Page 106 of Cadence
His eyes never leave me, and I don’t know what pisses me off more, the look of concern, or the part of me aches for him, even now.
I walk toward the closed double doors, assuming they lead into the rest of the room, catching my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
Blotchy. Pale. Weak.
Someone who needed to be rescued.
Someone who couldn’t protect herself.
This isnotyour fault.
I know that. Logically. But logic isn’t running the show right now, and the intrusive thoughts are getting louder.
Keeping my back to him, I thumb toward the doors, voice low as I say, “I’m gonna go to my room.”
“Wait,” Maddox says, stepping toward me, eyebrows drawn tight, something fragile shining in his dark eyes. “Please, just talk to me.”
His voice catches on the last word, and it takes everything not to break apart, too. Not to scream, or cry, or beg to rewind the clock to before drinks and hands and nightmares.
“I need space,” I whisper, bowing my head. God, my body aches. I just want to be alone. To fall apart without feeling like I’m on display with him watching.
“You need a hospital,” he insists. “Get tested. Get checked properly.”
“You said I already saw a doctor,” I say as I pull the door open, but his hand stops it from moving further.
“He said you should still go.”
“I’m fine,” I snap, trying to elbow him off. “Let go.”
“No. You were unconscious for five hours, Paige.” His fists clench at his sides, his chest rising and falling too fast, breath ragged.
“I don’t need a babysitter.” My eyes narrow on his. “I need air. I need a shower. I need to feel normal, not like a fucking victim.”
His jaw tightens. “This isn’t about babysitting. It’s about making sure you weren’t—”
He stops, like saying it out loud might make it real. And suddenly, I want to scream at him, to hurl something across the room, because his fear could only confirm mine.
“I wasn’t,” I say, throat burning with certainty. For some reason, that much is clear to me. Just knowing how close it came is enough. “I don’t want to sit in a sterile room and have someone ask me questions I can’t fucking answer.”
My chest heaves as his eyes search mine, filled with hurt and anger and fear and something close to desperation.
“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he says, almost pleading.
“Well, I’m not.” I laugh without humor, my stomach coiling all over again, rattled with panic, bruised pride, and leftover terror. “But I don’t need you to fix it.”
He drags a hand through his hair and steps away from the door. I open it and stop. Beau and Eli are on the couch, their positions making it evident they’ve been here for hours. Beau rubs his eyes as Eli snores beside him, mouth open, head tilted back.
Fucking great. The gang’s all here.
“Jesus, Paige,” Maddox snaps. “Why are you making this so hard? I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t want your help,” I cry.
He flinches, looking at me like I’ve gutted him. My hands ball into fists, heat prickling at my eyes, but I don’t care. I want him to feel the sting of it. I want him to feel even half of what I’m choking on.
“What do you want from me?” he asks, frustration lining his tone. “I’m doing the best I can.”
“Yeah? Little late for that, don’t you think?” I snap as I storm through the suite, ignoring Beau and a now-alert Eli, both watching silently.
