There’s no reply from Maddox at that.
“Okay. I guess I better head out, then. Can you tell her I stopped by?” she asks.
Go out there. Go out there and say hi.
“Yeah, I’ll tell her.”
Footsteps. Then the door opens. I exhale, thinking I’m in the clear, when she speaks again. “She’s okay? She’s happy?”
I can see Maddox tense from down the hall. The thoughts that must be going through his head right now scare me.
“She’s good. She’s real good at what she does. I’m honored to learn from her.”
I imagine Mom’s smile—part proud, part confusion.
“Thank you. I hope to see you again sometime, Maddox. Tell her I love her.”
And then she’s gone.
Maddox doesn’t come back to me, and I don’t go to him right away either. I give it time—time for Mom to be gone. As I wait, I feel itchy, my feet wanting to run, my brain already checked out. The only thing left is the guilt eating me alive.
Another little flash of a memory flitters through my head. I’m young; I’m crying. Why am I crying?
“She’s gone,” Maddox calls out.
I grab my sweatshirt off the couch and turn off my thoughts.
“Can you take me for a ride on your bike?”
He doesn’t ask where, which is a good thing since I don’t know. Instead he grabs his keys off the desk. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Sixteen
~Maddox~
When I bought my bike, the first thing I did was get an extra helmet for my sister. If shit went down and I had to pick her up, I wanted to make sure she had something to wear. She’s never ridden the fucking thing once, but if she has to, I want to be prepared. It’s probably one of my shitty ways of trying to make up for the past, for not being there. I don’t usually keep it with me all the time, but for whatever reason, after I drove Bee home the other night in her car, I started keeping the helmet with me.
I’ve never had a woman on my bike with me. That’s not something I do. It’s mine and I like to keep the things that are mine away from other people.
Still, when we step outside, I automatically hand Bee my extra helmet. She slips it on her head, and I ease her hands out of the way to latch it.
Neither of us speak, which is a goddamned blessing because words would ruin it. If we just go through the motions, we can both pretend this isn’t a big deal.
As soon as I’m straddling the bike, Bee gets on right behind me. I have no idea if she’s ridden before. Her arms wrap around my waist, and her legs squeeze, and suddenly I want to lay her on it, strip her, and lose myself in her. Maybe it would help her fight off whatever monsters she’s battling right now too.
The engine growls, sending a vibration through me, and then I rip out of the parking lot. Masquerade is toward the end of town, so it doesn’t take long before there aren’t lights or stores or anything else around us except space.
Even though she doesn’t say it, I know she wants to go fast. Sometimes I think if I go fast enough, I can leave everything behind. That’s what I want to do for her. I don’t let myself wonder why or even acknowledge the fact that we’re riding together. I just try to help her fly.
Bee’s grip on me tightens as we speed down the highway.
Without planning it, I drive to a town a couple miles over and end up by the high school football field. The lights are on, evening setting in.
And then . . . I stop. I’m not sure why. There’s no reason to pull over next to a high school football game. Or none that she would know or care of at least.
The stands are full. The scoreboard is lit up, saying it’s the third quarter. At first Bee doesn’t speak. Questions have to be going through her mind, but I think she’s good at that—not pushing. She doesn’t want anyone pushing her, but fuck, I almost wish she would. I almost want to tell her something—something I would never give to another person.
With her arms still holding me, she says, “I’ve never been. To a game, I mean. It wasn’t really my thing in school.”
“It was my life.” My body tenses with the words, but I don’t try to take them back. “Things have changed. I’m not that person and know I never could be. Still, sometimes I like to watch. I watch and pretend that it’s still me and that I’m still the kind of guy who would thrive out there, ya know?” Honesty pours out of me. The same shit that’s usually so locked inside I didn’t even know it was there. I couldn’t be that person again. There are some people who can get it back, who can change. I’m not one of them. That person could never be me. Still, that doesn’t mean I don’t wonder how that life would have been different.
“Let’s watch the game.” Bee nudges me with her arm. Without replying, I pull away, skip the front entrance, and drive to the far end of the parking lot. There’s a field on the other side with a chain-link fence separating it from the game.
Bike parked, Bee climbs off and I’m right behind her.
Why are we here?
What are we doing?
It’s so fucking strange, being with someone like this. It isn’t me, but the crazy part is, I don’t want to be anywhere else.
We walk through the open field, stopping about midway in and pretty far from the fence. For a second I wonder why she didn’t go closer; then I realize she’s like me—it’s easier to participate from a safe distance.
Bee sits in the grass and I look down at her. Her hair is in a messy ponytail and Christ her eyes are so green. I never really noticed before.
“I don’t have a blanket or anything for you to sit on.” My brain and my mouth don’t feel connected. I don’t remember planning those words, but they’re what came out.
She shrugs. “I don’t need one.”
Beside her, I sit with my feet flat on the ground, knees up. A tall weed sticks up between my feet, so I grab it and twist it around my finger, not sure what else to do.
“You don’t seem like the football type.”
“I’m not. The old Maddox was.” This is where anyone else would ask questions. What happened to change you? You’re still the same person, ya know? And maybe it’s like that for some people, but not everyone.
