A warm breeze wafted through the open windows of the cafe, and I turned my face toward it, watching as the sheer curtains billowed into the room, buoyed by sunlight as well as wind.
It was a beautiful day in England, but had the windows been closed in this restaurant, it would've been unbearably hot. As much as I loved my home country, the Americans had the right idea where air conditioning was concerned. It was better to have it everywhere than nowhere at all, just in case of days like today.
I stared through those open windows, watching people pass by on the street. And I probably would've enjoyed the whole atmosphere a great deal more if I wasn't feeling the remnants of last night's fears take hold. I just wasn't enjoying this quiet day in Holmes Chapel as I might normally have. No, with my arm around the back of Madelyn's chair, and my focus on the world outside of this restaurant, I was waiting for one of the passers-by to hold up a camera pointed in our direction.
And scolded myself for being so paranoid.
"So what does she do for them, then?" Mum asked as I tuned into the conversation again. She and Mads were both picking at what was left of the appetizer we'd ordered—some kind of salad.
"She's one of only three sales associates," Mads was saying. She brought her napkin to her mouth as she chewed. "It's a small boutique, so usually only two of them are in there at once, but she works alone a lot, too."
Her mum. They were talking about Michelle. I tried to seem like I'd been listening the whole time.
"And she likes it?" Mum asked.
Mads nodded emphatically as she swallowed her last bite of food. "Loves it. I think it was the perfect thing to get her back to feeling like... like she was needed, I guess."
Mum murmured her agreement, her eyes totally focused on Madelyn.
"Not that I don't need her, or my brothers or her grandchildren don't need her," Mads was quick to clarify, laughing a little. "Cause we do. But, you know, we're all doing our own things now. Mark and Will are married, both have full-time jobs, I've got a full-time job... and since then, she's just been... alone in the house. All day. It helped to have me there at night, but I worried about her during the day."
I glanced at Mads now. She didn't seem particularly emotional, but I put my hand on her knee anyway. Her fingers slid over mine, keeping them in place.
Mum clicked her tongue and lifted her water glass. "That couldn't have been easy."
Mads shook her head, her gaze on the table now, and I could tell her mind was far, far away for the moment. "No, it wasn't." She heaved a sigh after a bit of a pause and smiled. "But it's all good now." She looked at me, her brows furrowed. "I think it's been like, what, ten months since she started there?"
"Mm," I set my own water glass down, "She started in November I think, didn't she?"
"So, like nine months, then." Mads looked at Mum again. "And it turned out to be the best thing for her."
"That's wonderful," Mum said, planting her elbows on the table and folding her hands together. "She really seems like a take-charge kind of woman."
Mads laughed. "Oh, she is. A no-nonsense, full speed ahead, take-charge kind of woman."
Mum's eyes gleamed as she laughed along. "I can't wait to meet her. I'm already sure I'll like her."
Madelyn's smile went a bit shy. "I hope so. Hopefully, we'll be able to get you two together sometime soon. Right, Harry?"
"Hm?" I asked, tearing my gaze away from a woman standing just outside the restaurant. She was talking on her phone, but she kept glancing in here every so often, and we'd made eye contact a couple of times. It didn't look like there was any recognition in her stare, but I couldn't be sure. I'd already decided that at any moment, she was going to stop pretending to talk on the phone and point her camera in our direction.
Mads laughed a little, and maybe if I was paying more attention, I would've noticed the small hitch in it—the worry. When I finally met her eye, her gaze slid to Mum and back to me quickly. "It would be nice if we could get our Moms together soon. Don't you think?"
She emphasized each word, and I was too distracted by that woman to even feel guilty for not paying complete attention.
"Yeah," I said, relieved I hadn't missed anything important so that I could turn to the window again—only to find that the woman had disappeared. "Definitely."
Perhaps if our food hadn't arrived right at that moment, I would've found myself being questioned for my short response. But as the waiter set down each of our dishes, Mum and Mads seemed to once again forget me completely as they "oohed" and "aahed" over each other's meals. And I was grateful for their distraction because it allowed me to continue surveying our surroundings.
I wasn't angry at Mads. That much I'd been able to determine almost immediately after closing my laptop last night. But I was angry. And that anger didn't feel like it had completely left me yet.
