The Darkest Corner of the Heart (The Brightest Light Book 2)

I should’ve seen this coming. Few things in my life ever go differently, so why would I trust that this, too, wouldn’t fall to pieces sooner than later?

It’s me. I caused this. Maybe I should’ve never suggested seeing each other again or going on another hike. I thought we’d had fun and that he was opening up to me just a tiny bit more. Now I understand I’ve been a fool.

Because you always ruin things. Because you only talk about yourself and put the weight of your problems on other people’s shoulders, and they get tired and leave.

Almost two weeks have gone by with no news from James.

I would know, since I have a phone he hasn’t contacted and a bar he hasn’t visited like he said he would.

Nothing. Nada. Radio silence.

I worked every day and every possible shift last week, not necessarily because I was hoping to see him but because my ankle finally feels like it’s back to normal—at least enough to work for the extra cash. I lost many tips while washing dishes, so I need to make up for lost time.

It’s a Friday night and I’m not supposed to be here, but one of the waitresses called in sick, and I was all too happy to cover for her. But, as soon as I walked into the bar nearly two hours ago, I realized my rookie mistake.

Tonight is hockey night, and the bar is packed.

Not another soul fits in the crowded booths as patrons order drink after drink and yell at the TV. If their frustrated sounds and not-so-nice words are anything to go by, our team is getting their butts kicked.

I guess not even the great champions of Norcastle are immune to a bit of bad luck. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t make me feel better.

What does make me feel better, though—and a little nervous—is the job interview I have lined up for next week.

Me and job interview in the same sentence. Shocking, I know.

When I called Grace a few days ago, fed up with being stuck and not knowing where to start, we talked about my options. She’s been a ballet teacher for years, so I asked her for advice. She explained how classes usually go and how much I can expect to make, and I made a decision.

Finally, I made a decision about my future after almost three months of wandering in the dark and getting too comfortable in the nothingness of it.

I need to get it together. I might have injured myself, and I might have lost the one and only golden ticket to my dream job, but I’m still breathing.

All my bones and muscles are in the right place and recovering, and I will be able to dance again. Maybe not as soon as I would’ve wanted, but the point is that I will.

Seeing my father gave me a kind of clarity I never expected but sure needed. He hasn’t reached out to me again, but he doesn’t have to. His purpose in my life is fulfilled.

He reminded me that I could end up like him if I let myself go too far. And although I would never, ever abandon my kids or my partner like he did, I could very well fall into the same pit of self-neglect.

All his life, my father stood for nothing. He never tried to make a name for himself, not even a whisper. Seeing what has become of him after seventeen years is the loudest wake-up call I could’ve asked for.

He wasn’t in a better place like he said, I could tell. And I was on my way to that same destination.

So even if my current dream isn’t to teach ballet to a bunch of kids, it could be the start of a new road that leads me to my true purpose. I won’t know until I try, and staying at home and feeling sorry for myself won’t help me at all. I’ve tried.

Earlier this week, I applied to four different dance studios in Norcastle that were looking for a ballet instructor, and this morning I got the golden call from one of them. With my interview coming up on Monday, I go over every piece of advice Grace gave me on the phone.

Minutes into my shift, though, I find that my mind has drifted to the forbidden topic on its own accord. Again.

I don’t understand why James hasn’t texted me. Why he hasn’t stopped by when he said he would.

Sure, I could’ve texted him first, broken the ice, whatever. But I didn’t because I freaked out after our almost-kiss, and I didn’t want to make another big decision after applying to my first dancing job. I’ve done enough adulting to last me a lifetime.

Ugh.

“Doll!” One of the men at table four hollers at me, demanding to be fed.

Cavemen, all of them. And not in a hot kind of way.

“Hey, doll!” he calls again. I was hoping one of the other waitresses would go to his table by some miracle, but luck isn’t on my side tonight.

“What can I get you?” I ask, avoiding eye contact with all five brutes sitting in front of me. They’re old, drunk, and more than a little agitated. Stupid hockey. Stupid TV.

The guy places the order for the whole table, but not before he ogles the neckline of my top, and I leave as quickly as I came. They’re on their sixth beer—seventh if you count the ones I’m supposed to bring them over. I really don’t want to be the one to tell them we can’t serve them anymore. But everyone is too busy to come to my rescue, so I’ll have to woman up.

Placing all their beers and a basket of nachos on my tray, I slither through the crowd, careful not to spill a single drop. It’s a miracle I make it to their table unscathed, but then Creepy Old Man Number One—the one who called me a doll—thanks me for being so quick by reaching out his dirty fingers and touching my midriff.

