Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Madden looked like he could dissolve at any moment. A figure made of salt that had gotten stuck out in a rainstorm. “Eve, you are going to stay here and let me protect you from all this,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady and failing. “The kids too. We’re not dealing with this separately. We’re not separating, period. I don’t give a fuck what anyone is saying. You’re the only thing I’ve ever given a fuck about.”
Her heart lurched painfully. “No, I saw you yesterday with your team. I saw you wondering if you could really belong and the answer is yes. You can. You belong doing this and the opportunities are endless for you now. I’m sorry, Mad. There’s too much at stake for you. I’m going.” Eve hustled for the door and made it out, blowing into the hallway with her shoes in one hand, purse in the other. In the one stroke of luck that morning, a woman had just stepped into the elevator and held the door for Eve, even though she was visibly taken aback by Eve’s dishevelment.
“Eve.”
Madden appeared in front of the elevator, bare-chested in sweatpants, right before the door closed, missing them by a split second. And she didn’t feel an ounce of relief when the elevator started to descend. In fact, she felt sicker and sicker to her stomach the farther she got from Madden, his words rolling like dice around her head. I don’t give a fuck what anyone is saying. You’re the only thing I’ve ever given a fuck about.
He’d thank her one day, wouldn’t he?
Down the road, he’d agree distancing themselves was the right thing to do.
Eve closed her eyes and listened to the whoosh sound every time the elevator passed another floor, trying to remember which direction she’d parked the car. If she had enough gas to get home. How much damage had she done by marrying Madden?
“I thought you looked familiar,” murmured the woman beside her, holding up a copy of the New York Post. On the front page of the newspaper was a truly iconic shot of Madden, flat on his back, holding the baseball in a cloud of dust at home plate, beneath the headline “Introducing Bad Madden.” In a smaller picture below, Eve had apparently been seen by a photographer as she left the hospital beside Madden, one shoulder wrapped in ice, the other arm draped across her shoulders. She was smiling up at him more dreamily than she knew herself capable of, Madden leaning down to kiss the crown of her head. She couldn’t even read the caption beneath the photo. Maybe she didn’t want to.
“I can’t believe I live in the same building as Bad Madden,” said the woman, eyeballing Eve’s bare feet. “I hope there’s no trouble in paradise.”
Eve pressed her lips together and said nothing, the line of white, illuminated circles blurring in front of her eyes. Finally, they reached the lobby and the woman sped off, most likely due to Eve’s pathetic vibes, and after a beat, she entered the lobby too.
Okay. Just need to get to my car.
Flashes went off one by one outside the building, blinding Eve through the glass double doors. At first, she was merely confused by the sudden ripple of voices that increased into shouts, but she slowly became aware of what was happening.
They were there for Madden.
They were there for her.
Shaking, Eve turned her back and searched the lobby for a place to sit down and put on her shoes, no choice but to use the lip of a giant potted plant. She had two options. Brave the throng of reporters who had taken a sudden and alarming interest in their lives. Or go back upstairs to Madden and be convinced to stay. That’s exactly what would happen. They would fight and they would end up in bed. And she would tell him she loved him and confide how scared she was—and then he’d be stuck. As stuck as all these people would eventually believe him to be.
Go. She had to go.
Eve stood and squared her shoulders, clutching her purse and phone to her chest.
Just as she reached for the door, prepared to propel herself through the wall of people and cameras, a door burst open to her left and Madden stepped into the lobby, his chest covered in a light sheen of sweat.
“You took the stairs?”
“There’s only one elevator,” he muttered, his complexion whitening as he took in the gathered media with a dawning visage of dread. “What the fuck?” He pointed a very stern finger at her. “Eve, do not go out there or you’ll give me a heart attack.”
They stared at each other across ten feet of space.
Run to him. Do it. He’ll protect you.
No, you have to protect him or he won’t protect himself.