I blew out a breath as I closed the door of my London flat and tossed my keys on the table. I was trying not to worry, but that had been easier to do while I was busy. Now that I was home, now that all was quiet around me and in my head, bothersome thoughts started to creep back into my mind.
It was stupid. Senseless. I thought I'd risen above this feeling.
But when Madelyn had told me that she'd spoken to Rob, that he had a day off for the first time in weeks and wanted to meet with her, I sunk right back down into the simmering depths of jealousy.
"I don't have to, Harry," she'd said over the phone yesterday. "Just because things were fine when you two met doesn't mean I think it's okay to see him. If you feel uncomfortable at all, just say so."
The only problem had been, I didn't want to admit to it. I shouldn't have felt that way—that had been all I could think. I'd met him now. He wasn't the faceless threat to our relationship I had at one point imagined lurking in the shadows. And I could tell just from the five minutes I'd spent in his presence that he didn't have any intentions where Madelyn was concerned. Not anymore. I'd even gone as far as to tell him that I didn't want to stand in the way of their friendship, and rationally, I still didn't.
But irrationally, jealousy filtered its way through cracks I hadn't known were still there somewhere inside me. And it had flared up as soon as Mads had told me he'd texted asking to see her.
"Did you answer him?" I'd asked rather than respond to her statement—rather than acknowledge that yes, I felt uncomfortable.
"Not yet," Mads had said. "I wanted to talk to you first."
She was leaving it up to me, I'd thought with a sinking feeling. "Well, did he say what he wants?"
"Just to catch up, I think. Although he did say he wanted to talk to me about something," she'd replied, and hurried to add, "But, look, Harry, I don't think I'm going to go. I can tell this isn't something you feel comfortable with, and I totally—"
"No," I'd said, feeling stupid and pathetic and surprised with myself all at once. "I mean, I—"
"It's okay," she'd said. "I can just tell him I've got something going on. And it won't even be a lie. I haven't even started packing, and the flight's in two days."
I'd stayed quiet, then. Her flight here. After just over a month apart—during which she'd completed another expedited summer semester of teaching—she was coming here to spend a couple weeks with me before promotion for my album began towards the end of the month. And we'd spent the past month calling and texting as often as possible. Especially when she found things for our flat in Manhattan.
Mads had taken photos of everything, and she'd sent them all to me before purchasing anything, wanting to make sure it was something I would like. And for the most part, I did. She'd gotten stools for the kitchen counter, a desk for the office, towels for the bathrooms and dish towels for the kitchen. She'd also gotten an antique coffee table that matched the wooden beams in the apartment almost perfectly, and was pleased with herself for finding it at a flea market she'd gone to with Emily. She'd even gotten bedding for our bedroom, and had started filling each room with personal things like photos and books. I still hadn't been able to talk her into plants, but she promised we could look for something together when I came back.
And though she'd started bringing some of her things over and leaving them there—winter clothes, for instance—she hadn't actually slept there yet. That, she had said, her first night in her new home, she wanted to spend with me.
All of that had gone through my mind in that moment yesterday, while she waited on the other end of the line for an answer. And I felt even stupider for feeling the least bit insecure in our relationship anymore.
"No," I'd said, knowing it was the right thing to do. Knowing that I trusted her with my whole heart. "You should go."
Mads had paused for a breath. "I really don't have to."
"I trust you, Mads," I said, verbalizing it for the first time since everything we'd been through a year ago. A full year ago, I'd realized before going on, "And weirdly, I trust him, too. I'm sure everything'll be fine."
"Harry," she said, blowing out a breath. "Are you just saying that? Because the last thing I want is for you to pretend this is okay when it's really not. If this will hurt you, please say so."
"Go, Mads," I'd said, thinking of their friendship. Reminding myself that it was an important friendship—that it had gotten her through everything. "I may be just a bit a jealous that he gets to see you before I do, but I'll get over it."
Mads had giggled a little. "Okay. If you're sure."
"I'm sure," I'd said. "Let me know how it goes."
"Is that code for, 'Make sure you're home by a reasonable hour and you better tell me every detail?'"
