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CHAPTER FOUR

Nick

I sensed Madigan’s presence the second he stepped into the courtyard. The man had an odd sense of calm that he carried into whatever space he occupied—a stillness that had the strange ability to settle the storm that had raged inside me for as long as I could remember, right back to when my mother had chosen safety for herself over me. As the years passed, I understood her choice more and more, but childhood pain isn’t easily fixed.

Davis had been the only other person to affect me in that way, which I found deeply unsettling. But it had been different with him. Davis found my churlishness amusing, even a challenge. He’d joke and tease until his eternally optimistic outlook on life, his casual air, and his refusal to take me seriously had made it hard to stay angry... mostly.

Because I had a few superpowers of my own, including the unenviable ability to completely disregard all the obvious warning signs that I was about to cross the line into deep relationship doo-doo shit until it was too late, like way too late, and without anything remotely resembling a lifejacket, let alone paddle. But enough about that.

Madigan’s superpower was much more subtle than Davis’s but had the same result. Davis consciously engaged with me, jollying me along until he’d undermined whatever had pissed me off. Madigan’s approach was completely different. His self-contained quiet centre soothed without effort. But if that didn’t work, he simply called me on my bullshit, no holds barred. It was... refreshing.

When I’d lashed out at him that first day, he’d simply shut me down and walked away—ignoring my tantrum with the attitude that said sort yourself out, arsehole . And to my complete shock, I’d found myself doing just that. Following him, wanting to explain, wanting to open the door again rather than wallow in my self-righteousness. The why of my reaction to him was simultaneously frightening and infuriating.

He took a seat at the opposite end of the bench and I resisted the urge to tell him to piss off. His quiet closeness came with that familiar spell of reassurance I’d grown used to. I’d escaped to the courtyard to get away from Lizzie’s and Samuel’s grief along with the condolences blowing up my phone. We were talking half the population of Auckland City who considered themself his friend, not to mention a far-reaching author network. Word spread like wildfire.

“Courtesy of Jerry.” Madigan slid a mug of coffee across the bench and I stared at it for a moment before meeting his gaze. A bone-deep sadness lay in the depths of those green eyes, and my own tears welled for just the second time since Davis had died.

I shook my head. “I don’t think?—”

“At least hold it so I can say I tried.” Madigan’s mouth quirked up at one corner. “She’s watching.”

My gaze flicked to the glass wall and its view into reception where Jerry was already bolting back to her desk, trying to pretend she hadn’t been watching. I gave a heavy sigh and took the coffee, lifting it to my lips. I managed a small swallow without throwing up, which I counted as a win, then went back to staring at the play of sun and shadows on the crazy paving at my feet.

Madigan remained quiet, the rhythmic sound of him swallowing his coffee the only thing to break the silence. The door to the courtyard opened and closed, but whoever it was must’ve taken one look and reconsidered their plan. We remained alone.

And Madigan remained silent.

“I’m okay, you know.” I broke first. “You don’t need to worry. No one does. We knew it was coming. Jesus, we even hoped it was coming.”

Madigan settled back in his seat, his gaze hot on my face. “Of course you’re okay. It’s not like you just lost your husband, right?”

I shot him a shocked sideways look, but the kindness in his eyes almost undid me. A tear threatened but I scrubbed it away, then miraculously, I chuckled. “You’re an arsehole, you know that?”

Madigan’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “It might’ve been said once or twice.” And for the first time, I noticed the suture line running between his brows.

“What happened?” I indicated his brow.

His hand rose self-consciously to touch the spot. “I needed a few skin cancers removed.”

My brows rose. “A few?”

“Forehead, arm, and shoulder. Generational hazard, right?” His gaze travelled my face. “Although with your olive skin, you probably fared better than most.”

“So far,” I agreed. “But you never know. We were seriously fucked as kids in that regard, weren’t we?”

He shrugged. “Pretty much. But every generation is seriously fucked in some aspect of health, I suppose. Lead in paint. Sun exposure. Herbicides. You name it.”

Another traitorous tear made it onto my cheeks and I quickly looked away. “Sorry. I can’t seem to turn the fuckers off.”

He gave a soft snort. “I’d be worried if you could. Now drink your coffee. It’s getting cold.”

For some reason I did as he said. Pick your battles, right?

The garden swelled in silence around us. Two men sitting on a bench. Two men as different as night and day. One broken in grief, the other in quiet observation.

Petunias cascaded from hanging baskets along the walkway like pretty cloaks. The cloying scent of jasmine filled the courtyard. And roses bloomed in the first flush of summer.

And still Madigan sat. Quiet and sure.

Like he belonged there.

Like he’d been sent.

And somewhere along the way it suddenly became easy.

“He was so quiet at the end,” I found myself telling him. “So... peaceful. He’d been coughing and rattling for over a week, but this morning he became quiet. Like he knew it was close. Like he’d decided it was time. After that, everything became hushed. His breathing. His movement. The sound of his voice in my head. Everything just... stopped.”

The air thickened between us, thick and cool and calm.

Madigan’s hand found mine and gently squeezed.

I turned, wanting those green eyes on mine, but the weight of the compassion I saw almost undid me. He was staring at the underside of my left wrist, his thumb caressing the tiny Will you? tattoo.

“His one says Yes ,” I whispered the words and Madigan smiled softly. “We weren’t going to get rings but then he surprised me on our first anniversary with a matching pair.”

