Page 88 of The Two Halves of My Heart

Five days. That’s all the time I had to convince Maddison that he was making a mistake. Of course, he wasn’t answering my calls or texts. It was like he was a stranger to me—the man who’d owned a piece of my heart for as long as I could remember would never do this. We were friends above all else. Until we weren’t.

Leo told me to keep trying to reach him, but his plan sucked. So, I stalked the house—our old house. He wasn’t there the first few times I called around. It didn’t matter if I went early in the morning or late at night; he just didn’t seem to be there. And my nerves only escalated as we drew closer to the weekend.

Leo finally got in touch with me. He told me that they were travelling up to London on Saturday morning and when and where the fight would be held. That gave me zero time or room to convince Mads otherwise, but the more I thought about the times I’d watched Maddison fight, the more I knew I couldn’t sit back without trying.

It was Thursday evening, and with a ticking clock as my personal soundtrack, I drove to the house, willing my phone to buzz with a message or call from Maddison. I parked up in Mum’s car and waited. And waited. Every noise or car passing had me jumping in my seat, waiting to see if it was him. But nothing. The hours slipped into darkness, and my eyes grew heavy, staring at nothing. My head kept falling forward, stunning myself awake before I drifted off again.

Glass shattering against the pavement startled me, and I shot up in my seat. A dark shadow lumbered around the entrance to the house, the shape: a fit for Maddison.

I yanked the door handle and crossed the few metres between us to confront him.

“Maddison,” I called as he tried to fit the key in the door. He looked drunk, and the dread at this conversation only mounted. He seemed to ignore me and set about a second attempt at opening the door. As he succeeded and moved to close it, I slammed the wood, stopping it from shutting me out. “We need to talk.”

“Grace.” His sigh sounded painful even to me, and I noticed as his eyes dropped to my hand and caught the glint of the cat charm still around my wrist. “I don’t think so. Not anymore.”

“Wait, come on Mads. Don’t shut me out.”

He turned to face me, and even in the dark and through whatever amount of alcohol he’d consumed, I could see his pain looking right back at me. I searched his eyes and showed him I wouldn’t be moved. Thankfully, he gave in and turned, before he tripped into the house, leaving the door open for me. There was no light apart from the yellow glow cast by the streetlight through the front room window, so I flicked the switch in the hall to give us some illumination. I didn’t want to be under the scrutiny of the glaring lights in the front room for this conversation.

Mads had fallen into the sofa and looked ready to sleep right there. If I thought there was another way or another time, I could leave this until, I would have. But his fight was in a day. There was no time.

“I don’t want you to go to London.” Blurting it out seemed to be the best plan, given how drunk he was.

“You don’t have a say.” He answered me with his eyes shut, and his words slurred together. “My life. You didn’t want to stay, so you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Funny.” His comment made me chuckle. “Because I’m pretty sure one of the reasons we split up was because you didn’t listen to me even when we were together.”

He remained still on the sofa, his eyes still closed.

“Maddison!”

“Shut up, Grace. Go home.”

“No. I will not let you do this to yourself. I don’t want you to go, and I don’t want you to fight. Can’t you see that? There are other ways for you to be the best. I know you, just, don’t go.” I perched on the edge of the sofa, our eyes now staring at each other’s, although Maddison’s showed a vacant, glazed look, giving away just how drunk he was.

“My business. My goals. All for us. And you ruined it.”

“This isn’t all on me.” I ground my jaw, hurt at his view on our relationship, but I guessed there were always two sides to every story.

His eyes began to droop. “You told me you loved me, but you still left. Or maybe you just never loved me enough. Figures. I’ve played second place to Oliver for so many things in my life. I could just add you to that list as well.”

“No. Don’t say that. I loved you so much, that’s what the problem was.” I reached for his hand, desperate for him to hear the words that were still so true, and stop him from passing out. But he snatched them from my grip and stood, suddenly awake and now pacing the few metres of the room.

“Oliver was always cleverer than me. I let my temper get the better of me while he got away with whatever he wanted. But I ruled the school and could have had anything I wanted.” He wind-milled his arms in wide arcs. “But I had to be better than him. That’s what I set myself. I wanted to show both of you. And I did—I have, but you still weren’t happy.” He scrubbed his hands through his messed-up hair.

His words faded, and so did his purposeful steps. He stood, towering over me. “You broke us. And now you want me to give up the opportunity I’ve been working for?” He leaned down towards me. “Never. Now leave.”

“No. You need to know why.”

“Why what?” he scoffed as he turned around and stumbled towards the shelf to the side of him.

“Why I’m begging you not to go to London.”

“I’m listening.” He stretched his arms out to the side in an invitation, mocking my attempts to change his mind.

The story from my mother about my father wasn’t one I planned to share in detail, but I’d promised myself that I’d do anything in my power to stop Maddison. He already knew there was a history there. Maybe he needed to know just how close he was following in his footsteps. “My father was just like you.”

I looked up at him, hoping to capture his attention, and it appeared to work. He relaxed his stance and kept his mouth shut, so I took my advantage and told the tale that was suddenly so close to home.

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