Page 31 of The Meaning Of You

I had no problems with that. “Sure. Just please don’t tell her about the break-in.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Understood. Will you promise to answer my texts now and then so I don’t have to come and check on you?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Ifyoupromise not to walk into another piece of wood.”

He rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “You’re still an arsehole for that. Let me know what happens with the police. And what are you doing for Christmas? Do you need a place to escape?”

I shook my head. “I think I’ll go to Lizzie’s. As you reminded me, she’s grieving as well. Neither she nor Samuel are celebrating, so we can be sad sacks together. And I’ll text you about the police.” I began walking Madigan to the front door; that unique scent of old paper and ink rising from his skin was oddly comforting. For a second, I wondered if my shirt would smell the same when he gave it back, then I quashed the thought. “Anything else I can do for you while I’m at it?” The question was meant in jest, but another red flush swept up Madigan’s neck.

“Sorry. Ignore me.” He stopped at the front door.

I reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t apologise. I promise to do better at keeping in touch.” I opened the door for him to step through but he stayed where he was.

“I really am so sorry about Davis.” His green eyes glistened in the sunlight. “And I get that you’re doing things in your ownway, but if I can ever be of any help, or if you ever needanything, please call me.” He covered my hand on his shoulder with his. “I’m a good listener, Nick. I’m even good at just being in the background if you need silent company. I aced Wallflower 101.”

That made me smile.

“You probably won’t need any of it, of course, but just in case.” He locked eyes and there it was again, that strange tug that almost had me asking him to stay.

I didn’t, and Madigan headed out the door and down the steps without a backward glance. I watched until his car disappeared from view, then pressed the door closed with a quiet snip and turned my back against it.

One long slow breath was followed by another and another. The walls of the townhouse pressed in, the endless silence screaming in my head. I slid down the smooth surface of the wooden door until my butt hit the floor and sat there. How long for, I had no idea. Long enough for the shadows to stretch across the vestibule and begin climbing the wall. Long enough for the afternoon sun to fade and grey. Long enough to feel a pull to the numbness of the lounge, the television, and maybe a beer or six.

I was about to cave when my phone broke the tomblike silence and Madigan’s name flashed on the screen. I almost laughed.

Get out of the lounge.

I snorted at the text and typed.I’m not in the lounge, arsehole.

He took a few seconds.But you’re thinking about it.

Smug fucker.Am not.Totally a lie.

Dots came and went.Liar.

I laughed at that.

And eat some damn vegetables. Maybe a decent protein, too. Any food group other than heart attack 101 would be excellent.

It was hard to argue with that.Yes, Dad.

These places do excellent home-cooked food deliveries.A couple of links appeared on the screen and neither rang a bell.

I shook my head and replied.I’ll think about it.

The dots went on for a long time before finally,Do that.And just so you know, I think Davis would be proud of you.

I tried to breathe but there was something blocking my throat. It felt something like hope and a lot like gratitude. I stared at the screen for a long time, Madigan’s words blurring through my tears.

Because I knew Madigan was right. Davis would’ve been proud of me. He always was. And he’d understand if I was fucking things up now and then. There wasn’t any right or wrong way to do this grief shit. There was just my way, for today. Maybe tomorrow that would change. Maybe not.

I shoved my phone in my pocket and struggled to my feet. I took a tentative whiff of one armpit and screwed up my nose. Damn. That was one thing Davis would’ve had a lot to say about. And with that in mind, I planned the rest of my day, starting with a shower, then ordering some decent food and cleaning the fucking lounge.

None of that was going to miraculously ease my grief, but the house and I would at least smell better while it processed.

Baby steps.

CHAPTER EIGHT

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