We were living in a fish bowl, she and I, and it was all my fault. Since the start of my career, I'd had to deal with this kind of scrutiny, and it had always had a pretty profound effect on the ones I loved as well. For one thing, I was never home often enough to really feel part of the family anymore, but even when I was, I brought the world back with me.
Cameras had taken some time to find their way into Holmes Chapel, but the fans had found their way around much more quickly. I was still only sixteen the first time they'd found my house, and I remembered being more excited than anything else when I'd gone outside to greet them and take pictures. But Mum had stood at the door, her arms crossed as she watched with a polite, but sort of wary smile. Because she'd known what all that fuss over me had meant. She'd known things would never be the same again.
But we couldn't have anticipated the way it would all turn negative so quickly. The names I'd be called. The stories they'd concoct to make me out to be something I wasn't. The perception of me the world received on a daily basis.
And it had taken some time and some real soul-searching to decide that silence was my best bet to ensure that none of those stories rang true. It was my only way to shout a big FUCK YOU to all of them without having to say a word. It was the only way I could stay sane, even if sometimes, I felt the need to respond and correct every single one of their misjudgments of me.
I'd had to fight the urge every time.
That would have done no good. And it only would've made me seem like I had something to defend. Something I was trying to keep hidden.
It took a while for me to learn that—to believe it. It took a while for me to no longer feel the sting of their barbed words. It took a while for me to be okay with my black and white truth, no matter how they tried to splatter it with only the ugliest of colors.
But now that I had Mads—now that those colors were aimed at her as well—I went back into defense mode. It was amazing how easily it came back to me. The anger. The frustration. The desperate need to do something—even if it was just analyzing every single face that passed us by—to feel like I was protecting her somehow.
"So, what's your plan for the rest of the summer?" Mum asked when we were finished eating.
I'd barely tasted my sandwich. But the whole thing was gone—so were the fries—and I still didn't feel satisfied.
Or settled.
Mads looked at me. "Well... after Harry leaves New York in a couple weeks, I'll mostly just be preparing for the new semester."
"No trips planned?" Mum asked, sipping the last of her water.
"Just this one," Mads said, and her hand slid over my knee this time. "Unless Harry's got another surprise planned?"
I was able to process the jocular tone of her voice, and smiled instinctively when I met Madelyn's eye. "I'm sure I'll get you out for a couple of tour dates later in the year," I said, slinging my arm around the back of her chair again. "But you'll be happy to know that I don't have any more surprise trips up my sleeve."
Mads smiled, but her brows drew together just slightly as she studied me, and I knew I wasn't doing a good job of hiding the fact that my mind wasn't totally present at the table.
I touched a finger to her bare shoulder and rubbed it gently back and forth to attempt to reassure her.
"Harry was never very good at keeping secrets, so I'm amazed he's able to keep things from you long enough to pull off surprises," Mum said with a smile my way.
"He's actually a little too good at it," Mads said, side-eyeing me. She was smiling again, but I could tell she was searching for something, and was afraid she'd push me for answers right then and there.
My only option to prevent that was to engage in the conversation. I leaned forward and planted my elbows on the table with a smirk. "Now, Mum'll tell you how I ruined everyone's birthday surprises every year."
Mum laughed and Mads smiled and I was able to lose focus again as Mum launched into the first tale—how I'd ruined one of her gifts for her when I was four and how Gemma had gotten so angry with me for it, she'd stomped up to her room and slammed the door, heartbroken that I'd revealed the surprise.
Every so often I'd register Madelyn's laughter as I studied each passer-by again. I knew it was entirely the wrong approach—I'd blend in a lot better if I didn't make eye contact with every stranger walking by—but I couldn't help myself.
The fans would find me anyway. They always did. They always would.
I'd lain awake last night mulling it all over--their responses especially. I'd tried to tell myself that they were just looking out for me, that those fans meant well in their own way. Not many people in this world had an army of supporters ready to go to battle for them, but I did, and I was blessed to have them.
But the problem was, they were too quick to go to battle when they didn't know the whole story. When they didn't have all the details. And they took their defense of me to the next level when they started decimating Madelyn's character and threatening to cause her physical harm on my behalf. I couldn't seem to get past that—the fear for her, the sudden and desperate need to protect her, and the worry that asking her to marry me now, in the midst of all this nonsense, would only do her, me, us, more harm than good.
And I was angry. Pissed beyond belief. Not at her. At them. At the world for being too involved, for digging too deep but never deep enough, for creating a different version of my life and believing in that version more than they believed in me.
