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Chapter

Thirty-Five

FROSTY HEART

Willow

“Are you happy, Madden?” — W

I lie back against the cool sheets, still wrapped in the soft haze of the hot shower I took moments ago. The air in the suite carries a faint hint of sandalwood and the salty tang of the lagoon. My body is pleasantly heavy, my skin still glistening from the swim earlier, where the sun danced on the water and the world felt like magic.

Across the room, I can see Uncle Cianne seated at the bar, a glass of scotch cradled in his hand and a Santa hat on his head. His laughter mingles with the low chatter of poker chips clinking, while Lincoln leans forward, his expression one of concentration.

I pull my notebook from the bedside table, flipping to the page where I scribbled notes about the fungi I found in the lagoon. If it’s okay with Madden I would love to go back and study them some more.

I think I found a species I hadn’t seen before.

As I settle into work, my attention is pulled by the TV. A news report flashes across the screen, and my stomach drops when I hear the name “Madden Hunt.” heart sinks as I hear the name “Madden.” The reporter is talking about a man named Milton, whose suicide is being linked to Madden. Suicide? What? Milton?

And then it hits me… Madden had a brother. Well, had a brother.

How did I not know this? I assumed Madden was an only child. If he had a brother, why was he in the foster system? Shouldn’t his brother have taken him in?

Unless, of course, his brother was the reason Madden’s life was so difficult.

Crack.

My heart breaks as I process what’s happening. The news anchors’ chatter shifts from reporting to gossip, fingers pointing blame, their voices dripping with judgment and malice.

“He became famous and completely forgot about his family,” one says. “If he had been there for his older brother, maybe…”

I feel a heat rising in my chest—anger and heartbreak twisting together. How can they say such ugly and cruel things about him? They don’t know Madden. They don’t know his heart.

Anger simmers. I didn’t know about any of this. I’d been so wrapped up in the beauty of Brazil, so focused in this magical adventure with him, that I shut the world out.

Why didn’t Madden confide in me?

He’s been caring with this alone…

Suddenly, I’m acutely aware of the weight he’s been carrying, the darkness lurking behind that cocky smile I love so much.

He doesn’t deserve all this media scrutiny. I may not know everything that’s going on, but I do know his heart.

He’s a good man. The best man.

He needs to hear that.

I grab my phone and find our chat, my fingers trembling just a little as I type:

I just saw the news. I understand why you didn’t tell me, but I want you to know that I love you and I’m here for you. You’re stronger than they’ll ever understand. Don’t let those stupid media vultures get to you. They don’t know your heart.

I pause, staring at the screen, wishing I could say more. But I know he’s probably swamped with business, so I don’t expect a reply. Still, I hit send, the little whoosh feeling like a release.

As the message disappears, I exhale shakily. I picture him, alone, burying all those emotions while the world spins false narratives about him. This world can be so cruel, and it’s been especially ruthless to Madden.

I’m so angry I could scream.

He doesn’t deserve any of this.

I hope he knows just how deeply I love him. I hope feels my support surrounding him, even from a distance. More than anything, I want him to know he’s not alone in this. He’ll never be alone again —not as long as I’m breathing, and even then, I’ll find my way back to him.

I turn my head, startled to find both Uncle Cianne and Lincoln watching me, their expressions filled with concern. I frown, a knot forming in my stomach.

I sign, “Have you been with him for long?” Lincoln nods, his gaze steady.

I press on, my fingers moving quickly across the screen. “How does he overcome all of this? The world tearing him down with likes and judgment?”

Lincoln shrugs, a flicker of sadness crossing his features. He signs, “He’s a tough fuck. Mostly, he drowns his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle. That’s it, until…”

He pauses, the silence thick with unspoken words. I lean in closer, signing, “Until...?”

Lincoln meets my eyes, his eyes searching, before he finishes, “You. Until you, Willow.”

My breath catches in my throat. I want to be the light in his darkness. I want to help him find his way through the chaos. Always.

I sign back, my heart pounding, “Then I’ll be there for him. Always.”

Uncle Cianne raises an eyebrow, his expression softening. I see the pride in his gaze. I know it won’t be easy, but with that thought—him and me, together against the world—I feel a spark of hope igniting within me.

A spark I know will always burn bright.

It’s always been him, and if I have my way, it always will be.