Page 36 of Trade It All

Chapter 15

Maddie

Idon’trememberagreeingto any of it. Not out loud. But somewhere between me asking why he was staying home and the way he looked at me when he answered, something in me stopped pushing.

“Because this is where you’re going to be today,” he said, steady, like it wasn’t something up for discussion. “And I’m not leaving you.”

There wasn’t anything to argue with in that. Not the way he said it. Not the way he looked at me when he did. So I didn’t.

Now I’m sitting on his couch, tucked into the corner with a blanket pulled over my legs, a British cooking show playing on the TV that I haven’t actually watched for more than a few seconds at a time. It fills the space, keeps the quiet from pressing in too hard, but my mind keeps slipping away from it anyway. Back to him.

He’s sitting beside me, his laptop open, focused on something hockey-related that I know matters to him, but every so often I feel it—the shift in his attention, the way he checks in without making it obvious. Like he always knows exactly where I am. It should make me uneasy. It doesn’t. That’s what I don’t understand. I pull the blanket a little tighter around myself, trying to focus on the TV again, but it doesn’t work. My thoughts keep drifting back to the kitchen, to the way he said we were fixing it like it wasn’t something I could brush off or avoid.

To the way he held my face. Careful. Like he saw everything and chose not to make me carry it alone. I shift slightly, my shoulder brushing the couch as I settle deeper into the corner, and my eyes flick toward him before I can stop them. He hasn’t moved much. Still watching film. Still focused. But I can feel him anyway. Present. Steady. Then his eyes lock on mine.

I look away first. Because it’s easier than sitting in whatever this is, easier than trying to understand why being here with him doesn’t feel like something I need to escape from. I should question it. I should feel something sharper than this. But I don’t. I stay where I am, letting the noise from the TV fill the room while something quieter settles in my chest.

A subtle vibration catches me off guard. It’s quiet, almost easy to miss under the noise of the TV, but my body reacts to it anyway, my hand already reaching for my phone before I fully think about it.

Luka

Sorry Mads.

My brows pull together as I stare at it, the words sitting there without context, without explanation, like I’m supposed to understand. My mind starts trying to piece it together, to figure out what he’s apologizing for—

Dean’s phone rings.

The sound cuts straight through whatever I was about to think, sharp enough that I look up immediately. He doesn’t hesitate. He answers it on the second ring, his posture shifting in a way I recognize now, something tightening in him without him needing to say a word.

He listens for a second and then “No.” The word lands hard, final, and whatever is on the other end of that call—it’s not small. “Absolutely not.” I don’t hear the other voice. But I don’t need to.

“Are you fucking serious?” His jaw tightens, his hand dragging once through his hair like he’s already losing patience with whatever’s being said.

There’s a pause. Then—“Fine. But if she so much as sheds a tear, it’s over.”

My stomach drops. The call ends just as quickly as it started, and before I can ask anything, he’s already turning toward me, shifting on the couch until he’s fully facing me. His hands land on my legs, over the blanket, firm enough that I feel it immediately, the heat of his palms sinking through the fabric like it’s nothing.

“Luka and Addy are downstairs.”

Everything in me tightens. It’s immediate. Automatic. My shoulders pulling in just slightly, my breath catching in a way I don’t quite manage to hide. He sees it. Of course he does.

“If you don’t want to see them, I’ll send them away.” His voice isn’t pushing. It’s steady. Controlled. Giving me the out without making me feel like I have to take it. “But Addy knows something’s wrong.” Of course she does. She always does. There’s a pause, and then he leans in slightly, his hand lifting, his fingers brushing just barely along my cheek where the bruise sits. It’s so light I almost don’t feel it. “Are you in pain?” The question is quiet. Different than before.

I shake my head slightly. “No.” It’s not entirely true. But it’s close enough. A knock sounds at the door. Not soft. Not patient.

“Dean!” Addy’s voice follows it, loud enough that it carries straight through the space, familiar in a way that pulls at something deep in my chest. “I swear to God, if you don’t open this door—”

Despite everything, something in me almost smiles. Almost. He looks back at me.

“Want me to let them in?” I don’t. Every instinct in me says no. To stay here, stay quiet, stay in this space where I don’t have to explain anything or let anyone see more than I’m ready to give. But it’s Addy. And she already knows.

My head moves before I fully settle into the decision, a small, slow nod that feels heavier than it should. "Yeah."

He watches me for half a second longer, like he’s making sure I mean it, like he’s checking that I’m not forcing myself into something I don’t want. “You say the word, Baby,” he says quietly, his voice dropping just enough that it feels like it’s meant only for me, “and I’ll kick them out. Okay?”

I nod again. He doesn’t wait for anything else. He’s already moving, pushing off the couch and heading for the door as Addy’s voice rises again, louder this time, impatient and familiar in a way that makes my chest tighten for an entirely different reason.

And just like that—the quiet is gone. And everything I’ve been avoiding is about to walk straight through that door. The door barely has time to open before Addy is through it. She doesn’t pause. Doesn’t take in the room. Doesn’t look at Dean or Luka or anything else standing between us.