I'd chuckled. "Yes. Absolutely."
The smile in her tone then had my heart aching. "Alright. Will do."
Now, as I flicked on the lights in my kitchen and opened the fridge, I was still waiting eagerly to hear every detail. She'd texted to say they were meeting for coffee—not lunch or dinner—after she finished filling out some paperwork at school. He'd be meeting her somewhere nearby.
But I hadn't heard anything since. And if it was just after nine p.m. my time, that meant it was after four her time.
She should be getting home soon.
I'd eaten with the band already—we'd been rehearsing for upcoming television and radio performances all week—but boredom (or maybe nerves) had me pulling biscuits out of the cabinet. I stuck one in my mouth as I turned on the kettle.
That's when my phone dinged.
My heart leaped as I slid it out of my back pocket, as the water in the kettle began to make a soft whirring noise.
Are you home?
Mads.
I didn't even bother answering, just dialed her number.
"Hey," she said, already smiling.
"Hey yourself," I said, asking "How was your day?" before taking another bite of biscuit.
Mads giggled softly, and I hated myself a little for how eager I was to know how things had gone. "It was good," she said. "How was rehearsal?"
"It went well," I said, impatience urging me on. "Same old, really."
I could picture the crooked tilt of her lips as she asked, "Have we officially adopted Mitch yet?"
It disarmed me enough to chuckle. Mads hadn't even officially met Mitch, but between hearing about him from me and seeing photos of the two of us together, Mads had decided she wouldn't mind adopting him into our relationship. Whatever that meant.
"He's resisting for some reason," I joked. "Something about being a grown man."
Mads clicked her tongue. "But he's such a little love."
From the very first time I'd told her about him—how serious he was, how cerebral he was, how gentle a soul he was—she'd decided she loved him and always would.
For some reason, it had never made me jealous.
"Well, maybe you'll be able to convince him when you finally meet. I think he's kicking against being my child, not so much yours."
Mads giggled. "Fair enough. How's everyone else?"
"Good," I said, thinking of Clare and Sarah and Adam and Alex. "Everyone's ready to get back out there with the new stuff. It feels really good to be playing together again."
"I can't wait to hear this album live," she said, and her excitement was tangible even over the line. "It was one thing hearing the demos, and another hearing the finished product. But it's going to be a totally different experience hearing it live cause you still never sing for me."
I chuckled. "Oh God. Before we get off on that track, can you please put me out of my misery and tell me how today went?"
"You were miserable?" She wasn't smiling anymore. She was alarmed. Worried.
"No," I said quickly, and I meant it. "But the longer we put this off, the closer I get to reaching misery."
"Harry," she was laughing a little again. "It was fine."
I smirked, relief already flooding my chest. "I'm gonna need a little bit more than that."
"He's seeing someone," she said, and she was definitely smiling once more.
It took me a moment to process that, but when I did, any sense of jealousy I'd still had dissipated. "He--he is?"
"Yep," she said, and she sounded incredibly pleased. "It's still pretty new—they've only been seeing each other a few months—but he seems really happy."
My eyes went wide and the kettle went off. I hurried to turn it off. "That's—that's good."
"It's really good."
"So, he was seeing her when he came to your party?"
"Um, well... yes and no."
I felt my brow furrow as I poured boiling water into my mug, watching the water darken in swirls. "What does that mean?"
"It means he was seeing him when he came to my party, yes."
I set the kettle down. "Him?"
"Him," Mads confirmed, and she was still smiling.
I leaned against the counter, left the mug of tea to steep beside me. "So..."
"He's bisexual," Mads said. "He'd never told me before. But apparently things have gotten pretty serious with this guy, and though he's never actually dated a man before, he's going with it."
"That's—" I honestly didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to react. Only that I was happy. Incredibly so. For him, for her... and for me. "That's amazing."
"Isn't it?" she asked. "And that's why he wanted to meet in person."
"Yeah," I said, feeling eager again for a reason I couldn't name. "That's not exactly the kind of conversation you want to have by text or phone."
