The Darkest Corner of the Heart: Chapter 12

The next few days are pure, slow torture.

I didn’t see her during our session on Friday, since I was away at a work conference, but that didn’t stop my mind from spiraling.

For days, I thought about her more than I should have. I thought about that morning in my office, when I told her she wouldn’t be able to go back to professional ballet for a few months, and how I could see the struggle behind her eyes as she accepted her new reality. How badly she needed to break down—so I gave her an in.

Once upon a time, I also watched as my dream was lost, washed down the drain, and I vowed to never allow anyone else to fall into that same pit of despair.

If checking in on Maddie when I’m off the clock makes her feel better, then it’s a no-brainer.

But that’s not all there is to it, not by far, and if I were a better man, I wouldn’t let this ember of interest spark to life.

Because I’m an asshole, though, I let it simmer.

I decide to give myself some leeway, just to see what it would feel like to dangle something so forbidden right in front of my watering mouth and never taste it.

Because I won’t. I can’t.

For two reasons.

Reason number one—she’s my patient. I have already crossed multiple lines by accepting her gift, and let’s not even speak about the fact that I went to that bar specifically to see her.

And reason number two, perhaps the most compelling and daunting of all—she’s twenty-one.

For fuck’s sake. I don’t think I could hit a lower low.

Before, I was one of those guys who frowned upon men who got involved with younger women. What could a thirty-something-year-old want to do with a young woman in her very-early twenties? What could two people so different have in common?

It doesn’t matter that, technically, Maddie and I aren’t involved. And we will never be. But I can’t deny this…this simmer of something, and it’s messing with my head.

Because I should have no business making sure she’s okay beyond her injury. It’s not my place to treat her mental wounds.

“Another root beer?” Graham’s dark eyes land on my refilled glass. “That’s the second one tonight.”

“Congratulations, you can count.”

Probably against his will, he throws his head back in laughter. “I’m surprised you like them so much, is all. They taste like shit to me.” I can feel his stare on the side of my face. My friend hesitates before asking, “Have you talked to him yet?”

Taking another sip of my poison of choice, I use the drink and the rowdy hockey crowd at the bar as an excuse to delay my response. My hopes that somehow, by some miracle, my friend drops the subject are in vain.

“I wouldn’t pressure you for an answer if I didn’t think this would be good for you, Jimbo.”

“Don’t call me Jimbo, Graham Cracker.”

“I will until you give me an answer, Jimbo.”

This son of a—

“No, I haven’t. Not planning to either. There. Happy now?”

“I’m just saying, man.” He shrugs. “Don’t do it for Andrew—do it for yourself.”

At the mention of my brother’s name, my stomach drops. I slide my best friend a cold, hard look that tells him everything my mouth won’t.

“Hint taken,” he says, putting the subject to rest.

We eat our greasy burgers, I flag down the waitress—Monica, I recall—for some water this time, and Norcastle’s hockey team wins the game to nobody’s surprise. A few players get interviewed at the end and say a bunch of stuff I can’t even begin to understand. Graham soaks it up like a towel on a puddle, and suddenly I’m ready to go home. Why I agreed to go for a drink on a Tuesday night is beyond me.

I’m about to go up to the bar to ask for our check when a familiar smell hits me out of nowhere. Something clean and flowery.

I could lie and say my heart doesn’t start hammering inside my chest. I could lie and say my hands don’t start sweating at the prospect of seeing her again outside of the clinic. I could lie, but I’m not a liar. An asshole, sure, but never a liar.

“Doc?” That sweet, raspy voice. That smell coming closer. “Is that you?”

Ignore her, ignore her, ign—

My eyes collide with her hazel orbs, so big and all-seeing, and I find myself trapped. “Miss Stevens.”

The little smile she gives me almost manages to take me out completely. “It’s good to see you.” She turns to Graham, and I freeze.

“Hey, I’m Maddie. Nice to meet you.”

I don’t imagine the sly look my friend sends my way before giving her his full, undivided attention and his biggest smile.