But I wasn't angry at them either. They weren't totally at fault. They were just trying to help. They were just trying to be there for me the way they always had been.
I was more pissed at myself. For letting this get to me. For feeling the way I was feeling—the doubt and indecision where there was only certainty before; the need to defend myself and Madelyn when neither of us had done anything wrong; the way I loved her, so fiercely, I was willing to let her make the kinds of sacrifices I'd had to make when I was younger, even though they hadn't been choices for me. I was planning to ask her to make them anyway. And lastly, the ridiculous, out-of-bounds frustration with her for going out with Rob that day—for not being more vigilant, for not being more careful.
And I was more out of line for that feeling than any of the others. So I was angry with myself all over again each time I had to rein it in.
But that's all I'd done since I saw everything last night—go back and forth among feelings I didn't want or ask for, but couldn't seem to get rid of regardless.
Watching Mum and Madelyn stroll through town ahead of me didn't help my general unease after lunch. Normally, I would've been more than comforted by the sight—full with only the deepest love for the two women. Now, I just paid careful attention to the way everyone else noticed them, and waited on pins and needles for someone to start taking pictures of us.
"Harry," Mum said, turning to call over her shoulder. Mads looked, too.
Neither of them had seemed to mind that I'd fallen several steps behind them during our way-too-leisurely stroll. If I was feeling like even a fraction of my normal self, I probably would've purposely fallen behind, if only to give them time to enjoy each other—and to allow myself the time to enjoy them together.
Madelyn's brows drew together as I got closer. Not drastically, but enough that I took notice.
Mum didn't look any less suspicious.
"Are you alright?" she asked, laying a hand on my arm as her worried blue eyes roamed over my face. "You look upset."
"Fine," I said, glancing down at my feet. I shifted my weight. "Sun's in my eyes."
It was partly true.
It wouldn't have occurred to either of them what was really wrong. Neither of them would guess that I was too preoccupied waiting for flashes from cameras or screams or something far worse. Not here. Not in my home town. But it was the first time I felt this much anxiety being out in the open in my little village, and despite that, I didn't want to ruin their day. I knew my feelings were ridiculous. Neither Mum nor Madelyn needed to be weighed down by them right now.
"Are you sure?" Mum asked. And I felt Mads' eyes on me, too.
"Yeah," I said with a nonchalant shrug. "Where we headed?"
I would tell Mads later. Not now. Not when she was still unburdened by all that was being said about her. Not when she could still rest assured in the knowledge that what had happened between us was staying between us.
Because the other nagging bit of all this was that while everything she'd been through—we'd been through—was still knowledge only our most trusted friends and family had, I didn't know how much longer that would last. I didn't know how much longer it would take for the public to dig up the truth.
But I had a feeling it wouldn't be long.
Mum didn't believe me, I could tell, but perhaps she didn't want to spoil the day either. "Well, I was thinking we might bring Maddie by the park I used to take you and Gem to, but she says you've already taken her there."
I looked at Madelyn, seeing the memories that flashed through my mind swim into focus in her eyes.
The white puffs of her breath in the cold. The way she'd huddled her shoulders up around her ears to keep warm. Her pink cheeks lifting with her smile. Running to the swing-set, laughing breathlessly with her as we pumped our legs until they ached—trying to beat the other in a game of "who can get higher". Then, the calm after the storm. The way I hadn't realized how cold I was until I had my arms wrapped around her, until our breath mingled in a visible cloud in front of us. The way we'd swung gently back and forth as the conversation turned to something much more serious.
That had been the first time we'd talked about our future. The first time we'd agreed that what we'd both been envisioning individually matched up to form one perfect, cohesive vision. One beautiful, hopeful dream.
A smile touched the corner of Madelyn's lips now, and she glanced down at the ground, her cheeks going pink once more.
I hated that that perfect vision felt tainted now.
"Last time she was here, yeah," I said, sticking my hands into my pockets.
Mum furrowed her brows. "It was freezing last time she visited."
I laughed a bit. "We didn't stay long."
But that conversation, I thought as I looked at Mads again, had stayed with us.
"Well, how about we take her to your school then?" Mum asked, and I very nearly groaned aloud. She looked at Mads though. "It's closed for the summer months obviously, but we could show you around the grounds."
Mads looked at me. I tried to keep my face open.