"Exactly. And considering our history and our friendship now, he didn't want me to hear about his new relationship from anyone else. He wanted me to hear it from him."
"How is he such a good person?" I asked, genuinely flabbergasted. From the way he took care of Mads and the way he reacted when he'd met me, to this, I couldn't understand how someone could possibly be that kind, that respectful, that understanding of the others around him.
Mads laughed. "Don't ask me. You're a rare, rare breed. I must've done something pretty spectacular in another life to have met two of you in this one."
I didn't know what to say to that—hearing her lump me in with him. It didn't feel like we were of the same breed. She didn't know how jealous I'd been. She didn't know the thoughts I'd had. She didn't know the anger I could feel—the anger I had felt when things were wrong between us. I never could've been as gracious or accepting as Rob had been when she'd ended things. I never could've been as understanding in letting her go.
And I'd proved it last year when things were bad between us.
She went on when I didn't answer, "It's a bit of a relief, to be honest." I tuned back into our conversation. "There was a part of me that still felt pretty bad about what happened."
The engagement. The way it had ended.
"He's never made me feel like I took advantage of him, but I can't help but feel like I did."
"You were in a bad way, Mads," I said, fearing the way her voice had softened—the pensive quality it had taken on. She was reliving it. Going through it all in her mind. And I didn't want her to feel that guilt again. She'd dealt with it enough.
"I know, but... I should've had more sense. It's like I don't even know who that girl was—what she was thinking when she said she'd marry him." She went quiet then, and it left me just enough time to wonder what that girl had been thinking, too. What her headspace must've looked like and felt like for her to have reached that point.
"You've never really talked about that," I said, unable to help myself. "How that happened exactly."
Her breath of laughter then was shaky. "Do you really want to hear it?"
Considering I now knew Rob was happily taken, I felt more prepared than I ever had before. "Only if you want to tell me."
When she sighed, I knew she would. That if this was what I wanted to know, she would go through it again for me. It almost made me stop her. Tell her that she didn't have to relive it if it was going to cause her pain again. But I wasn't Rob. I was selfish. I was desperate for even more validation that she and I were an us, even after all this time.
In the silence that stretched between us, it was almost like I could see her shaking her head in the moments before she spoke.
"I was coming out of it," she said after a silence so long, I wasn't sure she was going to respond. "I had been in therapy for a few months, and... I was feeling better again. Not so heavy all the time. But... still not like me. Not yet."
I was barely breathing.
"He was the only thing... the only person who could get me out of the house. The only person I really wanted to smile for." I imagined her biting her lip before rushing on. "He brought me to a family party. His mother's sixtieth birthday. I didn't want to go, but... he always made me smile. And I wanted to make him smile, too." She heaved another breath, let it out quickly. "I hadn't expected it at all. Not even for a second. We were a couple for all intents and purposes, though we'd never really said as much. He was just... always there for me, and holding his hand, accepting his affection—it was easy. It felt... good at the time. Like—like it was waking me up from a really deep sleep. But only for a little while. Because when he wasn't with me, when he wasn't touching me in some way, I wasn't there anymore. Not really, anyway."
I tried to control my breathing. Tried not to let the jealousy, the anger, overwhelm me. Not so much with her—what I felt when it came to her was frustration more than anything else—but with me. I should've been there. I'd never even tried to contact her after that night in my hotel room. Maybe if I had...
But that was useless. It was pointless to go through all of that again when we'd come so far from needing to.
"So when he got down on one knee in front of his whole family and all his friends, it took me a second to catch up. To understand what was happening. I still don't know what made him think we were at that point, though of course we'd been through more than most couples have over the course of their entire lives together. But... All I registered in that moment was that everyone's eyes were on me and his mother's hands were over her mouth and she was trying not to cry, and no one talked as they waited for my answer, and I could hear my own heart beating in my ears. Hear each quick breath." She paused. "But Rob was holding my hand, steadying me the way he always did, and when he looked at me, smiling, I—I loved him. For everything he'd done. For being the only one who hadn't given up on me or been afraid of the way I pulled away. For—for not even knowing that he was the one who stopped me when I—"
When she broke off, my heart reacted. Ached.
