Page 9 of Playing Dirty (Leighton U #4)

Theo

To my surprise, the bed is empty when I wake up just before seven the next morning.

Finding no stray pillows on the floor or in the bathtub, I have to assume Madden took my word for it and slept in the bed—not that I really care either way.

Still, it’s weird that he’s already gone before the sun is up.

Especially on winter vacation, which most people would consider a chance to sleep in.

At least we made it through the first night without a blowup or suffocating the other in our sleep.

I have no idea how tenable that is long term, though, and it creates a stormcloud of impending doom inside my head.

But I do my best to shove those thoughts down and focus on the positive as I shower.

Even if it was a bribery tactic, I’m spending the week in one of my favorite places; one holding countless amazing memories from my childhood.

Plus being out on the mountains—breathing in the fresh, winter air—is one of the few places I can find peace besides the baseball diamond.

Carla’s and Madden’s presence won’t be enough to ruin it for me.

With some time to kill before I’m due to meet everyone for breakfast, I jump into my Snowline morning routine.

First is to grab coffee at the little café near the main lodge, then head up to this small little nook I found as a kid to watch the sun come up over the mountains.

It does the trick, putting me in a decent mood by the time I arrive at the restaurant.

There’s no sign of Dad or Carla yet, but I spot Madden seated at one of the tables near the window, and I head over to join him.

“Sleep okay?” I ask as I take a seat.

“Oh. Yeah, it was fine. Did you?”

I offer a non-commital shrug. “Wasn’t murdered in my sleep, so I’ll take it as a win.”

His lips twitch slightly before he takes a swig of water, but I’m surprised when he doesn’t make any sort of playful taunt back.

In fact, he doesn’t speak at all, so I use the time while we wait for Dad and Carla to look over the menu despite knowing I’ll get the same thing as always, creature of habit that I am.

But as it creeps past nine and they still aren’t here, annoyance licks through my veins.

And when my phone buzzes on the table and I read the text waiting for me, my annoyance turns into a sharp pang of irritation.

Dad: Gonna miss breakfast, but still plan for dinner.

A scoff leaves me, but I don’t bother responding and just shake my head before dropping the phone back to the table.

And so it begins.

“They’re not coming.” I glance up at Madden’s voice, and he aims a pointed look at my phone. “That’s what the text said, right? ”

“What gave it away?”

I’m not sure if I’m more pissed at Dad for forcing me into this family trip, only to cancel on the family portion of it the first day…or if I’m actually angry with myself for having the tiniest semblance of hope that he might actually still be a man of his word.

Because he’s only making it more and more apparent that the ship containing whatever shred of honor he still had set sail long ago.

Madden studies me for a moment before asking, “You know we’re gonna be left to our own devices pretty much the whole time we’re here, right?”

I nod, my lips pressing into a tight line. “Figured that out about five seconds after the trip was mentioned, actually.”

“And you still came?”

“You really think I had a choice?” The words come out with an incredulous bite. “It was one of those fall in line or else conversations. I fell in line.”

“He doesn’t seem the type,” Madden murmurs, though it might be more to himself than me.

“Yeah, well. You don’t know him very well.”

Though, I’m starting to realize, neither do I.

I keep my gaze locked on the menu in front of me, vividly recalling the screaming match Dad and I had on the phone a few weeks back when the topic of this trip was brought up again.

In all the years of my childhood and adolescence, we never fought like that, and it only served as a reminder of how much he’s changed.

But one thing that’s always been true about Adam Greyson is he won’t make idle threats. So, while I had no idea what or else entailed, I wasn’t planning to push enough and find out, especially if it could potentially risk Mom.

The waiter comes to take our drink and food order rather quickly, and unfortunately, takes the menu with him. With that distraction gone, my attention has nothing else to focus on other than the person across from me.

When my gaze flicks up to Madden briefly, I find him already staring at me, an air of intrigue in his eyes, but also something almost like…

pity? It doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t want his pity or his concern .

There’s no reason for it. My dad might be a complete dick at times, but at least he’s around to—

My train of thought screeches to a halt, and a wave of guilt slams into me the moment I realize how similar it was to what I’d said to Madden at Thanksgiving.