“Maddie, huh? Name’s Graham.” He holds out his hand for her to shake. “How do you know Jimbo over here?”

She looks at me and giggles at the nickname, making me want to strangle my so-called best friend to death.

“He’s, uh, he’s my physical therapist. At the rehabilitation clinic,” she explains, and I swear her words light up Graham’s eyes. I don’t like this one bit.

“You don’t say.” He rests his chin on top of his hand and scans her face. “Tell me he’s an asshole at work too. I’m dying to hear it from the very source.”

She chuckles—another stab in my stomach. “He’s a little grouchy, but he’s all right. He’s good at what he does.” Just to prove her point, she wiggles her ankle back and forth. “See? Almost brand-new.”

It’s not and she knows it, but she hides her pain well. It’s something I’m yet to master.

“You’re in good hands, then, Maddie.” My friend smirks over the rim of his bottle, and I’ve had enough.

“What are you doing here?” It comes out harsher than intended, but I don’t correct myself.

She looks taken aback by my tone for a whole second before that easy smile is back on her face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so relaxed.

“I work here. You know this.”

I do. Of course I do. I’m losing my mind.

“Doing what?” my friend asks, sounding genuinely interested.

“I used to be a waitress before you-know-what.” She shrugs. “Now I’m washing dishes in the kitchen, but I’m grateful Monica allowed me to come back at all. Leaving the apartment is good for me.”

“Cheers to that.” Graham tilts his beer toward her and takes a sip. “You working now, Maddie? Or do you want to grab a drink with us?” he asks, and the mortification settles in her eyes just as it drops like a heavy rock in the pit of my stomach.

Once again, she covers the shock with a smile that could’ve easily fooled me if the darkness within me hadn’t already recognized hers.

“Thank you, but I still have a couple of hours to go. I just came by because I thought I saw him.”

“What a shame.” My friend leans in as if he were sharing a secret with her. I don’t like it. “I bet you’re more fun than this… What did you call him before? Grouchy one over here.”

Her eyes sparkle with amusement as she looks my way. “I’m tempted, but I really should get back to work. It was great seeing you.” Then she smiles at my friend again. “Nice to meet you, Graham. I’ll see you guys around.”

Just as she’s leaving, carefully so as to avoid slipping on the floor slick with spilled drinks, a dangerous thought crosses my mind.

Forgetting the consequences and my inner pep talks about how I should stay away from her outside of the clinic, I launch forward and almost fall off my damn stool. “Wait.”

She stops and looks at me over her shoulder, eyebrows drawn together. I’m confused too. That flowery scent fills my nostrils when I get close enough, and I hate myself for basking in it.

The top of her head reaches my shoulder just barely. Our height difference shouldn’t make me want to toss her over my shoulder just to hear her laugh, yet here we are.

“Yes?” She arches a half-curious, half-amused eyebrow, and I snap out of it.

“What time does your shift end?”

She glances at the wall clock behind the bar, where Monica sends her a curious glance I guess she doesn’t see, since she ignores it. “In an hour and a bit. Why?”

I could spend that time hauling my ass home and binge-watching some show with my cats until I fall asleep, but instead I say, “I’ll give you a ride home when you’re done.”

Her breath hitches, and something twists inside my chest. “You don’t have to do that,” she says, her voice so low I almost don’t hear it.

“I’ll be here a while longer with my friend, and then I’ll wait for you in my car,” I tell her, leaving no room for discussions. Over my dead body is she going back home alone, injured, and so late at night.

But she doesn’t seem to share my sentiment. “You can go home, James. I’ll be fine.”

James. There goes another stab in the heart.

“It’s dark, and you won’t be able to get away with an injured ankle if something happens.” A sudden urge to protect her, to make sure she gets home safe, grips me and doesn’t let go. “I’m driving you home, Maddie.”

For a moment, she seems to consider it. I really don’t want to come off as controlling, but the thought of something happening to her while she’s alone and injured…

Get a grip.

“Fine. I’ll see you in an hour.”

She waves me goodbye and resumes her walk to the kitchen, disappearing moments later.