"You have to understand," she said, "I thought we were over. I thought not hearing from you meant we were done. And even if we weren't, when you found out the truth, we would be. And Rob, he... He was so clearly nervous as he waited for my answer, and... I wanted to make him smile."
She paused again, but this time, like she had caught herself. Like she wasn't living in that moment anymore, but living in this one again.
"I said yes for him as much as I said yes for myself. It was a generous acceptance as much as it was a selfish one, and I only really started realizing that when I saw you again at the wedding. When I remembered that Rob wasn't the only one who had ever made me smile, and he had never made my heart pound nearly as fast, or hurt nearly as much as you."
I had been still for so long—my legs crossed at the ankles, my back against the counter, one arm crossed over my chest, the other elbow propped up to hold my phone to my ear—my body was stiff.
"That was only ever you, Harry," Mads said. "My strongest emotions, my deepest love, and my widest smiles have only ever been for you."
Heat prickled behind my eyes, and I shifted on my feet, letting that emotion wash over me and fill me and completely overwhelm me. But I couldn't get an answer out—I didn't know how to verbalize what I was feeling into anything nearly as moving as what she'd just said.
"Did that... was that too much?" she asked, sobering enough to laugh a little, but the sound was nervous. "I didn't want to downplay anything, but I didn't want it to hurt you either. Are you okay?"
"I—I think so," I said, uncrossing my legs, shifting around on them, feeling the blood course through them again. I sniffled, glanced at the tea I'd forgotten on the counter beside me. It wasn't steaming anymore, but the mug was still warm.
"You don't sound it." I hated the note of worry in her voice.
"Well," I tried to laugh, "It was hard to hear, I won't lie, but... I needed to."
When she didn't answer, I asked, "Are you okay?"
Even the sound of her laughter wasn't right. "I will be." She sniffled. "Especially since I'm seeing you tomorrow."
I was immediately brought back to all that was happening now—where we were now. She was coming here tomorrow, we had a home together in New York, she had a job that she loved, I was still doing what I loved, and we had so much more to look forward to. Things between us had never been better.
But even all of that didn't chase the feelings of frustration, of anger, of sadness away completely. The echoes of them were still there, and I wondered if they always would be.
"One more sleep, my girl," I said, choosing to ignore them for the moment. Choosing to feel excitement instead.
"I can't wait," she said. And from the way her voice changed, I could tell she'd chosen excitement, too.
I let that sound—that quiet, reassuring thrum of feeling and love in her voice—carry me into the next day, get me through each hour, each minute until I could leave for the airport. And it only intensified as I got closer, had me nearly running to the baggage claim area when I arrived.
And I was an hour early.
But better to be here when she arrived than to be late. Even if now I had to try and steer clear of being spotted.
Fat chance.
Still, the kind of excitement I only knew when it came to seeing Madelyn made me not care in the least.
We'd gone far longer than a month without seeing each other, but for whatever reason, this past month had felt longer than ever before. Maybe because we'd never been so stable. Maybe because any time apart now still sometimes made me worry—still made me feel like I was going to wake up one morning and find that we still weren't together and wouldn't be ever again. Maybe because I was doing everything I could to ensure that any time we spent apart now would never be permanent again.
I settled into an uncomfortable plastic seat only a few away from a man in a suit tapping away on his phone. There were plenty of people in the airport now—it was early evening here in London, so I tugged the hood of my sweatshirt up around my head and kept my eyes on the ground, hoping to be as inconspicuous as possible while I waited.
But for whatever reason, I couldn't focus on my phone. Nothing on it was holding my interest. I kept glancing up every so often, watching people pass before I realized that I shouldn't do that—that if I were to make eye contact with anyone, my already-weak cover would be blown.
Thoughts were racing through my mind, making focus on anything other than the fact that she was now half an hour out totally impossible. And a ridiculous amount of energy was coursing through my vessels, making me want to jump up and pace around until she arrived. My heels started tapping on the floor instead.
