Page 131 of Forbidden Lyrics

“Hey,” Maddie calls, rousing me from my restless sleep. My eyelids feel like weighted blankets as I blink slowly and roll onto my side.

“What do you want?” I croak.

“I made breakfast.”

I blink slowly, convinced I’ve heard her wrong as I warily scan her from head to toe. With a plate in one hand and a fork in the other, she waits for my response. Carefully. Anxiously. And nothing like the Maddie I’m accustomed to.

“You don’t cook,” I point out when the silence becomes too awkward.

“I did today. Can I come in?”

Pushing myself up, I press my back to the oak headboard behind me, giving her a single, jerky nod. Besides, I need answers. I need them more than anything. And right now? She’s the one who holds all of them.

Maddie waddles into the room, her stomach rounder than before I left. Her cheeks look fuller, too, like she’s finally able to keep food down without supplements. But I’m not about to compliment her. Not right now. Not when I know that Gibson has touched her. Kissed her. That he thought she was gorgeous enough to have sex with.

He had sex with her.

I think I’m gonna be sick.

Eggos smothered in butter and syrup are balanced on a paper plate, and she hands it to me with a grimace.

“Sorry about the paper plate. The doctor told me to save my energy, and I felt like doing the dishes counted as too much work.”

I grab the fork extended toward me. “I’m surprised it’s not a peanut butter sandwich.”

“Just because I can barely keep anything else down doesn’t mean you have to put up with the same food every day, right?”

Her playful banter pisses me off more. As if we can pretend everything’s all right when in reality, it’s the furthest thing from it.

With the plate in my lap, I cut off a small piece of waffle and put it in my mouth. It turns to sawdust instantly, but I chew it anyway as she watches me with the most concerned expression I’ve ever seen on her. Like she’s afraid I might know the truth. Like she knows I’ve been betrayed by my own flesh and blood, and she doesn’t know what to do about it or how to fix it.

Fun fact, Madelyn. Neither do I.

It isn’t her fault that the love of my life slept with her. Heck, she warned me to stay away from him. In her own screwed up sort of way, she even tried to protect me from getting hurt.

It’s my fault I didn’t listen.

Then again, it’s not entirely my fault. Not when she kept so much from me. Not when she refused to let me in any aspect of her life, let alone the one we apparently shared that she failed to mention.

Unable to choke down another bite, I set my fork down on the plate and mutter, “Thanks.”

The sentiment slips out of me even though I’m the furthest thing from grateful. Nope. I’m pissed. And hurt. And so damn lost and alone that I don’t even know what to do with myself.

“You’re welcome,” she replies quietly.

Silence.

I avoid her gaze and look down at the soggy waffle in my lap, praying for the courage to face the giant elephant in the room. I’m still not sure I can address it. How am I even supposed to broach a subject like this?

Hey, I heard you had sex with my kind-of boyfriend and that he might be the father of your unborn baby. Small world, right? Any chance you felt like bringing it up and letting me in on the little coincidence?

A lump the size of Texas lodges in my throat.

This can’t be happening.

“What happened, Dove?” Maddie whispers, carefully sitting on the edge of my bed.

I squeeze my eyes shut––again––unable to look at her as the question I’ve been dying to ask slips out of me. “Who’s Em?”

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