I push my hand through my hair, growing more irritated that she’s not talking to me so when I speak next, my voice comes out harsher than I want. “Kinsley, just fucking say whatever you’re hiding.”

She pauses, startled. I hate that look on her face, as if I just slapped her. It guts me, and I immediately feel guilty for raising my voice. I walk closer and I say, “I’m sorry, I just—”

“When you fight, you remind me of your father.”

And just like that, she returns the punch. This one hits me square in the chest.

My reaction causes her to set the water down and come toward me, but I slowly back up, unable to process what she just said to me. Out of everyone in my life, she knows the tumultuous and toxic relationship I had with my father. There were good days and there were a lot of bad days. Days I wish I’d never experienced as a child, days that have shaped me into the man I am today . . . apparently in more ways than one.

Unable to come up with a response, I turn and head for my bedroom, my anger starting to boil.

“Maddox, wait.”

I slam my bedroom door and stand in the middle of my room, unsure what to really do . . . or say.

You remind me of your father.

What a fucking brutal comment. It sears me to my very core. The one thing I never wanted to be—my dad. I’ll never understand how the devastation he experienced when my mom left triggered his choice of alcohol over the care of his kids. And then the ensuing brutality. I’m not that man.

Hands gripping the back of my neck, I pull tightly and will my pulse to even out, to stop thumping so hard through my veins that it’s impossible to breathe.

For the first time since I met Kinsley, I’m truly mad at her.

Chapter Eleven

KINSLEY

What have I done?

Tears stream down my face as I stand in the hallway, staring down Maddox’s bedroom door.

Why would I say that to him, knowing how he feels about his father?

What I said was the truth though. I’ve seen many fights that Maddox has engaged in and the look in his eyes, the fury as he screams at other players, when he cocks his arm back, when he’s pulling at shirts. It makes me sick to my stomach, because I’ve seen that image before.

The anger.

The closed fists.

The aftermath.

It’s too familiar. Every time Maddox gets into a fight on the field, I turn off the TV. I remove myself from the image and try desperately to think of something else, because the resemblance? It’s devastating. Scary. Real.

But I swore to myself I’d never say anything. I’d never point it out, because I knew the horrible effect it would have on Maddox, someone who told me at two in the morning, while I held ice to his face, that he’d never be like his dad. Ever. And I told him over and over again, he wouldn’t. I told him he’d be a far better man than his dad ever was. And he is.

And then tonight, I told him he reminded me of his father . . . at his worst.

A sob wracks my chest. I try to stifle the noise, but there’s no use. The more I replay the devastated look that crossed Maddox’s face, the more I cry. Harder and harder until I can barely breathe. Stumbling to the wall, I lean against it and sink down onto the floor where I bury my head in my hands.

That’s where I stay for I don’t know how long. It’s where I sob uncontrollably, and my shoulders start to hurt from the constant spasms. It’s where I regret the last ten minutes so much that I feel physically ill. It’s where I feel Maddox squat down next to me, only to pick me up in his arms and carry me to his bed.

When he goes to set me down, I cling to him, not letting him let me go.

I don’t have to look at him to know he’s shirtless. I can feel his warm skin against mine.

I don’t have to open my eyes to know he’s still angry. I can tell from the stiff set of his shoulders.

He leans back on his bed, me curled on his lap, arms wrapped around him as I cry even harder. In between sobs, I try to apologize, but it comes out all garbled and unintelligible.

With a soothing hand, he rubs the back of my head and tries to calm me.

It’s too much. He’s being too kind, which makes me lose it even more.

“Kinny, breathe.”

“I’m . . . s-s-sorry.”

“I know,” he says on a sigh, his hand gently stroking my hair.

I lift off him and grip his cheeks so he’s forced to look at me. The anger I saw erupt in his eyes is gone, but there’s immense sadness, and that’s even worse. I never want to make my best friend sad or see this devastated look ever again.

In between sobs, I say, “I . . . I . . .”

