The Heartbreak Hypothesis

30 - Holmes and Watson

Falling into silence, we were trapped like fireflies in a jar, caught in a moment before acknowledgment or resolution. In a moment where anything was possible. I didn't know what he was thinking, or what he was hoping for. I didn't know if he was even hoping for anything, or if he was just being polite. I couldn't read his face. The contours were drenched in shadows, the line of his jaw uncharacteristically hard.

I was so nervous, but I had to ignore the knots in my stomach. I had to block out the voice telling me that this was the last time I'd ever see him, that I needed to etch his features into my memory. I had to fight through the discomfort and say everything that I needed to say.

Or as much as he allowed me to.

"James ..." I tried, my voice cracking.

He looked up expectantly, his light-hearted demeanor replaced with something more serious. Because it was time. We both knew it was. We couldn't go on procrastinating forever. This time, too much damage had been done.

I took a steady breath.

"I'm sorry."

My apology hung in the air, as still as the leaves on the willow cradling us. He didn't say anything, but his gaze was still fixed on mine. He was still listening.

I fought the urge to look away, to avoid accountability. I had to clean up my mess, even if it hurt me all over again. "I shouldn't have flipped on you the way I did."

"No," he finally spoke. His voice was low. Hoarse. "You shouldn't have."

"I shouldn't have lied to you all for so long, either."

He wasn't as quick to respond that time, his glare fracturing the slightest bit. "You didn't lie, exactly—"

"But I wasn't honest." I couldn't let him make excuses for me. I knew he wanted to—it was just in his nature, just the kind of person he was. But I couldn't let him walk away without knowing that whatever he was feeling was valid. "I want to be honest now. Even if it's too late. I owe you that."

His mouth opened and closed, and I braced myself for an outburst. I was so used to people turning on me, even when I hadn't given them a reason to. James had a reason, and I expected him to throw daggers at me like the ones I'd thrown at him.

But he did something that surprised me. He edged forward, his feet landing on my checked blanket.

And he sat.

I blinked, speechless. I hadn't expected him to let me get this far. I hadn't expected him to stay behind without Noah at all.

But that was just it. My expectations of men were so low that I almost couldn't believe it when one exceeded them. When one listened to me.

"I've always admired you," I told him, relaying my thoughts. "You're so collected. Calm. Strong. All the time."

"I'm so not—"

"You are," I maintained sheepishly, my eyes traveling down to my hands. "You have it all together. And my life is such a mess. It wasn't fair of me to drag you into it. Not when I'm so damaged."

"Madison, you're not damaged." He chuckled to himself, the tension melting from his jaw. "You're a little irritating sometimes. A little sarcastic." His lips pulled into the shadow of a smirk, laughter seeping through his mask. "A little disagreeable."

My face pricked with heat at the word I once used to describe him.

"But not damaged," he continued, his voice like velvet, his gaze just as soft. "Not broken."