Unbidden, my mind cast me back into a memory—one that I'd been picking apart at least once every day for the past month.
I'd been sitting in the kitchen of the Freeman household, my hands knotted together on the wooden kitchen table. My heels were tapping the same way then, my knees bobbing up and down beneath it's surface.
Madelyn had left me, and I knew she needed to—she and her mother had a lot to discuss, and I hoped it would end with a good result, not a bad one. But she hadn't left me alone. She'd left me with her father. And I felt Will Freeman's blue-eyed gaze like a laser searching my skin.
I hadn't known what to say, and uncharacteristically, started filling the silence with words anyway—just to attempt to ease my nerves.
"If I'd known she hadn't told you both about the coming to England, I would've made sure she did," I'd said. "I'm sorry that this happened."
Will had sighed then, and I felt like I knew him, but not well enough to anticipate how he would react. This was a new situation for us both. He very easily could've been upset with me. He very easily could've taken the opportunity to let me know how much he disapproved of what had happened these last couple of weeks.
How much he disapproved of me.
But, as I'd come to find out in that tense, nerve-wracking moment, I didn't know Will Freeman.
Not really. Not yet.
Will had sighed, and something like a smile ghosted across his mouth. He'd raised a hand and brushed it over his beard, a scratchy sound filling the weighted silence.
And when his response didn't come fast enough for my liking, I hurried to add more.
"The last thing I wanted was to cause a rift between Madelyn and her mum. I—I feel awful about it, and... and if there's anything else I can do—"
"Harry," Will said, and I heard the amusement in his voice before I looked up—before his amused smile registered in my mind. He was leaning over the table, both elbows planted on it. "Nothing anyone can do would ease up the tension in that relationship. Trust me, I've tried."
I'd almost breathed a sigh of relief then.
Almost.
"I—I don't want you to be upset either," I'd said. And left it at that. My knees bobbed a bit faster beneath the table.
But Will's face hadn't changed. If anything, it only became more amused.
He sat back, tapping his fingers against the table, and said, "I'm not."
"You're—you're not?"
Will had laughed. Shook his head. "No. Not anymore at least." He leaned forward again. "See... this isn't so much about you, Harry. Not for me, and not for Michelle either. No matter what she might say, we both know you make Maddie happy. And don't think that's not important to us."
I'd waited, less afraid of where this was going, but still nervous nonetheless.
"Michelle can be... challenging," he'd continued with a smirk. "But this has never been about you. It's about her. It's about letting Madelyn go."
I'd let that settle in my mind, let relief take the place of nerves.
"And it's about..." his eyes searched the table as if the words he was looking for would appear there. "It's about letting her go into a world that none of us imagined for her. Your world."
My world. A world of cameras and gossip and the kind of attention no one truly wanted, only put up with for the sake of a career that was nonstop, that at times, was unmerciful in it's demands. A life that was never easy, only it's own kind of consistent. It's own kind of comfortable.
You'd never want for anything, but at the cost of your privacy, your freedom to do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted—your very life became more than your own. It didn't just belong to you anymore. It belonged to the world, too.
My world asked for all kinds of sacrifices. To me, it was worth it. It always had been. The positives outweighed the negatives. But being with me was it's own kind of sacrifice. And while I'd understood that in a sort of separated way before being with Mads, it was a truth that hit me with force in that kitchen, sitting across the table from her father.
She'd never be free from the world's attention. She'd never be free from their talk. She'd never be free to let her guard down in public again.
All to be with me. And I was selfish enough to ask it of her.
"I—I understand," I'd said, even though the realization hurt. Even though hearing that it worried her family hurt. I tried to make light of it. "I'm not exactly your average Joe, am I?"
"No, Harry. You're not," Will had said, and he didn't say it with any contempt, but it sounded like a condemnation all the same.
I'd tried not to let how much that hurt show on my face.
"But ya know..." His blue eyes met mine. "I'd be a fool if I didn't see how all of that means you could take care of her, too."
My heart had lifted almost immediately.
"Better than anyone else she could've chosen," he'd gone on to say. "And that's pretty important to me, too."