But my defenses were kicking in again, reinforcing themselves. There was a good chance there were kids at the school—playing football or just hanging out on the fields—and though we hadn't drawn attention yet as far as I could tell, I was sure we would be recognized there.
"Actually," Mads said, eyeing me a moment longer before turning to Mum. "Would it be alright if we just headed home for now? I, uh—I'm a little tired now after eating. Think the jet lag is still working it's magic," she finished with a laugh.
But she looked bright-eyed as ever, and I knew she'd woken today fully refreshed because she'd been so happy this morning that my sleepless night had seemed and felt all the more miserable in the wake of her beautiful smile.
"Of course!" Mum exclaimed, all concern now as she wrapped an arm around Madelyn's shoulder. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"
Mads smiled and looked at me just before Mum turned her around again, and if I'd had any doubt she was fibbing, that doubt went away before she could even turn her head.
"And this heat," Mum was saying, grasping Madelyn's hand now as she hurried her in the direction we'd just come from—back toward the car. "It's enough to tire anyone out after just a few minutes of walking."
Mads was still smiling when she glanced over her shoulder at me. I trailed after them, relieved to be heading home, but anxious now because I knew I'd have to tell Mads the truth.
I spent the whole car ride considering how. How I should explain. How I should reassure her when I hadn't yet been able to reassure myself. How I'd deal with her being upset, how I'd deal with her tears. How I could possibly ask her to marry me anytime in the near future. How I could possibly ask her to marry me ever when this was the life she had to look forward to.
It was the longest car ride of my life.
But the journey upstairs once we reached the house—the way Mads had looked at me when she announced she was going to lie down, the way she'd told me with her eyes to follow—made me wish for that long ten minutes of a drive again.
Because the mere seconds I had left wasn't nearly enough.
I didn't want to tell her. I didn't want to hurt her. I didn't want to be angry. I didn't want to be frustrated. I didn't want to be unsure. I didn't want to feel this way about asking her to marry me.
I only wanted to go back to what it had felt like last night, in those moments right after she'd fallen asleep. When her breathing was steady and her body was warm beside mine and all was right in the world.
"Okay," Mads said as I closed the door to my room behind us. She turned around to face me, her arms crossed. "What's going on?"
I tried to play dumb, but only to buy myself a little more time. "What do you mean?"
Mads huffed, and ordinarily, it would've made me smile. "Seriously?" I waited. So did she. Then, she rolled her eyes. "You've been acting weird and distant all day."
"No, I haven't." Stupid. That was stupid to say, but now I was starting to panic.
"Harry," she said, and she sounded exasperated as she stepped forward. When she was close enough to bring her hands to my chest, I closed my eyes. "What's going on?" she repeated, much more slowly this time, the concern much more evident in her voice. "You're starting to scare me."
I opened my eyes, hating that there was worry in hers.
Mads touched both sides of my face, made me maintain the eye contact. "Tell me," she said, and she ran her thumbs along my jaw. The pads of her fingers scratched against the little bit of stubble on my chin. "Tell me so we can fix whatever it is."
It was the wrong thing to say, though she never could have known that. The anger bubbled up, hot and insistent in my throat.
"That's just it," I said, and shook my head, "We can't fix it."
Mads' brows furrowed, and before she could ask me any more, I stepped around her, sat down on my bed. Grabbed my laptop. Opened it.
I could feel her looking at me, feel her confusion and her mounting anxiety.
"Harry," she said, and the sound was so fearful now, her voice trying desperately to keep the panic in check, I hated what I was about to do even more. But it had to be done. "What are you doing? What does that mean, I—"
I turned the computer around. Her eyes fell to the article. To the headline.
To the pictures.
A quick, quiet breath slipped out of her open mouth. And she moved closer, fell to her knees in front of the computer beside the bed. "Oh God."
"I saw it last night," I said as she started to scroll, keeping my eyes on my legs where I sat on the bed, working hard to keep my anger in check. "They think you're cheating on me."
But it couldn't be hidden in my voice.
Her head snapped up. I didn't meet her eye.
"Harry, this isn't—I didn't—"
"I know."
"This... this is Rob." She was pointing at the computer now, her eyes only on me, her fear turning into all out panic. "This is from the day I met up with him to—"
"I know," I said, intending to be more firm with her to calm her down. But the way I ended up spitting the word only made her jaw clench even more. "I figured all that out already."
