Page 69 of What Lies Within

She disappears out the door and down the short hall toward the main living area. I watch Maddie a while longer, mapping her twitches and ticks, fucking certain that if I watch her long enough, I'll see her slip up and catch her watching me too.

Yet it doesn't happen. Her gaze stays fixated on the wall, breaths even save for the odd longer draw as though she regulates herself.

I shuffle around and set myself up the same way Jamie was, with my back against the headboard, one of Tyke's thick pillows saving my aching spine from curving too far. I left my phone upstairs, not that there's much on it I'd rather pass the time with. Socials leave me anxious—just more shit being fed into my brain to remind me that I'm not enough. That I should be better. More.

My gaze lands on Maddie, the fall of her shirt stretched across her back, the knotted locks of hair separated over her shoulder. A shiver courses its way down my body; the situation feels too familiar, too raw. It's just her and me—alone.

I close my eyes and draw a deep breath, hands fisted atop my legs.Sweetie’s not here, you dork.Yeah—because she’s dead.Shit.

I twitch my feet and flex my hands to shake off the jolt of nerves, then glance around the room instead, studying itsmasculine appeal. The walls are a rich midnight blue with a hint of grey undertones. It matches the ornate black frames around photos and articles hung on the wall in clusters. The design feels too intentional for Tyke, but then again, what would I know? Maybe he does have an eye for this shit. Perhaps I judge the book by its cover.

A glossy black set of drawers sit to my right, the feet intricate in their carving, the brass handles vintage style. Not much sits atop: a dish containing what appear to be rings, a watch, and a couple of personal grooming products. The wingback chair in the corner to the right of the drawers is beautiful. Aged, with cracked and worn leather at the front of the seat and around the edge at the top. But it fits perfectly with the bourbon hall vibe of this room.

I run my palm across the stitched pattern in the black comforter and then over the deep navy sheets. Maddie's position in the center of the bed is the only reason I don’t bend down and inhale, see if I can catch Tyke’s signature smell on the cotton.

I’m a fucking weirdo.

But then again, anything related to him or Digger, brings me comfort, even if it is something as simple as the warm smell of their bed.

“I feel like we should talk about something.” I glance at the back of Maddie’s head and let loose a nervous chuckle. “It feels odd sitting here in silence. Any suggestions?”

She stays mute.

"Does your dad have a speaker I can Bluetooth to in here?"

Nothing.

I run my eye over the clothes she's worn since yesterday. The signs of the struggle in the bloodstain at her hip and the dirt on the ass and thighs of her jeans.

"You'd feel better after a shower and a change of clothes, right? But I don't want to impose on your privacy and all that. Iwonder if that's why nobody's done it yet." I fidget with the edge of the sheet at my right, flicking the stitched lines between my fingertips. "To be fair, out of the two of us, I'm surprised it's not me sitting there, frozen. When I first met you, I wished I was more like you, Mads. You're so strong." I pause, take a moment to let the tension ease out of my throat, and the impending tears subside. "I envy the way you command a room. Your confidence. Your natural zest for life. You're… so different from me."

Fuck. I miss her already. It’s been what? Hours since we found her? But it feels as though my friend’s been gone for weeks.

"I still wonder why you decided we should be friends. What benefits you think I bring to the party. It feels as though it's always been you doing shit for me, and I…" My breath leaves with a sigh. "What did I give you? WhatcanI give you?”

I push off the headboard and crawl to kneel at her side.

"I want to know what the hell I can do to help you, Mads. How do I get you out of this place?" I search her face and come up empty. I could imagine what I'd need in this situation, but as I lamented to her, we're so different. What I need and what she does are two entirely different things. "Everyone's worried." I ease back on my heels and fuss with the indent in my knee from the crumpled bedding. "Nobody really knows what happened other than you were taken, and now you're back. But I can feel it, you know? The tension in the air when I walk through the place. I see how everyone watches me, how they look at your dad, the other officers. There’re questions. It's as though shit will hit the fan if Tyke doesn't address them soon." I heave a sigh. None of this trash is helpful to her. "Anyway…" My focus hits a photo on the short section of the wall between the bedroom door and the barn door that leads through to the attached bath. I shuffle to the end of the bed and slide off, feet soft against the rug until my bare soles hit the hardwood beneath.

Tyke's young in this image. Astride a bike much more straightforward than the one he has now; he can't be any more than mid-twenties in the shot. His hair sits wild around his shoulders, yet what strikes me is that he doesn't wear anything indicating he's a part of the club. He's alone in the shot, which makes me wonder who took it. Was it Charlene? Was he with her already?

Whoever snapped the picture saw a beautiful opportunity and took it: Tyke sits framed by a weeping willow on one side and a rushing river behind him on the other. Wherever they snapped it, it appears to be a roadside stop on a much longer journey. A bed roll sits strapped to the back of the bike. A hiker's pack stuffed to bulging rests beside the front wheel.

It’s a life more carefree. Open to possibility.

Maybe that’s why he has it there.

As a reminder of what life can be.

I startle at a rustle behind me, shoulders jumping before I do, and spin to find Maddie moving up the bed. My heart hammers in my chest, and I'm frozen as though she's some ghostly apparition rather than my traumatized best friend. Mads crawls toward the headboard and then slides her legs beneath the sheets, pushing the bedding down to let herself slip into Tyke's bed. Hands tucked beneath her head, she lies on her side, facing me, yet not looking at me.

A sole tear slides over Maddie's nose, dripping off the bridge.

Fuck.I don’t know what she needs, but I damn well know what I can offer.

Gentle, to avoid disturbing her too much, I round the bed and slip onto the mattress behind her, staying above the sheets. Left arm tucked beneath my head, I stretch out and match her position, sliding in behind. Her breaths are slow and even, yet there's a stiffness to her that indicates she's far from relaxed. Unable to rest.

I lift my hand and trace her arm to see if she'll shy away from touch again or if she welcomes the comfort.

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