Page 16 of Madness

"Yeah. Barely." I look up at her. "Talking to you... it helped. More than you know."

Lauren looks surprised. "Me? But we barely know each other."

"I know. But you saw me as a person, not just a fucking rockstar or whatever. It's been a long time since anyone's done that."

She's quiet for a moment, stirring her coffee. "Dakota, I... I appreciate your honesty. But I need you to understand something. I have a son. I can't... I can't expose him to..."

"To someone like me," I finish for her.

She winces. "That's not what I meant. It's just... I've been down this road before. Obviously, it didn't end well."

I nod, understanding and disappointment warring inside me. "I get it. I do. And you're right to be cautious. I'm not... I'm not in the best place right now."

"Then why are you here?" she asks, her voice gentle but firm.

I meet her eyes, trying to convey the sincerity I feel. "Because talking to you makes me want to be better. To do better. I know that's a lot of pressure to put on someone I barely know, and I'm sorry for that. But I just... I felt a connection with you, and I wanted to explore that. If you're willing."

Lauren looks conflicted, and I brace myself for rejection. But then she surprises me.

"Okay," she says slowly, holding out a hand. "Let's start over. Hi, I'm Lauren. I'm a single mom who works too much and worries too much. And you are?"

I can't help but smile, reaching out to shake her hand. "I'm Dakota. Bassist for Chaos Fuel, recovering addict, and guy who's trying to figure out how to be a decent human being."

As we continue talking, I find myself drawn to the way her eyes change with her emotions. When she talks about Roman, they light up with fierce love and pride. But when the conversation turns to Miles, a shadow passes over them, darkening their hazel hue to almost green. It's not just grief I see there, but a strength, a resilience that's both beautiful and intimidating.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture that seems unconscious but draws my attention to the graceful curve of her neck. There's a small scar just below her jawline, barely noticeable unless you're looking closely. I find myself wondering about its story, about all the stories etched into her skin and hidden behind her eyes.

But it's more than just physical attraction. It's the way she holds herself, shoulders back, chin up, despite the weight she carries. It's the hint of a dimple when she offers a half-smile, as if she's not quite ready to let herself fully express joy. It's the gentle but firm way she speaks, every word measured and meaningful.

I realize I'm staring and quickly look down at my coffee. But the image of her stays with me, a complex tapestry of strength and vulnerability that I find myself wanting to understand more deeply.

"Sorry," I say, realizing she's waiting for me to respond. "I just... you remind me of someone."

"Oh?" she asks, eyebrow raised.

I shake my head, smiling ruefully. "No, not like that. You remind me of who I want to be, I guess. Someone who's been through hell but still shows up every day, still fights."

A faint blush colors her cheeks, and for a moment, I see her guard lower just a fraction. It's enough to make me want to see more, to be the kind of person she might let in.

“Thank you,” she mutters, dropping her eyes to the table to avoid my gaze. “I just do whatever I have to. Like any mother would. I’m not special.”

“Wrong,” I say a bit too forcefully. “I have a feeling you’re very special.”

I reach over and grab her fidgeting hand, noticing that my own has stopped trembling for once. She tenses at first but then relaxes into my palm. Her skin is warm and soft against my callouses, and I rub my thumb along her knuckles slowly, savoring the feeling.

As we settle into a more relaxed conversation, sharing stories and laughing over the terrible diner pie, I can't shake the feeling that this—whatever this is—could be the beginning of something important. Something healing for both of us.

I just hope I don't fucking screw it up.

11

STAY AWAY

LAUREN

The night air is cool against my skin as Dakota and I walk back to my car. The streets are quiet, our footsteps echoing in the empty parking lot. I'm hyperaware of his presence beside me, the slight brush of his arm against mine sending shivers down my spine. I’m half tempted to let our fingers slide together and hold his hand. It would feel completely natural, but I can’t quite allow myself to do it. I don’t really know what’s going on between us yet.

I shouldn't feel this way. I've known this man for only a few days, and already he's stirring up emotions I thought I'd buried long ago. It's dangerous, foolish even. But I can't deny the pull I feel towards him.

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