“What position did you play?”
“Quarterback. Are there others?”
She grins. “You’re asking the wrong person, Scratch. I know jack shit about football.”
Testing the words on my tongue, I ask, “Want me to tell you?”
Bee looks over at me, probably more seriously than I’ve ever seen her. “Sure.”
And now I really have to fucking do it. I’m the one who asked. Long conversations aren’t really my thing, but once I start, the words kind of flow. We talk positions, offense and defense. She nods and looks interested, though she probably really isn’t. Even though this isn’t the game I love anymore, it still feels good to talk about it.
Glancing over, I study Bee as she looks at the football game. She’s different. So fucking different than any other woman I’ve known. All my instincts are telling me to walk away. I’ve never wanted to be close enough to someone to have to deal with shit in their lives, yet I’ve done it with her. How easy would it have been to walk away this afternoon? Call her out of the office? But I didn’t.
The lines are blurring for the first time in my life and I don’t know how the hell I feel about it. Don’t know why I’m not walking away. It’s not as if I want to end up like my folks. My brain knows I still fuck up and I’ve let people down and that really, I don’t have shit to give away. I’m pissed half the time and I don’t deal with shit well, but . . . those instincts to run are ghosting away. I want to understand why.
“I’ve never done this before.” An ache lands in my gut at the vulnerability in my own fucking voice. I’ve never heard that. And why? Because we rode on my bike and I’m watching a game with her? Or because her mom came to see her and for the first time I saw real vulnerability in her?
“Me either.”
We’re qui
et and I have to admit, I revel in it. Ever since she walked out of the office and asked to go for a ride, things have felt too deep. But then, no matter how comforting it is, my stupid fucking mouth is the one that opens first. “Your mom seems nice.”
Bee reaches over and for a second, everything inside me turns to stone because I think she’s going for my hand. Instead, she pulls that long weed from my fingers that I forgot I even had and starts playing with it herself.
“She is nice. Remember? I told you she’s perfect.” Another pause. “What about yours?”
“She tries to kill herself. The first time she did it so Laney would find her. She likes to hurt my sister.” The coldness in my voice hits me. Words might not be something I do well, but those I can say. I won’t hide from that or let Mom do it.
“Wow . . . that’s rough. How is she with you?”
The door I didn’t even realize was inside me slams shut. I didn’t tell. I knew what Dad was doing. If anything, I’m as guilty as he is.
“How she treats me doesn’t matter. I don’t matter when it comes to them.”
Restless, I tap a foot, knowing if she asks why, this time I will leave.
She doesn’t.
Instead, she leans her head over and rests on my shoulder, making me tense. Sucking a deep breath into my lungs, I . . . relax. The tension eases out with my exhale and I wait, wondering if she’ll give me a piece of her or if we’ll start the same old masquerade again.
Chapter Seventeen
~Bee~
I don’t matter when it comes to them.
No matter what I’ve gone through in my life, I’ve always known I mattered. When Rex and Melody looked at me with concern or bandaged my scrapes, I knew I mattered.
When I came home and found out how hard Mom and Dad looked for me and saw that my old room never changed and found all the old newspaper interviews online, I discovered I was important to them too.
Does he feel the same?
What’s wrong with me that I can’t return the love I get? That I can’t understand it when so many people long to receive a little of it?
My throat tightens, almost like a fist squeezing me. His mother tries to kill herself yet mine fought for me, still fights for me, and I ignore her.
Maddox is as closed off as I am, yet he’s given some of himself to me. He’s given me way more than I’ve shared with him. He covered for me today when he didn’t have to. And I feel . . . normal when I’m with him. It doesn’t matter that I’m the tattooed, pierced chick with the bad mouth. I’m just Bee.
That means something to me.
The urge to give him a part of me in return takes over.
“His name was the Professor.” Even though I should, I don’t lift my head from his shoulder. Despite the fact that I haven’t said who the Professor is, Maddox doesn’t ask. He’s letting me go at my pace. He knows me . . . Somehow through all of this, he knows me. I swallow the lump in my throat.
“I never really fit in when I was in high school and honestly, I didn’t give a shit.”
Tell him why. I can tell him why. That I was taken when I was young. Then when I went back home, I felt like I didn’t fit with my family. It hurt too. I wouldn’t let myself care if I fit anywhere else.
“I always drew, so that’s what I focused on—drawing and doing my own thing. When I turned eighteen, I decided to get my first tattoo and that’s where I met the Professor. He was old as hell, but good at what he did.”
I startle a little when Maddox’s arm lifts and wraps around my waist. Crazily, I can’t find the urge to pull away.
“So yeah, I went into see the Professor and I had my own drawing of what I wanted.” I bite my lip, hating to admit this next part. “I don’t know why, but I couldn’t do it. It’s like my hands wouldn’t work and I couldn’t grab the drawing out of my pocket to give it to him. I was freaked out, so I left.”
“I don’t believe that.” There’s a hitch to his voice that makes him sound different than he usually does. I’m pretty sure it’s because he’s trying to make me feel better.
“Nice try.”
