Page 80 of Hope & Harmony

“You stayed,” I say, unable to hide my grin as I approach where she sits, sipping a glass of wine.

Madi nods. “I did.”

“Why?”

At that, she tilts her head to the side, her expression growing soft. “I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.”

I nibble on the inside of my cheek as I consider my words, finally deciding to just say exactly what’s on my mind.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Her lips curve. “Absolutely.”

CHAPTER 3

MADISON

I’ve been living in New York since I first came here for college. I went from a small residence hall room to a tiny apartment to a studio that I lived in up until my attack. After that, I didn’t want to be alone.

Sure, I still storm out of my apartment into the night, refusing to allow the past to rob me of my freedom. But getting hit over the head with a bat, robbed, and left for dead in an alley will make even the bravest person think twice about independence.

I wouldn’t ever say this to Avery, but I don’t feel safe anymore, not anywhere. I’m always nervous, even if I refuse to let anyone see it, even if I refuse to change my behaviors in deference to that fear. I’m still afraid.

But as Scott and I wander through the city, I’ve never felt so safe. It feels amazing to hold hands with the man who saved your life.

The doctor said if another hour or two had gone by without medical intervention, I might have had brain damage or lost significantly more blood. Instead, I was kept in an induced coma for a few weeks after surgery while my body did some work toheal itself, and I only had minor cognitive issues for the first several months after I left the hospital.

Now, I’m completely back to normal—minus the fear—and the fact that I get to wander through the East Village with him fills me with a surge of something I can’t name. Joy, maybe. Excitement, certainly. But something else.

Maybe it’s not that I can’t name it; it’s that I don’t want to.

Because the word flitting around in my head isdesire, and that can’t be right.

Surely not.

His hand is warm and reassuring in mine, and that should be it, but when his thumb strokes gently against the inside of my wrist, a shiver races through me, pooling low in my belly.

I let out a long, steady breath. He’s incredibly attractive, and I want to know what it would be like to press my lips against his, to feel his tongue ring as he traces the inside of my mouth.

Another shiver ripples through me.

“Are you cold?” he asks, his voice low as he leans close.

I shake my head, but he’s already pulling off his jacket and bringing it around my shoulders. Part of me wants to decline, but I change my mind once I’m wrapped in the smell of him—something warm and spicy and uniquely him.

We don’t go anywhere specific. There’s no end point in mind. We just stroll aimlessly, sharing our histories, our lives, for hours, and it isn’t until we end up at The Battery that I realize we’ve wanderedmiles, something I haven’t done in this city for three years.

Sure, I’ve walked to work, to run errands, to meet up with friends, but I haven’twandered. Not really. Not without a care, not without a purpose or a place to be. And the fact that Scott has given that back to me, tonight of all nights, makes me more emotional than I would ever admit.

Eventually, our feet begin to protest. After I call my sister to give her a brief update and reassure her that I’m okay, we call an Uber to take us to wherever Scott’s staying in Brooklyn. He holds my hand as we drive, both of us quiet in the darkness, the city lights fading away as we cross the Brooklyn Bridge, and I realize he has barely let it go since we left R&B hours ago.

Not that I’m complaining.

“Our management company asked if we had opinions about where we stayed for the couple days we’re here,” Scott tells me as we walk down the hallway on the 8th floor of a boutique hotel facing the East River. “Growing up in Bushwick, I always wanted a nice city view. So that’s what I asked for, and they delivered.”

He swipes a key card at the end of the hall and pushes inside. I can’t help the way my jaw drops when I see what he means.

“Acity view? That isthecity view,” I tell him, laughing.

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