Crazy Thing Called Love

by Molly O'Keefe

  There was a video clip of Tam measuring Billy’s inseam.

  With his eyes glued to the screen, all the muscles in Billy’s back pulsed and flexed. His fists dug into his hips, like he was bracing himself to take a punch. Or forcing himself to stand still.

  He didn’t glance away from the screen even when she came to stand beside him.

  Part of her, the part that remembered comforting him, and had the will to do it again, wanted to put her arm around his waist, to let him know he wasn’t alone.

  It made her panic, how badly she wanted to be his friend right now. How badly she wanted to help him. His need, his loneliness was like quicksand and she’d been caught there once before.

  It’s not worth it, she thought, feeling like a deer in the headlights. It’s not worth my job to fall back into this situation with him.

  But it was. In so many ways it was. And as much as she needed him to come back on the show, it was obvious that he needed to do it, too. She just had to convince him of that.

  And not end up his crutch again, lifting more than her share of his emotional weight.

  The video clip ended and the anchor was back on, his grin wide. She’d always thought sports journalists were a little mean, especially the ESPN guys. Like the skinny nerds were finally getting their shot against the stronger, faster athletes, who’d probably bullied them growing up.

  “Things took a turn for the worse yesterday morning when on the popular AM Dallas show the following accusations were made.”

  Now the clip was of her introducing Becky and Charlie. Maddy could only wince, her stomach erupting with acid and pain, while she watched her own clueless glance offstage. Her obvious confusion and then the hubbub behind the camera just before it spun around and found the two kids in the crowd.

  “Hi, Daddy,” Becky said, all bravado and fear. And that fear looked like it was directed at Billy. Like the little girl was scared of him. And that wasn’t a good thing.

  There were some camera misdirections and then finally the shot found Billy, staring at Madelyn with hate and violence in his eyes just before he kicked the chairs to the floor, shattered the coffee table.

  The clip ended and the anchor was back.

  “Daddy surprise? Kicking over chairs on television? Now, that would be enough to put Billy Wilkins at the top of our Athletes Behaving Badly list, but then he capped it off this morning with the following blowup.”

  Madelyn didn’t have to watch to know what it would be. Billy shoving that guy on his front lawn.

  “Billy?” she whispered.

  “Don’t talk,” he said, without looking at her.

  “Last night around midnight, Billy’s agent released the following statement.” The screen turned blue, with white words scrolling across the picture as the anchor read them.

  “The children introduced on AM Dallas are Billy Wilkins’ niece and nephew, whose mother died of a drug overdose seven months ago.”

  “Died?” she gasped and Billy only nodded.

  Grief rolled through the room like smoke and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t a total surprise, but hearing how Denise died from the news gave it terrible power.

  She thought of her friend, how badly Denise had wanted her life to be normal before she became the instrument of her own destruction and blinked back tears.

  “As for the allegations made on AM Dallas, Billy can only presume the children were coached in an effort to secure higher ratings. Clearly, he finds these actions despicable and has severed his relationship with the show. Considering the amount of trauma these children have been through over the past seven months, Billy would ask that he be left alone to grieve for his sister and to help his family heal.”

  The blue screen vanished and the anchor was back, grinning widely. “I swear, we could not make this up. Do you think it’s done? Well, it’s not. Two more, that’s right, I said it, two more women have stepped forward with claims that Billy is the father of their children.”

  Madelyn gasped, shocked. Horrified. Oh, she hadn’t even thought of that, but of course the parasites would come out in droves once they smelled this kind of weakness.

  “The Mavericks’ front office has not made a comment as of yet, but I can’t imagine Pat Hornsby, the gentleman coach of the NHL, is very proud of his bad boy defenseman. And that is why Billy Wilkins makes our Athletes Behaving Badly Hall of Fame.”

  The anchor switched stories and Billy hit the power button on the remote control, turning the screen black.

  She stared at the donut in her hand, the chocolate frosting hard and cracked down the middle, the white cream peeking through.

  Did she honestly think a donut would fix anything?

  “When did you find out that Denise overdosed?” she whispered, so overloaded she was numb.

  “Becky told me yesterday.”

  “I’m so sorry, Billy.”

  His laughter was dark and small and she knew the guilt he carried over his family, over the way they’d all turned out.

  “Have you talked to Janice?” she asked and he shook his head.

  “She won’t even pick up her phone.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Violently, Billy rubbed his hands over his face, as if scrubbing away everything that was pulling him backward and down.

  “She can’t stand to be touched,” he whispered. “She’s thirteen and she’s already been hurt.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I tried to help her out of the SUV the first time she attempted to run away.” He glanced sideways at her. “She was trying to hot-wire my truck. Totally clueless. But when I put my hand on her to get her down, she …” His whole body stiffened, like he’d been electrocuted.