"I want to," I'd said, too eager to stay quiet any longer. Too eager to prove to him that I was worth it. Madelyn being with me would be worth it. "More than anything."
Will had nodded. "I can see how much you care about her. How good you are to her."
"Mr. Freeman," I'd said, leaning forward now, too. Something like impatience prodded me forward. "I—I care about her... more than anything else."
"I know, Harry," he'd said, perhaps sensing how frantic I'd become. "I know."
"So much," I'd said, needing him to understand. Needing him to know that what I felt for her wasn't going to change, that it had only gotten stronger and stronger in the months we'd been together. That I knew I was asking for a lot in asking her to be with me—that it might seem like the sacrifices outweighed the benefits—but I wanted him to know that I would be worth it. That I'd make her sacrifice worth it. "And... and I know that asking her to be with me is asking for a lot, but... but I can't see my life without her. I—I want to marry her someday."
"Uh... excuse me?" A voice interrupted the memory, and the colors and sounds of it rippled out of focus to allow the sights and sounds of Heathrow to rush back in.
I looked sideways at the man sitting beside me. He smiled hesitantly.
"So sorry to bother you," he said, "but I've been sat here wondering if you're Harry Styles for the past forty-five minutes, and if you are, my daughter would kill me if I didn't ask for a picture."
I wanted to go back. Sink back into that moment with Will Freeman. Pick it apart the way I had every day for the past month, searching for any hesitance, any sign that he didn't want for his daughter the future I wanted for us.
But I pressed a smile the way I always did, and reminded myself that sacrifices like these—they were always worth it.
"I am, and of course," I said, turning towards him in my seat.
"Thank you," the man said, and I noticed there was a brown stain on his white shirt as he tapped at his phone, as if he'd spilled coffee on it. "Actually, would you mind if I filmed a little video instead? If you could say hello to her, that would be wonderful."
"No problem," I said, waiting for him to lift his phone.
He held it aloft, looked at me past it. "Her name's Quinn."
"Quinn," I repeated, "Got it. Just tell me when."
After another moment, the man nodded at me, and off I went, saying a little hello to Quinn, all the while sensing others watching our exchange, registering who I was. And I felt disappointment fill my chest as the cost of being me, of my career, asked for payment once more.
But as more people surrounded me, I comforted myself with the rest of that memory. Let the rest of my conversation with Will Freeman play out in my head, even if I couldn't give it my full focus. Even if I couldn't analyze it the way I'd scrutinized it every single day since having a similar conversation with Michelle last month.
I hadn't intended to say that much. And the sound of those words—I want to marry her—echoing between us seemed to have shocked us both. My knee had started bobbing incessantly again beneath the table as I waited for Will's response.
"Uh," Will Freeman had finally said, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "Look... Harry... you're young, and—"
"I mean it, Mr. Freeman," I said then, knowing that the words I'd uttered were true, and that they needed to be said. Right then. Right in that moment. As if I'd somehow known that I'd never have another chance. "I know I'm young. I know Madelyn's young. And I would never want to rush into anything as serious as that, but... I've also lived a lot of life already, and, I guess, I... I know what it means for me to be saying this to you now, but I feel I need to because—because I'm completely in love with your daughter, and I know enough about the world to know that I don't want to lose her, or face it without her going forward."
"Harry!" voices called now, and people rushed around me, recognition once more piercing the bubble of my privacy.
Phones were thrust in my face, hands scrabbled at my clothes, my body—as if I didn't belong to myself at all.
But Will Freeman was in my mind, and just like in that important moment in his kitchen, I felt like I should be wearing armor of some sort to prevent the strangers around me from seeing how desperate I was.
Not desperate for privacy or to be left alone. But desperate to have Madelyn.
Desperate to have our future together despite the cost.
"Oh boy," Will had finally said over chuckles, through what looked to be tears in his eyes. "I thought I'd have a little more time before I had to have this talk about Maddie."
"You still do. Have time, I mean," I'd said.
I glanced at my phone during a break in the action, heart lurching as I realized that I'd completely missed the fact that Madelyn had texted.