“Shh,” he says, rubbing my back now. “Calm down, Kinny. Deep breaths.”

I nod and take a moment to calm myself, his hand on my back helping me. After a few moments, I finally say, “I was out of line for saying that, and I am so sorry I even put that thought in your head.” New tears fill my eyes. “I love you, Maddox, and I truly do believe you’re the furthest thing from your father. You’re so kind and sweet, and you have a beautiful heart, one that’s depicted fluently as your pen touches paper every night. I’m so, so sorry.”

His hand falls to my thigh where he rubs it gently, never going up too far. The pressure is enough to remind me of how he gripped my leg in the bar booth, how it ignited a deep yearning inside me with each pass. It made me think of Maddox in a whole new light, one I need to stay as far away from as possible.

“Do I really look like him?” He glances up at me. “Tell me the fucking truth. Don’t lie to spare my feelings.”

I press my lips together and close my eyes, hating this moment more than anything. Slowly, I nod. “But, it’s only in the moment where your temper flares and you charge. I see something in your eyes and it frightens me. Reminds me of that one time I was under the stairs, watching you face your dad when he came home at noon after being fired. It brings back the sounds of his fist connecting with your face, the crunch. The thud of you hitting the floor.” More tears spill over my eyes. “It’s that look in your eyes that terrifies me, where I’m taken back to that moment.” It was the most horrific moment of my life, watching my best friend be brutally assaulted by his own father. I had no idea what that looked like and had nightmares for months once I knew.

He drops his head to the headboard and whispers, “Fuck.”

“But that doesn’t mean you’re him,” I say quickly. “You’re not even close to being him. You know how to handle your liquor. You would never hurt someone you love, ever. You might get angry faster than others, but you control it. You’re protective, and that quality is admirable. Sitting with you right here, right now, I know I’m in a safe place, that you would never let anything happen to me. If I were in a room with your father, I’d be terrified.”

He doesn’t respond. I watch his chest rise and fall a few times, his breath slows right before he lifts his head and cups my cheek. Sincerity fills his pupils. “I’m sorry, Kinny. I’m so fucking sorry I scared you.”

I shake my head. “Don’t apologize. I should have never said anything. It was stupid.”

“It was what I needed to hear,” he says, gripping my cheek tighter. “I needed to be reminded of how my temper can sometimes skyrocket and get out of control.”

“You’d never hurt me though.”

“Never.” He swallows hard. “I love you, Kinsley.”

My full name, with those three words. It undoes me.

I fall into his chest and cry some more. “I love you, Maddox.”

He holds me tightly, one of his hands cupping my head. “Thank you.”

Confused, I ask, “For what?”

“For always being there for me, especially when I needed you the most. I wouldn’t be where I am today without you. Not just from you sitting on the sidelines cheering me on, but from the late-night safety place you gave me. For always leaving your window unlocked so I could crawl in next to your bed and use the blankets you kept on the floor for me. For waking me up before the sun rose so I could make it back to my room undetected. For the many nights you kept snacks hidden for me in different places so I didn’t go hungry. For never ever judging my situation, but instead loving me when I wasn’t getting love anywhere else.”

I lift up to look him in the eyes. One single tear falls down his cheek and I quickly wipe it away. As I stare at him, inches away from his handsome face, I feel this fiery need to kiss him. To show him how much he’s loved, how much I care for him, how much I’m feeling in this very moment—like it’s monumental and is about to change everything between us.

How would he react? Would he kiss me back? Would he want to kiss me back or would he feel bad and kiss me only to regret it in the morning?

I’m scared, but I also need him more than just a friend. I need every inch of him, and that’s more terrifying than anything. I’m pretty sure in this moment, both of us crying over a troubled childhood, I’m falling for my best friend. I don’t just love him, but I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him.

I look down at his lips and then back up, my body itching to move forward, my heart pounding so hard that with each thump, I feel myself move a centimeter closer and closer . . .