“Was worth a shot.”
“I appreciate it.” That’s Maddox, I’m realizing. I can see him doing something like that for his sister—can see him trying to make her feel better.
“For the next week I was pissed at myself. I wanted that ink and I wasn’t the type of person to get scared of something. So I went back and then kind of freaked out again. Every week for a month, Maddox. I went back four separate times. By then the Professor started calling me ‘the B-Back.’ It’s what they call—”
“People who chicken out getting a tat,” he interrupts.
Not sure why I didn’t think he’d know that. “Yep. I was the girl who always said she’d ‘be back.’ Crazy, isn’t it?”
He moves a little as though he’s getting more comfortable. You can move your arm, plays on my tongue, but I don’t let the words free. I should want him to move away. I don’t.
“I’ve heard crazier.”
At that I pull away enough so I can look at him, wondering how in the hell we got here. How I got here with anyone. “Careful, I might start thinking you’re nice.”
He tilts his head down and the urge to reach up and kiss him teases me.
“I could start thinking the same about you.”
Then he says nothing—back to his quiet and waiting for me to finish the story.
I look away again. “I was pretty pissed at myself. It was a tattoo. I’d been through way too much in my lifetime to freak out over that, so I went back, the drawing in my hand. Without a word, I handed it to him and he said he knew I’d do it.
“So I did. I let the Professor give me my first tattoo. He’s given me all of them, actually. I’ve never trusted anyone else to do it.”
“Which one?” Maddox asks.
“The Gemini sign on my lower back. It’s—”
“The twins. Two complete opposites living in one body. The yin and yang.”
Trying to play it off like my stomach isn’t quivering because he knew exactly what it means, I laugh. “You’re usually so damn quiet and now I can’t shut you up. That’s the second time you interrupted me.”
“And I never thought you would be the type to keep avoiding what you’re trying to say. You always say whatever the hell you want, and if you didn’t want to tell me this story, you wouldn’t have started, so do it. What’s up with the Gemini?”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise but I ignore them. After sitting up, I pull away from Maddox to see the challenge in his eyes. “I’ve always felt like there are two of me. Getting it tatted made it real. Then I realized not getting it done didn’t make it false either.” Wanna play hardball, we’ll play hardball. “Why don’t you matter when it comes to your mom and sister?”
“Because I kept my mouth shut when I should have spoken up, and they got hurt.”
I cross my arms, running his response over in my mind. For some reason, I didn’t expect him to answer.
My eyes continue to study Maddox as he does the same to me, as though we’re picking each other apart and categorizing the other. “You take responsibility for everything that’s gone wrong in your family’s lives, the same way you try to take care of your sister, don’t you?”
I wait for it. Wait for the anger that I know Maddox is capable of. Not violence, because that’s not him, but the anger he feels at the world—the same emotion I see every time I look in the mirror.
“I don’t do this, Bee.” He shakes his head, looks out at the football game again.
My eyes travel the same line of sight as his, watching the game but not taking it in. “Me either . . .” After taking a couple deep breaths, I continue. “The Professor asked me who did the drawing and I told him I did. He asked if I was lost and I told him I was. I felt like that for years . . . lost, like I didn’t really know who I was. Then he asked, ‘Wanna come back tomorrow, B? Maybe work with me?’ I know it sounds crazy but every
thing kind of clicked into place then. I could come back to his tattoo parlor and I could become Bee. Not because I was a B-Back, but because it’s who I wanted to become. Bee—the girl who chose who she was and didn’t let anyone pick it for her.”
It’s almost like this weight lifted off my shoulders to say this to him. My back straightens, pride teasing me and asking for permission in. I decided who I am.
Maddox turns his head in my direction. There’s a relaxed air about him that he doesn’t usually have. With my eyes, I take in the stubble on his jaw and his dark, messy hair. It would really help things if he wasn’t so damn sexy. Keep lyin’ to yourself, Bee. If it was just his looks, you wouldn’t be here right now.
“That takes guts. Not everyone can do that.” He’s staring at me and I’m still staring at him. I can’t keep from thinking about the ring in his nipple and want to run my tongue over it.
Then he reaches toward me. Automatically I flinch and then feel like an idiot. He pauses for a second, touches my hair, and the movement is almost. . . tender. I’ve slept with Maddox three times. He’s not the only guy I’ve ever been with but that touch—the way he lets my hair almost float and fall from his fingertips—feels like the most intimate moment of my life.
“Who told you who you should be?” Then his hand falls, as does my stomach.
No one, but that doesn’t make it easier. I know who they want me to be and I should love them enough to do it.
“Next question.”
Maddox laughs this rich, throaty sound that makes my insides flip. “No shit. I’m going to use that one from now on.”
“Deal.”
A whistle blows, signaling the football game is over. Time flew by because I didn’t even realize we’d been out here this long. I watch as Maddox stands and then holds out his hand. I surprise myself by letting him help me up. “I’m driving.” I look over my shoulder at him as I walk toward the motorcycle.
He gives another laugh. “Where’d you hide the alcohol because you must be drunk.”
“Asshole.” I shake my head and roll my eyes.