It took a moment for her to realize I wouldn't say anything more—and I wouldn't. She didn't need to know what I'd seen, the things my so-called fans were saying. She didn't need to know their hatred or feel threatened by their empty promises.
"But the world hasn't," she said, and there was nothing but acceptance in her voice. She knew. Without me having to even offer it up, she knew what this meant—what people would think of her. "Harry, it—it's okay, it—"
"No, it's not okay," I exclaimed, the anger rearing it's ugly head once more. I stood up. She only stared at me, her shock tempering my emotion for the moment. "It's not okay," I repeated, lowering my voice, blowing out a breath that did nothing to diminish the tension in my body. "It's—it's an invasion."
"Harry," she said, speaking slowly, standing slowly—like I was some kind of wild animal she was afraid of scaring into action. "It—it always is. We've dealt with things like this before--"
"Not like this," I said, pacing now. "Not where they've so blatantly made shit up, I—I can deal with most things Mads, but this—" I flung a hand in the direction of the computer "—it's fucked up. It's—it's wrong. It's so fucking far off-base I can't stand it."
"Why are you so upset about this?" she asked, her voice firmer, braver. "You know the truth, you know that those pictures mean nothing because you know what happened that day so..." she eyed me up and down, her eyes worried, her brow furrowed, "What's making you so angry?"
I was near quaking with it, and she was the only thing, the only person I could take it out on. "You seriously have to ask that question?"
She held her ground, stared at me even more intensely if that was possible.
"You didn't see what they said, Mads," I said. "Those things, what they said about you—and from fans..." Even my laughter sounded pissed off. "They were abhorrent."
Mads gulped, her eyes shifting as she let that register. "Okay, well... no surprise there, right?"
"It's never gonna end," I muttered, wishing she could understand without me having to say it. Wishing she could feel every bit of what I felt as much as I wanted to shield her from all of it, too. "They're never gonna stop."
"Who?"
"Them!" I practically shouted, flinging my hands outward. "The whole fucking world, Mads! They're never going to accept you. They're only going to keep digging, and once they find out the truth, they're going to hate you even more."
As I said the words, sheer terror filled every facet of my body.
It was never going to stop.
They were never going to stop.
Mads was breathing heavily, but I could only tell because her chest was rising and falling dramatically. My own staggered breaths were drowning everything else out.
"I don't care," she finally said.
"What?" I asked, the anger whipping around inside me.
"I said... I don't care." Her eyes were blazing. Her jaw firm. Her mouth a tight line. Each heavy breath was coming out of her nose. "I don't give a flying fuck what they think about me."
She stepped closer, and my body reacted before I could think about it—I took a step back, let the way I was feeling dictate my movements.
Mads paused for a moment, her eyes meeting mine, her brow lifting fractionally in what could only be described as hurt, before she stepped forward again. And stopped. "Let them say whatever the hell they want about me, Harry. I don't care. I only care what you think about me. I only care what you believe."
"You know what I believe," I barked, still upset that she wasn't seeing the point.
"Then why is this such a problem for you?" she asked, and I could tell it was a pointed question.
One I fell right into.
"Because they're going to keep digging, Madelyn! How many times do I have to say it? They're going to torture us with little bits of information they've uncovered to create ridiculous, half-assed, fucked-up stories that are nothing but a fraction of the truth. If that. And they're never going to stop! They're always going to find a reason to hate you, to hate whoever I'm with, and I hate them for it. I hate everything about this entire situation, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry that this has happened. I'm sorry that you can't live your life without mine taking over. I'm sorry that nothing can ever just be fucking normal for you anymore. You shouldn't have to deal with this kind of bullshit."
I ran a hand through my hair, my body still shaking, and only glanced up at her for a moment, half-expecting her to be ready with her answer. But she wasn't looking at me. Her eyes were fixed on the floor, her brows drawn down in... pain.
She hadn't looked pained a second ago.
I stepped forward on instinct—this was what I'd been expecting to see. What I'd been preparing myself for—her sadness, her tears.
She stepped away. And to my surprise, held up a hand to put me off.
"Mads, what—"
She looked up at me again. It wasn't pain there. Or it was, but that wasn't the only thing.
It was heartbreak.
"C'mere," I said, trying to make myself calm down enough to comfort her. "We won't—"
"Whoever you're with?"
"What?"
Mads stepped away again the closer I got. "Whoever you're with. You... you said they were going to hate whoever you're with."