Back at my table, I barely hear Graham’s taunts about how I hauled ass right after a patient to offer her a ride home. I barely acknowledge his dumbass remarks about the kind of ride I probably wish I could give her.

All I can focus on is the way my name sounds on her lips, as if I had any right to hear it.

✽✽✽

Maddie’s shift ended fifteen minutes ago, but I still remember what it was like to work at bars from my college days, so I’m probably looking at another fifteen-minute wait until she comes out. Not that I’m complaining.

There are only two other cars bathing in the darkness of the parking lot, and I can see the silhouette of a man sitting inside one of them. One more reason I’m glad I stayed behind to wait for her.

I let out a tired sigh and rub my eyes, the lack of sleep from the previous nights finally catching up to me. I roll down the window and let the cool air in to avoid falling asleep behind the wheel, but soon it becomes clear I need to get out of this comfortable seat if I want to stand a chance.

Once I step out of the car and rest my back against the driver’s door, I scan the parking lot again, stealing furtive glances at the front door of the bar. A few patrons wearing hockey jerseys come out, but still no Maddie.

My eyes fall on the man in the car a few feet away. He’s staring at the bar, too, and from out here I’m able to discern a couple of his features—old, balding head, mean scowl. There’s nothing particularly threatening about him, yet this weird feeling settles in the pit of my stomach and refuses to go away.

I tell myself he must be waiting for someone. A friend, a relative, a partner. This isn’t a dangerous part of town, but the dark is the dark. It’s possible we’re both acting as very willing designated drivers tonight and nothing else.

But… No. This still doesn’t feel right.

My gut is never wrong, and I won’t ignore it today of all days.

Before I can overthink it, I lock my car and let my feet carry me toward him at a slow, almost leisure-like pace. If he’s dangerous, I don’t want him to feel threatened. My six-foot-five height and my grumpy-ass face—as Graham would put it—don’t give the best first impression.

As I get closer, I notice his window is down and his left arm is perched on it. Only when I’m almost there does he slide me a look. His dark, wrinkly eyes scan me from head to toe, but he doesn’t say anything.

Very well—we’ll play by my rules.

“Everything all right?” I ask, hands in my pockets. I keep my voice casual just for good measure.

The man eyes me again warily. “You a cop?” His voice doesn’t sound as deep as I expected.

I ignore his question. “I’m curious as to why you’ve been staring at that door for the past twenty minutes.”

He huffs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I look at the door again when it opens, but it’s not Maddie who comes out. Still, I don’t want her to see this creep when she does, so I decide to cut our interaction short. “If you aren’t waiting for anyone, I’d advise you to leave this parking lot right now.”

That manages to rile him up. I can tell he knows he’s at a disadvantage here, seeing how I’m standing next to him and he’s strapped into a car seat.

“You a cop or not?” he asks again, clearly distressed about that possibility.

“Maybe.”

An eternal beat of silence passes between us before he starts the car.

I knew it. Damn it, I knew he wasn’t waiting for anyone.

Without sparing me a glance, he speeds out of the parking lot, but I don’t return to my car until I’ve lost sight of his lights down the street. Good fucking riddance.

I don’t want to alarm Maddie by telling her there might be creeps lurking outside her workplace at this hour, but I’ll have a word or two with Monica.

Or better yet—I’ll drop by to pick Maddie up when she has a night shift.

As soon as that idea crosses my mind, I realize how insane it sounds. I’m not her friend, her brother, her anything to be looking after her like this. I was here today, completely by chance. That’s why I offered her a ride, but I can’t be going out of my way for her like this.

There are potentially dangerous people lurking out here. Someone could hurt her.

And that possibility burns me alive.

When I reach my car, the door to Monica’s opens again, and this time, Maddie walks out holding a take-out bag in one hand. She blinds me with one of those sweet smiles. “I know you’ve already had dinner, but that was ages ago, so I got you some chicken wings. Is that okay?”

Hell.

Her smile widens, and so does the dark hole inside my chest.

Fuck.

I clear my throat and look away from her. “Let’s get you home.”