I jerk back, a sudden wave of disgust climbing up my throat, and I see it happen in slow motion—my tray falling, all five beers and the nacho basket spilling over Creepy Old Man Number One and his friends.

The bar falls silent behind me.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t—

“You useless piece of shit! Who the fuck gave you a job?” the man yells, shooting out of his seat to avoid the waterfall of beer spilling from the table onto their laps.

“I’m…” I’m sorry, I want to tell him, even though I’m really not.

But I don’t get the chance.

“If I were you, I would watch how you talk to her.”

That voice.

He stands only a few feet behind me, his eyes darkened with violence as he looks at the man who yelled at me.

He doesn’t acknowledge me, doesn’t look at me, only steps in front of me like the protective, six-foot-five wall of pure muscle he is.

And I let him. I let him even though a pool of hot anger starts boiling in the pit of my stomach.

I can barely move. I can barely breathe.

I feel Monica’s arm come around my shoulders before I hear her voice. “Are you okay, honey? Tell me what happened.” She sounds concerned, but I don’t answer.

My gaze stays locked on James, who’s now drawing the attention of every table around us, hockey be damned.

And the pool of anger grows.

Creepy Old Man Number One says something my ringing ears don’t catch, but I hear James’s response as clear as if he were whispering it in my ear.

“Get out of here before I make you swallow your own fucking teeth for putting your hands on my girl.”

My girl.

His girl.

My body starts shaking from fear or anger, I don’t know, and Monica pulls me against her in a comforting embrace that does nothing to calm me down.

No matter how big or tall or strong James is, there’s five of them and only one of him. He’s alone, and they’re dumb and drunk. I don’t even stop to think why he’s here in the first place. Why now, after two weeks of giving me nothing but his cold shoulder. I can only tremble and watch as the drunk men stand up from their booth, all eyes on James.

Matt comes out of the kitchen a moment later, stopping next to him. “Get the fuck out. All of you. Now.”

Another four guys from nearby tables stand up, too, shouting at the drunk men to leave and threatening to call the cops. After what couldn’t be longer than a minute but feels like an infinite lifetime, the five of them finally leave without looking back.

As soon as the door closes behind them, the whole bar erupts into a collective cheer, but I barely hear it. Shaking, I untangle myself from Monica’s hug.

“Go to my office, honey,” she offers, reading my mind.

I need to be alone right now. I need to calm down. I need to breathe.

“Take a break, okay? As long as you need.”

I nod absentmindedly, my feet carrying me all the way to the small room with a desk, a small couch, and no windows that makes up her office, and I allow myself to shake with all the anger, disgust, and fear harbored inside me.

I spilled beer on them, but it was an accident. I lost my grip on the tray because he touched me, not because I was being clumsy.

That man touched me, and I feel dirty.

Sinking into the uncomfortable chair in front of Monica’s desk, I bury my face in my hands and let the tears fall.

Why did he have to touch me?

Why did he have to yell at me?

I don’t hear the door opening behind me, and I don’t hear it closing again.

But I hear his voice.

“Maddie. Look at me.”

And I feel the warmth of his big hands covering my much smaller ones, peeling my fingers away from my wet eyes gently. He kisses the back of each one, slowly, so softly more tears fall against my will.

“You’re okay, baby. I’m here.”

Through my tear-covered eyes, I see that he’s kneeling in front of me, still keeping my hands in his, cocooned.

“You…” I sniffle as the disgust slowly fades away. I’m safe. “You’re here.”

Still holding my hands in his, he wipes away my tears. His gentleness only makes me want to cry harder, and I hate myself for it.

“I shouldn’t have left,” he whispers as if he could read my mind. “I should’ve texted you. I should’ve called you. I’m sorry.”

I’m angry at him. I’m angry that he disappeared without a trace, but is it really his fault? When I push everyone away?

So even though I want to give in to that anger, I choose to be the person Sammy and Grace raised me to be.

“Wh-Why didn’t you?” I breathe out, my voice calm but shaky.

Maybe he didn’t miss me at all. Maybe I’m the only fool between us.

A beat of eternal silence passes between us, and I use that time to bring my breathing back to normal.

“You’re safe,” James says, ignoring my question but reading the silent worries in my mind. “I promise you’re safe. Sit with me on the couch?”

I let him help me up and walk me to the small couch near the door. He sits first, pulling me against his side and shielding me from everything and everyone but the racing thoughts in my head.

He says nothing, and I find that my throat is too dry to speak. The loud voices from the bar filter through the walls, a loud cheer erupting when our team scores.

