“But… why me? Is it just because I remind you of your late wife?” Maddox’s gaze is steady, unwavering, as if he’s deciding just how much truth to give me. He studies me for a beat longer, then exhales, shaking his head like he’s amused at himself. “Not really. You have the same fight as her, but you’re different than she was. Do you want to know the truth?” I nod, and he swallows, like the truth will cause him pain. “When my mom sent me a picture of you, I couldn’t stop looking,” he finally says, his voice low, rough around the edges. “I kept staring, wondering what you’d be like—how you’d
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