joy for myself.

But I can’t.

I won’t.

Silently, she puts the groceries away and folds the bags on the counter. Then she rounds the island and pulls me into a hug, clinging to me.

“Thank you.” Her voice hitches. “You always seemed to see me and what I need in a way that no one else ever has.” She rubs her cheek against my shirt. “Please give us a chance.”

I’m too stunned to answer her plea, but I’m not letting her go. Her appreciation is a warm blanket that settles over my soul. Processing the sentiment takes me off guard. I’m used to giving to people who never say thank you or acknowledge what I’ve done.

“Let’s sit.” Taking my hand, she guides me to the two-seat couch.

The scene of the crime.

She doesn’t let go of my hand, and although I love it, it sets off alarm bells. It’s as if she’s said, “We need to talk” and my heart can’t take that conversation.

“I checked your team’s hockey posts every day for that first year.” She flips her hair over her shoulder. “I needed to know you were okay.” Her eyes implore me to believe her. “I’ve always cared about you.”

“You meant so much to me. In high school, no one asked why I had to work at the rink to pay for used equipment and had another job. They didn’t care that I didn’t have enough to eat, only cared if my homework was done.” I did so many things to feel normal but never achieved that goal.

“You saw me struggling. You took the time to find out why and wanted to help me. Thank you.” Her freckles stand out as she flushes. Now that I know what she tastes like and the feel of her hair, I don’t know how to step back to being friends.

“Do you and Jayce do that often?” I wonder if our kiss was spur of the moment or something else. I avoid confronting her on why she couldn’t contact me. Jayce should tell her that part, not me.

“No, we—” She stops as the door opens and Jayce steps into the apartment. His smile fades when he sees me. “Hey,” she holds out her hand, “come join us.”

Jayce stalks toward us and she stands so he can sit next to me. She drops down into his lap and drapes her legs over mine.

“Emmet stopped by with groceries and has some questions.” Her fingers run through Jayce’s hair, soothing him.

“You didn’t think to call me?” His voice is gruff.

“I just showed up. She didn’t know I was coming.” I try to ease the tension.

He grunts.

“He asked if we do this often, but you walked in before I answered him. Do you want to explain, or should I?” Madyson asks.

“You.” Jayce squeezes her tight.

“We were in a long-term relationship with another man.” Madyson’s face is unreadable. I don’t think she’s ashamed, but I’m confused about why she shut down her emotions.

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