He nodded and rested back on the bench, our hands lying joined between us.

I closed my eyes for a second and simply breathed. Then I opened them again. “I knew he was gone the second it happened,” I said, swallowing more tears and feeling that warm hand tighten on mine. “Before Lizzie or Maggie or Samuel. I didn’t need anyone to check or tell me. Everything down to my bones ached with the moment of his parting, like something had been ripped from inside me.”

And still Madigan sat. Quiet and soft as a whisper, the reflection of my face swimming in his eyes.

I looked away, feeling brittle and raw. “I’ve never been religious, far from it. But I had the ridiculous notion that what I was feeling was the emptiness left from where Davis’s soul had joined with mine.” I shook my head. “Crazy, right?” I freed my hand and slipped it under my thigh.

Madigan let it go without a word.

“I’d already lost him in most of the ways that count.” I kept talking, not even sure why. “But I’d always felt... something , you know? The idea of losing that too—” I choked. “—God, it feels worse than anything else.”

Madigan watched me closely, the heat of his gaze like fire on my cheeks. “It doesn’t sound crazy at all.”

“Really?” I slumped in my seat and stared up at a sky laced with puffs of white. “It was probably nothing more than the last vestiges of hope giving up. No body, no chance of any miracle recovery. The vigil was over.”

Madigan waited to reply until I faced him again. “From what you’ve told me, the two of you had something special. You’ve walked at his side to the very last step, and that’s no small thing, Nick. It’s an experience that can’t ever be taken away from you, the good and the hard of it.”

I thought of those last few minutes at Davis’s side, his cool hand in mine, his chest barely moving, the peace on his face, and I nodded. “I guess it’s all a jumble right now.”

Madigan’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “You said once that Davis was the most alive person you’d ever known, and I don’t believe that kind of energy ever really disappears completely. Someone as animated as Davis would leave traces on everything he touched, including you. Is it really crazy to believe two souls can touch in some way?” He shrugged. “I’m no expert, but if love is as powerful as people say, then maybe it’s crazier to believe that they can’t.”

I stared down at the bench and let his words sink in. Let them roll around in my heart and find a home. Then I looked up. “Do you believe that?”

Madigan shot me a wry smile. “Hell, what would I know? I’ve only been in love once and I’m quite sure it wasn’t reciprocated. I doubt his soul came within a country mile of mine.” The flippant tone and the half-smile that went with it did nothing to hide the flash of pain behind those bright green eyes—a story for another time.

“But however differently people might define the term soul ,” he continued, “I think we’d all agree it’s not the same as flesh and bone, right?”

I found myself nodding, oddly intrigued by the theological bent our conversation had taken. I wanted to know what Madigan thought. Needed to know. It felt... important somehow.

He was frowning, staring out at the garden, concentrating. “So, maybe when you lose someone you love, the wrench you feel isn’t so much loss but a change in connection from one form to another. When I lost a good friend way back in my twenties, it felt like reading the words The End in a book and then wondering if all those blank pages that followed meant anything. Did the story go on with words I couldn’t see?”

My breath puffed lightly in my chest; a thread of air so thin I feared it might break. I swallowed around the dry lump in my throat and whispered, “And what did you decide?”

Madigan’s gaze grew serious, the fine web of lines that marked the corners of his mouth and eyes softening in the lengthening shadows. “I decided that it didn’t matter,” he finally said. “That maybe our courage lies in not needing an answer. Being content to leave the book open and wonder.”

I let his words sink in, feeling their reassurance ground and nestle close to my heart. Not an answer. Nothing trite like that. Something more important. A safe place to leave the question, for now. A place to return to.

“I think that Davis would agree with you,” I managed. “He’d love the book analogy if nothing else.” I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees, staring at the crazy paving and seeing my whole world reflected back in the broken incoherent pieces. “But gone or simply changed, it doesn’t alter the fact that it’s not him anymore. Not as I knew him. And it never will be again.”

“No,” Madigan said in a hushed tone. “It doesn’t. And I’m so sorry for that.”

I looked up, and when we locked eyes, I thought I might shatter under the weight of all that quiet concern. I cleared my throat and tipped the remains of my coffee into the garden bed. “I should go. There’re things I need to do.”

“Of course.” He hesitated. “Would it be okay if I came to the funeral, if you’re having one?”

I blinked. The thought that Madigan would want to attend hadn’t even occurred to me. “I... ah...”

He held up his hands. “No problem. I totally get it. Forget I asked.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” I reassured him. “Lizzie and I have talked but we haven’t decided on a date yet. I’ll let you know when we do.”

Madigan nodded, a silver-lit lock of hair tangling in his long lashes. He blinked and tucked it safely behind his ear. “Only if you get time, Nick. I don’t want to add to your to-do list.”

“It’s no problem.” I went to stand but Madigan’s hand landed on my arm, holding me in place.

He squeezed gently. “If you ever need to talk, you’ve got my number. Use it.”

I fell into his soft smile, and that razor-sharp pain in my chest dulled a little, just enough to know I wouldn’t be calling Madigan Church to talk... ever. He was far too dangerous.

Besides, I wanted the pain. I wanted to hurt. I wanted to drown in my memories and my guilt until I couldn’t fucking breathe. What I didn’t want was Madigan’s green eyes offering me any kind of solace or lifeline.

And so, I took a deep breath and said, “Thank you.”

Then I committed that gentle face and those pretty eyes to memory and headed for the door.