Page 131 of Pink Ink

“Fine,” he breathes out reluctantly once the person enters one of the other rooms, breaking the spell.

My breath rushes out, and I nod, looking away so he doesn’t see the tear fall.

Neither of us exchange another word as he grabs my hand and guides me back through the study and the catacombs, then out into the open.

I should snatch my hand away, but it stays right where it is. In his, where it’s warm.

There’s a whole other universe right beneath my feet—one that my dad was a part of. Holding Maddox’s hand seems inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. So I let myself have this stolen moment.

A car pulls up in front of us, and he opens the door for me. I don’t know where it came from or when Maddox might have ordered it. Whether out of blind faith or pure stupidity, I go in, missing his touch the instant he releases me.

“Where are we going?” My voice is hoarse. I can feel my body slowly giving out on me.

“To my safe house.”

I frown. “Why?”

The way Maddox glances tensely out the windows sets me on edge. “If someone saw you, would you prefer to lead them to your place?”

A tremor works down my arms. Just because I made it out doesn’t mean tomorrow is guaranteed.

I watch Maddox out of the corner of my eye. He’s running his hand through his hair, and glaring out of the window. I haven’t decided if I regret my decision to go down there since I’ve now dragged Maddox into my mess, and he of all people is concerned.

There’s solace in knowing that despite everything that’s unfolded between us, I know he’s not going to let me get hurt. I truly believe he meant it when he said he’d give me answers.

My pulse races at the thought of getting closure after a year of feeling like a failure day after day because I still wasn’t any closer to knowing the man my mother loved. I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t scared to learn about what my father was involved in. Nothing good, I’d imagine.

I’m functioning on autopilot, letting Maddox take me from a car, to the subway, to a cab, then back on a subway until we reach an unassuming apartment complex. I stop myself at the last second from taking Maddox’s offered hand, and wrap my arms around myself to avoid the temptation to touch him.

My lungs stutter when he places his palm at the base of my spine like he needs the contact more than I do.

I step out of his reach. My anger spikes at his hurt expression. He doesn’t get to be upset. I was the one who wanted to make this work, and he’s the one who chose to blow up.Hemade the bed. He can lie in it.

If Maddox tells me what I want to know, then we can go back to being strangers. He doesn’t have to make this any harder than it needs to be.

Padding behind him up to the apartment, I watch him enter the code for the front door: 26474. It feels important that he’s letting me see it. Hope, the most treacherous emotion of them all, blossoms in my chest. Shaking my head, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

I couldn’t have imagined Maddox owning a place in this building. The floorboards are uneven, there are cobwebs in every corner, and the occasional rung is missing from the banister. The most shocking part is that Maddox would buy property inside a building with a mix-match of warm- and cool-toned paint.

The tiny traitorous voice is still singing in my head, and my stomach swoops with misplaced glee.He’s showing me more of himself.

I mutter my thanks when he stands back to let me inside his apartment first. When the light switches on, an odd feeling settles in my chest. It looks so… normal.

“I come here after a kill,” Maddox explains as if sensing my thoughts. “Or to get away. It’s my favorite one in this city.”

I’m not sure what surprises me more. That he has more than one safe house or that he’s divulging additional information without being prompted.

Saying nothing, I leave my shoes by the door to continue my perusal of his space as he busies himself in the kitchen.

It’s a standard, open-plan studio, with a couch, desk, kitchen, and everything else I’d expect to find. Dishes are on the drying rack, a glass of water on the coffee table, a container of saltines in the middle of the counter, and even a plant next to the TV. The bed through the open French doors is unmade. There’s a pile of clothes in the laundry basket and an unfolded pair of jeans on top of the duvet.

His safe house is more lived in than his actual house. It could be another one of his carefully calculated facades.

I deposit my coat and bag on the bench, hesitating before setting down the taser. I didn’t realize I still had it gripped in my hand.

Maddox motions for me to sit on the couch as he finishes pouring two cups of tea. Seeing him behind the kitchen island hits harder than it should. It’s a glimpse into the life we’ll never have—one where he makes us tea before bed and we have breakfast together in the morning before rushing off to work.

A vision of what could’ve been.