Fuck me.

I pick at the napkin resting on the table, feeling a pain sparking in the back of my throat that grows and grows the longer I stay silent. To the point where I have to speak.

“Listen. It’s no excuse, but I had no idea your dad…” I trail off, not knowing how to put it.

Died? Passed away? Is no longer with us?

Madden saves me from having to say it, shrugging and offering a clipped, “It’s fine,” despite it being anything but.

I don’t know if he’s letting me off the hook because it feels easier than addressing the elephant in the room or if there’s some other motivation, but either way, I’m not gonna accept it.

“No, seriously. It was uncalled f—”

“We both said some shit at Thanksgiving that went too far,” he cuts in, lifting his gaze to mine. “I’m willing to just leave it and move on if you are.”

It’s evident from the intensity in his stare, he wants to drop the subject. And when I recognize the look as the same one I’d just given him…I do.

“Okay,” I murmur with a nod.

Thankfully, our food arrives less than a minute after that, giving us the perfect excuse to leave that conversation where it lay.

But while I’m under the impression we’ll be eating in silence, Madden chooses to fill it with conversation.

Mostly about the mountain, how long I’ve snowboarded, yada yada, and I do my part to answer when necessary, but not giving much more than that.

If he’s perturbed or put off by it, he doesn’t let on. He just keeps trying.

I don’t really understand why he’s doing it, though.

It’s not for our parents’ benefit; they aren’t here to keep an eye on us or make sure we’re getting along.

They couldn’t be bothered to show up at all.

And despite my pleasant mood this morning, every fiber of my being wishes I would’ve done the same.

Another shot of frustration slices through me at the thought, and I drop my fork after eating another bite of my unusually bland eggs. I reach toward the center of the table with the plan to douse them in salt and pepper, but Madden’s there first when he realizes my intention.

“Do you need—”

His words cut off when our hands collide, and my heart stumbles in my chest from the zip of electricity coursing through my body at the contact with his skin.

I quickly pull away, but unfortunately, the movement has me knocking over the water glass the waiter just filled, spilling it all over the table and floor.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter.

Instinctively, I toss napkins down to soak up the water before it can end up on either one of us. Madden has the same idea, his inked hands coming into view while attempting to help clean up the spillage.

“Here, let me—”

“I got it,” I bite out.

Snatching the napkins from his grasp—careful not to touch his hand this time—I clean up my mess as best as I can. I can feel my face growing hotter, not just from embarrassment at my mishap but from his pointed stare as he silently watches me.

Our waiter is back in a flash, having caught the accident from afar, and uses a rag to wipe up the remnants of water. Once it’s cleared, he swipes the soggy napkins from our table and drops a few clean, dry ones down in replacement.

“Right as new,” he says with a smile.

It does little to assuage my discombobulated state, but I mutter a gruff “Thanks” anyway.

I swear, I vaguely hear Madden mumble something along the lines of “So you can say thank you,” but I choose to ignore it—and him.

We eat in silence after that, though my appetite has been thoroughly ruined thanks to my fumbling display. I still feel Madden looking at me every once in a while, those penetrating hazel eyes catching mine every time I so much as glance up from my food.

The waiter returns not long after we finish eating, a little black folder containing the bill in one hand.

“Absolutely no rush, but I wanted to check if this will be together for you this morning.”

Madden nods before I can say anything, already producing his wallet from his jeans and pulling out a credit card.

I frown, because…what the hell?

“You can just put it on the room tab, Madden.”

After all, Dad was supposed to be here, and that’s exactly what he would’ve done. But Madden doesn’t seem to care, waving me off absently without even looking up.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind. ”

The waiter smiles as Madden slides the card into the bill folder without even checking the total, only to disappear just as quickly as he arrived.

Meanwhile, I’m left dumbstruck at what I just saw Madden do.

Him paying the bill, let alone for both of us?

It doesn’t compute in my brain, at least not with the picture of him I’ve painted.

But, then again, there’s the slightest chance I’ve misjudged Madden simply because of how much I detest his mom.

Not all apples fall close to their tree, after all. I’m the prime example of that.