The pain, the hurt... I had to think back over what I'd said. And there it was.
It had come out so quickly, just on instinct, I hadn't even realized I'd said it.
"That's not what—"
"This isn't about what they think of me," Mads said softly, her eyes flicking up to meet mine again. "Is it?"
"That's not what I meant, Mads," I said, the words rushed—but they were still rushed by anger, and I sounded annoyed more than anything else.
"You still don't trust me."
"No, I--that's not it. I do." I took a deep breath, tried to be patient. "What I said... that was just... a realization."
"A realization," she repeated, and the word sounded so much worse when she said it.
"No, no!" I exclaimed. And took another breath, tried to step closer. She stepped away. "No, I meant that as in, a realization, like... like it was just a train of thought. Like as I was saying all that, it occurred to me, nothing more."
"This was never about them," Mads said as I struggled to put words together. "It's about me."
"I—what? No!" I rushed towards her. Didn't give her time to move away. "No, that's not it!"
"What would they think if they found out the whole truth?" she asked, but I knew she wasn't looking for an answer. "What would they say?"
"It's not that," I insisted, still trying to link my thoughts together, panicking now because this wasn't at all how I imagined this going.
But it didn't matter. It was like she wasn't even hearing me.
"What would they say about you?" she asked, meeting my eye again. And I knew immediately what she was doing—I knew she was going right back to that place we'd fought so hard to come back from.
"Don't do that," I said, seeing it in her eyes—that remission into a place of self-doubt, of wanting to protect me at a cost to herself. I squeezed her arms. "Don't go there, Madelyn."
"This was never about them," Mads said again, her voice breathy now. "You don't want the truth to come out, fair enough, neither do I, but... You—you don't trust me."
"I do, Mads!" I was shouting again. But it wasn't anger prodding me now. It was only fear. "I swear I do!"
"Then why are you acting this way?" she asked, her voice soft despite mine. "You knew the truth. You knew nothing happened that day. Why are you talking about being with someone else?"
"I'm—" I loosed a breath I hadn't even felt coming. "I'm not, I—I didn't mean that. I was just... I was just trying to work through this in my head, and it just... came out, I didn't mean it. I mean, I—I just got scared, that's all."
"Scared," she repeated.
"Terrified," I admitted, "I don't want this for us, Mads. I don't want them doing any of this to you. That's all. But I especially don't want them to be the reason we fight."
Mads wasn't crying, despite the emotion in her eyes. She just looked... resigned.
And that scared me infinitely more.
"Harry," she grabbed my forearms, squeezed them back, "Maybe you didn't mean it."
"I didn't," I insisted, too emphatically again.
Mads' grip tightened. "But you still said it."
"I—" I didn't have an answer for that. "Only in thinking through things, Mads, not because I think I'm ever going to want someone else." I lifted my hands to her face, brushed aside her hair. "You know that, Mads. I know you do."
Mads nodded. But the way her brows were pulled together—she was still sad.
All of that—the shit article, the fans' response, the way the world now thought of her as the girl cheating on Harry Styles—and the thing that had made her saddest was me.
She looked up suddenly. "I want you to see something."
She didn't give me time to say more before she pulled away, wrenching herself from my grip—which was still too tight.
I watched her walk to the other end of the room, toward her suitcase. And only when she reached it did my jaw loosen enough to say more.
"I didn't mean it, Mads."
She didn't answer as she sifted through her clothes. I sighed, completely exasperated now that the anger had dissipated, now that I was fearing something else entirely.
"That article—it means nothing to me. Much less than it seems, I promise. I—I was only angry for us. For our future. For our life together. Cause they'll try to ruin it, Mads. The stories'll just keep coming, and there's never going to be an end, and all I want is to protect you from it, but I can't and it kills me."
She stood up, turned slowly, kept something behind her back as she looked at me.
I scrambled for a moment as she met my eye, searching her expression for any more sign of that profound sadness. There was only a hint of it left.
Something tight seized my chest and my throat.
"I never want anyone else," I said, because it was the truth, and it was a truth she needed to hear right now. "I never have, and I never will. You're it for me, Madelyn. And I know you're thinking I don't trust you, but you couldn't be more wrong. I do. It's them I don't trust. It's the way they frame things—I don't want any of it to come between us ever. The idea that it can scares me more than anything else in this world."
