Page 29 of The Meaning Of You

Madigan didn’t jump to answer, just watched me like he was weighing his response. “What Iexpectfrom you?” He hummedthoughtfully. “Well, since this is you we’re talking about, it’s safe to say I came here with zero expectations—” He shot me a rueful look. “—aside fromnotbeing whacked in the stomach with a length of framing timber. I’d have thought that was a pretty low bar on the expectation scale, which only shows how wrong a guy can be.”

I threw my head back and laughed, which was pretty much a fucking miracle, all things considered. “Fair point,” I conceded. “I apologise... again.”

He grinned. “You’re chalking up quite a list there.”

“Something I’m not unfamiliar with,” I admitted. “Davis used to say that I had the unenviable ability to put both feet in my mouth while shoving my head up my arse at the same time.”

Madigan laughed. “I think I would’ve liked your husband.”

I stared at him for a moment, the lump in my throat expanding—struck silent by hearing those words outside of my head. Because it wasn’t like I hadn’t thought the same on the all-too-frequent nights when I wore a deep hollow in the middle of my empty bed, doing anything but sleep. Safe in the dark, I’d draw the warm cloak of Davis’s love around my body and consider what it meant that Madigan had walked into my life at the exact moment that Davis was so intent on leaving. How Madigan and I...connectedin some strange way that wasn’t too dissimilar to Davis and me. Same, same, but so very different. Sliding doors. Entering and leaving. It was intriguing and disturbing to say the least, and crazy at best.

Toodisturbing andtoocrazy on top of everything else.

Distance was the sensible option. Distance was good. Distance was safe. No big existential questions. No suffocating guilt. No spilling my heart. Distance gave me time to sit with Davis. Time to make sense of this sudden gaping chasm in my life. A yawning hole I wanted to bury myself in. A hole I wasn’tsure I wanted to leave. A hole that had no room for the blunt kindness of Madigan Church.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, breaking the silence. “That was a stupid thing to say.”

“No.” I shot him a quick smile. “I’m pretty sure he would’ve liked you as well. Two men of books? Yeah. You two would’ve got along well.”

Madigan gave a clipped nod. “I don’t think I told you I read one of Davis’s books before he died, the last one he published,Strange Passion. It was really good. He had a real talent.”

I blinked at the admission, although I shouldn’t have been surprised that Madigan would take the time to learn about Davis in that way. It was a very Madigan thing to do. And yet it somehow felt... intimate, like he’d glimpsed behind a curtain into our lives, and the thought was weirdly unsettling. Or maybe it was simply the fact that I’d been trying so hard to keep them apart in my head for reasons that would remain unmentioned, when the intersection happened, it felt jarring.

Madigan’s smile faded. “Oh god, I’ve done it again. I did warn you I wasn’t safe for public consumption. I’m sorry, Nick. I wasn’t being nosey.” He blushed prettily. “Well, maybe a little nosey, but I was intrigued. I spend all my life working with books, but I hardly know any actual authors.” The flush deepened. “Not that IknewDavis, of course. I only meant— Shit. I think I’m just going to leave it at, I’m sorry.”

“Stop.” I managed a grin and disposed of my empty cup onto the coffee table. “It’s actually reassuring. Makes us even on the socially awkward scale. I feel better already.”

Madigan chuckled. “Happy to be of service.”

“To be honest, I feel a little guilty. I hadn’t even read his last book when the accident happened, and then I just... didn’t.” He looked thoughtful. “Although to be fair I was shockingly bad at keeping up with his projects. It was just as well he didn’t needmy approval to be amazing. The week before everything went to shit, he’d signed a contract on the screen rights to that book. He was as excited as I’d ever seen him, and we’d celebrated with his favourite pasta and cracked open a bottle of bubbly. He’d actually laughed at my promise to finally read the thing.”

And then he made love to me like we’d just met all over again. Like he was discovering my body for the first time. Like I hung the moon and he couldn’t get enough.Like the gaping distance I’d felt between us for those last couple of months before the accident had never existed.

“It was the last time we really spoke about anything important to do with his writing,” I confided, my gaze sliding to the spread of magazines on the floor where I’d swept them in a fit of rage at some point and then left them there. “A week later he was in hospital.”

The room fell silent and Madigan’s gaze burned two holes in the top of my head. I couldn’t meet those gentle eyes, the aching emptiness eating me alive still too raw. Instead, I reached for his book and changed the subject. “Sherlock Holmes,again.” I finally looked up. “Is this some kind of obsession I should know about? Now I’m the one intrigued. Tell me more.”

Madigan relaxed and set about answering my question. Maybe we both needed the distraction. He explained that he’d found that particular Sherlock Holmes almost falling out of its spine in a tiny bookshop in Reading in the UK. He’d been teaching a weeklong course on illuminated manuscripts at the University of Reading and spent his evenings and weekends prowling the bookstores and antique shops in the vicinity.

I held up a hand. “Stop right there. Illuminated manuscripts? Jesus, Madigan. Even I know they’re a big deal. I’m gonna assume you’re not a run-of-the mill conservator, then?”

His face blew hot and his gaze slid over my shoulder. “I, um... well... some people seem to think I’m good at what I do.”

I waited until his eyes tracked back to mine. “Good, huh? And what doyouthink?”

That blush turned crimson and he let out a long sigh. “Iwould say that I’m knowledgeable in some areas and a complete novice in others.”

“Uh-huh.” I bit back a smile. “And you can’t lie for shit. If I asked the experts in your world, what would they say about you? Would they consider you an expert?”

He shuffled in his seat, looking as uncomfortable as I’d ever seen him. “I don’t know what you want to hear. Why is this important?”

I took a breath. “I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable, but most of our conversations centred around me, or Davis, or Golden Oaks. I want to know more aboutyou. Give me something here.”

Madigan scrubbed his hand down his face and grumbled, “That’s a bit rich considering you’ve spent the last month avoiding me, and in truth, you’ve told me verylittleabout yourself. Just enough to shut me up so you could change the subject, which you’re very good at by the way.”

He wasn’t wrong, but he was one of the few people to call me on it. “Noted. And you’re right.”

Madigan fell back on the couch and blew out his cheeks. “Fine. Yes, people in my field would likely consider me an expert at what I do. Happy now?”

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