“I didn’t call you because I was terrified.”

My head snaps up, heart hammering inside of my chest. My gaze is fixed on his unmoving lips, pressed together in a tight line, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve imagined his voice.

“What?” My own comes out as a strained whisper.

James doesn’t tilt his head to look at me, keeping his eyes trained forward instead. Deliberately avoiding mine.

And then he says the words I thought I’d only ever hear in my dreams.

“What you do to me, Maddie… You drive me insane.”

My breathing stops.

I don’t know what to say. If I even trust myself to utter a single word.

James doesn’t move an inch. His body is pressed against mine, but it’s cold and distant somehow. I don’t like it.

“I needed time to think,” he finishes, as if that explains everything.

But I’ve never been more confused.

“About what?” My voice is raspy, nervous, unsure.

“About you.”

About me.

What does that even mean?

“I wanted to kiss you the other night. In my car.”

His words detonate a bomb inside my heart, reducing everything to ashes.

Then he sweeps the remains away.

“I wanted to kiss you so badly, I was hurting. I am hurting, just thinking about the things I want to do to you, Maddie, and it’s not right. None of this is. I shouldn’t want you, but I can’t stop the pain that comes every time I think I will never have you.”

My ears ring, my heart falls to the pit of my stomach, and a deep, unexpected sense of calm falls over my body like a thick blanket.

Nobody has ever told me that it hurts them to think about not having me. And I, too, feel like a piece of this new life I’m fighting to create is missing when he’s not near.

“You wanted to kiss me?”

He nods, short and stiff, still avoiding my gaze.

“Do you still want to kiss me now?”

He sucks in a breath. His nostrils flare. That jaw goes tight, locked.

I don’t miss it because I can’t take my eyes off him.

“What do you think?” he rasps, his voice the lowest I’ve ever heard it. When he turns to look at me, the ocean in his eyes is a turmoil of hostile waters.

He wants me. He wants to kiss me.

And I want to kiss him so badly, my lips tingle with anticipation, but I don’t move.

I barely breathe, waiting for him to make the move I’m too terrified to make myself.

If I leaned in and he changed his mind, pulling away at the last second, I don’t think I could get over his rejection.

Every boy I’ve ever kissed, every hookup or attempt at a relationship I’ve ever had, it was never going to end with happiness and wedding bells.

I never allowed myself to feel anything else but mild attraction, the superficial kind, for fear of filling the spot my parents left empty before I even turned five. I’ve been afraid of chasing that authentic love I always see around me but have never experienced, so I never gave myself permission to feel anything more.

What if I was only trying to fill a spot that could never be filled?

But seeing my dad taught me there’s no emptiness to fill because it was never full in the first place.

The love and care my parents were supposed to give me, I got from someone else—Sammy, and then Grace, and then Lila and the rest of our family.

Can I really miss something I’ve never had? I could, but I’m not going to. I refuse to. Not when I have something so precious in front of me, something that feels right and complete for the first time in my life.

I may not have been the luckiest child, but I’m going to make sure I become the luckiest version of my adult self. And it starts with this.

“I want you to kiss me,” I whisper, no hint of hesitation in my voice.

I’ve never asked for the love I think I deserve, but maybe it’s time that I do.

Maybe she was wrong all this time.

James’s breath mixes with my own, our faces mere inches apart. Monica’s office is dark, the only light coming from her computer and under the door, yet still I see the hesitation in his eyes. The regret.

“We can’t,” he says, like it pains him to do so.

Instead of letting my heart crumble like it wants to, I demand, “Why?”

Our team scores again, and the sound of cheers almost muffles his voice, but I hear every word.

“I’m too old for you.”

Our age difference is something I have never ignored, but I have never let it control me either. And I won’t start now.

“We’ve talked about this, James. And I’m only asking for a kiss,” I mumble, afraid to raise my voice and shatter our bubble. “We’re both adults.”

He swallows thickly. “And what happens after a kiss, Maddie? Do you think we can stop there?”

“No.”

James looks away, lips pressed tight, and lets out a sigh full of frustration. “How are you feeling?”

Confused, excited, anxious, overstimulated.

“Better.”

“Then you should go back to work.” His words aren’t cruel or cold, simply factual. They don’t kill me inside or anything.

I’m not looking forward to going back out there, but the fewer tips I make, the more money I’ll have to take from Sammy, so I get up from the couch.

I straighten my uniform, about to head out of the door, when his deep rumble stops me.

“Wait for me when your shift ends.”