Fated Series. Book #2
"Be possessive of me, own me, keep me, because if you do then nothing and no one else can." - Maddox.
My name is Maddox Vallero, and I'm dead.
Well, that's not quite true. I'm alive in the breathing, walking, talking sense-but...
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Chapter 39 Sweet and Sour Morning Sophia
I don't remember falling asleep—only that Maddox had been very convincing about going to Abu Dhabi for Ash's last race. But now, as my eyes blink open, the sun floods the room through the wide windows, making me squint against the brightness. The bed beneath me is soft, cozy, warm—trying to lull me back into sleep.
It almost works.
But then realization slams into me, and I jolt upright.
I slept through the night.
Panic claws its way up my throat, leaving a bitter taste behind. I never sleep through the night—not without waking up at least once, checking on Jax, making sure he's breathing. The fact that I didn't sends something sharp and suffocating through me. My eyes dart around the room, searching for his crib, but—it's gone. My stomach drops. I turn quickly to Maddox, about to shake him awake, but then I freeze.
Because the sight next to me makes the whole world still.
Maddox is sprawled across the bed, the blanket kicked halfway off, leaving only his lower half covered. His stomach flexes slightly with every slow, steady breath, golden skin kissed by the morning light. Scars—some faint, some more pronounced—trace their way across his chest, stomach, and arms, scattered like stories he's never told. I've seen glimpses before, but never like this. Never bathed in sunlight, never so unhidden. The tattoo at the base of his throat stretches with his breathing. Temporary. The word is inked in a lazy font, matching his personality.
Maddox once believed he was temporary. That he could be here one day and gone the next, and no one would notice.
But I'd notice.
And now he's here, lying next to me, his hand hanging off the edge of the bed, holding Jax's tiny hand through the crib.
At some point in the night, Maddox must have moved the crib closer to his side. They're both asleep, fingers wrapped around each other's in a way that makes my heart ache. I inhale, trying to steady myself, but the sight in front of me is dangerous. The way the sun spills across Maddox's turned face, highlighting every sharp line, the messy strands of dirty brown hair falling over his closed eyes, almost blond in the light. He looks weightless. Peaceful. Like nothing can reach him here, not the pain, not the chaos, not the past.
And for that, I feel relief.
They both look safe.
For a long time, I just sit there and watch them.
I've never felt this before. Whatever this is. It's new. I feel new. I don't feel like rushing through the morning, don't feel the need to push my body to exhaustion just to clear my head. I don't feel like planning out every move, every breath, every detail of how I present myself today. I don't even want to move.
I've spent my whole life guarding myself—building walls so high no one could even think about scaling them. But when I look at Maddox, something inside me wants to let go. Wants to trust. Wants to stop carrying the weight of everything and just exist.
