Page 26 of Slow Burn
I was about halfway when he called out, "Maddie!" It was the first time I'd heard him say my name and oh how wonderful it sounded rolling off his tongue like that.
Pulling in a deep breath, I took a moment to compose myself before glancing over my shoulder. "Yeah?"
He held the plate in the air. "Thanks for these."
There was something in his eyes that touched the very bottom of my soul. The weight of his gaze burning into mine felt so intense that I had to get away. Without another word, I turned my attention forward and headed straight for his gate.
It didn't matter how fast I hobbled, that dark stare stayed on me. It followed me all the way to my house and even intruded on my dreams. Dreams that left me hot and sweaty with an insistent ache between my thighs.
***
Pressing my hand against my stomach, I willed the nervous butterflies to calm down. I'd done worse things than what I was about to do, so there was no reason for them to be all up in arms about this.
I closed my eyes and took a few calming breaths. Once I was certain I had most of my nervousness under control, I opened my eyes and walked to my dad's office. It wasn't Fraser Young I found behind the big oak desk, though, but rather my mom.
She spotted me before I had time to speak. Pulling her reading glasses off, she set them down in front of her and leveled me with a stare. "Did you come to talk about what's bothering you?"
My shoulders sagged on a sigh. "That obvious?"
"Only because a mother always knows." She beckoned me with a slight tilt of her head, and I went, collapsing onto the couch in the corner of the office with a huff. "What's going on, Madison?"
Where did I begin?
I hadn't been in the best mood all day. Adam and all his sexiness were only partly to blame. In my sleep-deprived state early in the morning, I'd made a decision. It wasn't life-altering, but it wouldn't be without repercussions.
I'd said yes to Lucetta.
Without speaking to my parents first.
And with an ankle that was still sprained.
I'd been honest about the injury, though, and Lucetta had ensured me that it wouldn't be too much of a problem. Some classes would have to be moved and others postponed until the following week. In her words, it was all doable.
"Madison?"
At the sound of my name, I blinked furiously, and Mom's worried face came into focus. "Oh, right." Swallowing past the thick lump in my throat proved to be almost impossible. "Where's Dad?" I preferred to have this particular conversation only once.
"He should be back soon. Old Dougie needed help with the kitchen sink again."
I wanted to groan. My dad would not be back soon. Whenever Dougie needed help with anything, he and my dad ended up splitting a six-pack.
My mom was still watching me intently, almost as if she was trying to pull the thoughts from my brain. I kind of wished she could.
Sitting up straighter, I ran my palms up and down my denim-clad thighs. "I don't know if you're aware," I began, "but Lucetta's mom hurt herself a while ago." Of course, my mom wasn't aware. She and my previous dance instructor didn't exactly get along. When my mom shook her head, I quickly went on, "There's no one to take care of her, so Lucetta has to go down to Oakridge for a few weeks."
I'd hoped that penny might've dropped but when my mom just stared blankly, I knew I had to explain. "She asked me to help out at the studio and I said yes."
It took a long, agonizing minute but when realization finally dawned, my mom's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Only at night, right? Because you're still working here during the day." Her voice was deceptively calm.
I knew better.
I nibbled on the inside of my cheek, trying to find the right words that wouldn't lead to an argument. "Well, I would need to be at the studio full time. Besides, it's not like I'm really needed here. You and Dad created this position for me when I came back." With my tail between my legs.
My mom shook her head ruefully and my entire being wanted to sob. That one simple action showed me just how much of me they refused to accept. "Why can't you just be normal?"
"Normal?" My voice climbed a few octaves. "And what does that look like, Mom? Losing myself little by little doing a job I hate? Or will I be considered normal when I stop thinking for myself and follow your plans for my life like an obedient lapdog?"
"Madison." Her voice had a warning edge to it but I was too far gone to heed it.