She was here. She was on her way.
"Harry," a soft, breathless voice called. I looked into the young girl's camera.
"Mr. Freeman," I'd said, half-wondering how this had happened—how the conversation had taken this turn—and half-relieved to be getting it off my chest. "My life, it's... it's busy, to say the least. And Madelyn is still in school, and I want her to finish. I want her to lead her own life, and realize her own dreams. I know how important that is, and I wouldn't want to take that away from her by forcing this anytime soon. I just wanted you to know where my head's at. That's all."
Even in memory, I searched his expression, looking for any sign of distrust or upset or just plain not wanting to hear it. And even though I knew what he'd said, I was still half-waiting for him to deny me.
But that wasn't what Will had said.
No, his response had been, "I appreciate that, Harry. I really do."
My phone vibrated in my hand, and I looked down as soon as the girl was done taking her picture.
Madelyn. Almost at baggage claim.
She still had no idea. No clue that I'd had that conversation with her father.
Will had kept his word.
"And if we could..." I'd said, noticing with some trepidation that Madelyn's and her mother's voices had quieted in the next room. I had already been anticipating her arrival. "Maybe, keep this between us? I'd really appreciate it."
Will had chuckled again, zipped his lips. "I won't say a word."
I had nodded, relieved again. "Thank you."
"Thank you," I said now, stepping away from the small crowd that had gathered, anticipating her arrival in the present, too.
"Harry," some voices called while others thanked me. And I paused again when I noticed a young guy I hadn't seen yet hold his phone up for a picture.
Sacrifices. My life was made up of them. And by virtue of that, Madelyn's was, too. It had to be. And very soon, I'd be asking her to make even more.
Her father had seemed happy about it. And I could only hope she would be, too.
"For the record," Will had said, the memory of him growing slightly fuzzy around the edges as my attention was called elsewhere. But I wanted to remember that particular moment. The way he'd smiled, his blessing clear in his eyes. "I'm happy to hear it, too."
I'd needed that reassurance every single day since I'd last seen her. And as I tugged myself away from the outstretched arms of fans who asked for more than I could give, another piece of that memory washed over me.
Madelyn coming back into the kitchen when her father and I had gone silent, new understanding tremulous between us. Michelle trailed behind her, but I'd barely noticed her. All I had been able to see was Mads' smile, small at first, but growing by the moment as soon as we'd made eye contact.
I didn't know what I'd expected, even then. But upon seeing that smile, every part of my body relaxed. Everything had been okay, and though things were different now, and I was nervous for entirely different reasons, everything would be okay again. I was sure of it.
So, when Madelyn made her way around a corner towards baggage claim, dozens of people milling around her—when she met my eye and smiled widely, with no hesitation, I forgot the people crowding around me completely. It wasn't like the smile she'd given me in her kitchen three years ago.
It was better.
___
Author's Note:
A Monday update! To make up for lack of a Friday update, but still :)
Hope you've enjoyed this chapter babes! I had a really lovely time on vacation, even though I could've used a couple more days ;) But it feels just as good to get back into the swing of things! And REALLY good to get this chapter up for you. It was a rather emotional one to write bc of a certain Will Freeman making an appearance <3 I know we got a piece of that particular conversation already, but I hope you enjoyed getting to see the rest of it play out, too!
GAH, THREE MORE CHAPTERS LEFT. I outlined them right after my last post, and I'm pretty sure that's all I'll need. AND I CAN'T BELIEVE IT. I guess no matter how often I do this, it's always going to be bittersweet pulling a story to a close. But at least with this one we have another book to look forward to :)
So anyway, let me get this up for ya. Please let me know your thoughts if you feel so inclined! I have two chapters to catch up on in terms of comments, but rest assured, I WILL get caught up! And of course, to everyone reading, THANK YOU ENDLESSLY. If you've been around since the start or if you're just getting caught up now, it means the WORLD that you've given these books a chance. All the love to each and every single one of you. Until Friday, babes. Lucky you, you get a two chapter week ;) xx