Mads stepped forward, her eyes on the floor.
"Which of course, seems like a lie considering the way I reacted today—letting it get between us anyway." I tried to laugh, growing more nervous by the moment. The longer she stayed silent, the worse it became. "I shouldn't have let it get to me like that, and... and I never should've said anything about anyone else, I—"
"Harry?"
"What?" I asked, almost relieved. I was glad she was talking again, but scared of what she was going to say.
Mads smiled a bit as she reached me, her hands still behind her back. "Shh."
I released a shaky sigh that turned into a smile. I grabbed her arms, needing to be touching her.
"I believe you," she said softly.
And my shoulders relaxed entirely. "I'm sorry," I said, running my hands over her shoulders. "I'm sorry, I—"
"Shh." She smiled more widely now. Her eyes fell to my lips once I was quiet. "You're allowed to have a freak out, Harry."
I chuckled, and the feeling relieved all of what I'd been living with for the past eighteen hours. "I think I put all of yours to shame in one fell swoop."
Mads giggled, too, but didn't respond right away. She hung her head between us, her forehead hitting my chest. I kissed her hair, grateful that everything felt almost back to normal between us.
"I've been thinking," Mads said finally, lifting her head out from under me. Her blue eyes were wide—open. "For a long time now..."
She brought her hands forward between us. They were holding a book.
"That you should read this," she finished, holding it out to me.
It's brown leather cover and binding was worn, and I knew immediately that it was a journal.
"What—" I started to say.
"It covers the years we were together, and the years we weren't. I marked those. You might want to start there. I only finished the whole thing about a month ago." Her eyes stayed on the book as I held it in my hands, felt the weight of what she was giving me—sharing with me—and moved to crack it open.
Her hand snapped forward to stop me. "Not now," she said, smiling again. "I mean... you can read it now, but let me leave the room first."
I chuckled, almost wanting to make a remark along the lines of, "Now you know what it feels like," but it would've ruined the moment.
She held onto my hand as she looked into my eyes again, and set her jaw.
"I don't care what anyone but you thinks about me, Harry. I want you to trust me, and I want you to know every thought I've ever had about you, because... because maybe then you'll see that nothing the world, or anyone can do or say, will change what I feel for you."
My heart thundered in the silence, the book clutched in my hands, her fingers wrapped around mine—my eyes locked on hers. So open. So... aware.
Slowly, she leaned in, pressed a kiss to my lips. Short as it was, it left my mouth tingling.
When it was over, she let go of my hand. Smiled and released a quick breath as she stepped away.
"I'll come back a bit later," Mads said, her eyes going to my hands once more before she turned on her heel and left, closing the door behind her.
Leaving me alone to read her journal.
___
Author's Note:
HOW ARE WE HERE? HOW DO WE ONLY HAVE ONE MORE CHAPTER LEFT? HOW AM I EVER GOING TO STOP CRYING?
Seriously, guys, this one was an emotional one to write. For SO many reasons, but the biggest of which I think was the moment Mads said in the midst of Harry's anger, "I DON'T CARE. I DON'T CARE WHAT THEY THINK OF ME." For real, my heart aches each time I read it cause I'm just so PROUD of how far she's come! Even just from the beginning of this story, she's grown by leaps and bounds!
And now would probs be a good time to start reading her journal if you haven't already. And it would DEFINITELY be a good time for me to finish writing it lmao. When she said she finished the whole thing a month ago, I was like ummmmm, scuse me girl, but now you're putting me on the spot, haha! But anyway, this has been the plan for a good long time (a few of you reading it have even suggested Harry should see it--you're all very wise obviously lol), so it had to be done. And I'll finish her journal, too. Eventually lol.
So please let me know what you think of this one, babes! I can't wait to hear your thoughts, and I hope that you're just as excited for the end of this chapter of Mads' and Harry's story as I am! It's still really bittersweet even knowing I'll be writing the third book. I don't think I'll ever NOT be emotional and all kinds of nostalgic when pulling a book to a close, but such is. I'll just have to deal with it, haha!
Anyway, I'll get this posted for you now. But before I do, follow me on Twitter if you aren't already! I'm probs gonna be tweeting all kinds of sappy things this week as the nostalgia that always comes with moving on hits me full force. My handle's @ilikereadingtoo :)
You have no idea how much LOVE I've got for each of you. Until next week (our last week here), THANK YOU. xx