  “What … what are you thinking, Billy? Their home is with Janice.” And you are a single man in a violent industry with a boatload of PR drama raining down on you.

  His gaze sliced right through her as if she’d totally disappointed him.

  “You really don’t remember what it was like,” he said. She wanted to tell him that she remembered plenty. That she’d been by his side. But that would start a fight and she wasn’t here for that.

  “What about their father?”

  “Fathers. Plural. Becky doesn’t know who her dad is and Charlie’s is in jail.”

  It was like a rabbit hole of tragedy. They had to climb out quick or they’d be lost forever.

  “What can I do to make this better?” she asked.

  “Which part?” he asked, his sarcasm vicious. “My niece and nephew in the kitchen? My dead sister? The part where your show sabotaged me? The part where reporters and camera crews are camped out on my lawn? Women I don’t know are claiming they have my babies? Tell me, what part of my life are you and your stupid fucking donuts supposed to make better!”

  He grabbed the donut from her hand and heaved her sad little peace offering across the room, where it splattered violently against the black TV screen.

  She jumped, startled, painfully, hideously on edge. The whole house was electric with tension—the kids in the kitchen, Billy in here. It was amazing the foundation was still intact.

  Billy was barely keeping it together. His eyes were wild in a way that was all too familiar.

  A million years ago, when they were young and kind and thought the best of each other, she would have told him to go for a run, or find some ice. She would have taken him to bed just to give his body a chance to process the emotions he couldn’t get a handle on.

  “Look, Billy, you’re mad and you’ve got a right to be. But we need to figure out how to get you out of this mess. I’m here trying to help. And you can stand there—exhausted, two kids in your kitchen, ESPN on your lawn—and throw donuts against the wall or we can do something to try and fix this.”

  “Weren’t you watching?”

  “It’s bad, Billy. It’s really bad. But maybe … maybe if you came back on the show …”

  He shook his head, his hands in fis
ts like he was working really hard at not strangling her. And he probably was.

  “I can guarantee that I will not step foot on your show again.”

  No. No. He was digging himself in, soon to be immoveable.

  “Phil’s been fired.”

  “Doesn’t matter, Maddy. Your show used me. Used those kids.” His throat bobbed as if he was swallowing back tears. “I won’t go back.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but didn’t. How could she possibly convince him?

  “And frankly, I can’t believe you’re going back. They sabotaged you, too!”

  “That show is my job, Billy. My life—” She stopped, suddenly remembering so clearly that first day he came on the show, when she’d said, Hockey is all you have left, isn’t it?

  The show is all I have left.

  Suddenly there was a furious pounding on the front door and she jumped, startled.

  Billy quickly moved to the door, pushing aside the curtains at the window before opening it.

  “Good Christ, Billy.” Billy’s agent stepped inside. Over his shoulder she could see that the vans were still outside and reporters were still standing sentinel on the sidewalk out front. “You’ve really stepped in it this time.”

  “I’m no kid’s father,” Billy said. “Those women are lying—”

  Victor held up his hand. “I know. Everyone knows. But we’ve got bigger problems.”

  “Bigger?” Billy laughed, but then sobered as Victor nodded.

  Billy collapsed backward onto the couch, the fight that had been keeping him upright left his body so quickly he was light-headed.

  “No one?” he asked.

  “No one wants you. Management made it real clear that no one in the league would negotiate a trade, not even with cash attached.”

  “What about Hornsby?”

  “His hands are tied, though I don’t think he fought too hard.”

  “So he couldn’t even pay someone to take me.”

  He was going to throw up. Quickly, he leaned forward, resting his head in his hands, waiting for the dizziness to pass. But it didn’t. The sickness in his stomach got worse. He swallowed the bile in his throat.

  “They gonna buy me out? Set me free?”

  Victor was silent and Billy looked up at him. His agent was decidedly green. Oh God. This wasn’t going to be good.

  “They’re sending you down to play in the minors. Management’s trying to teach you a lesson.”

  The silence boomed through his chest. Embarrassment crawled over his skin.

  “Oh, Billy,” Maddy sighed and it was just an extra special layer of hell that she was here to witness this.

  “Like Sean Avery?” He laughed, though it wasn’t funny. None of it was funny.

  “If you play well, keep your nose clean, maybe you’ll suit back up for the Mavericks.”

  Billy stood, unable to just sit there and gag on the sour taste his life was leaving in his mouth. Pacing helped, so he walked toward the big screen where that donut still stuck, mangled on the television console.

  His career was looking a lot like that donut.

  Disappointment wasn’t something that sat well with him; he wasn’t used to it. Had, in fact, gotten rid of that useless feeling after his divorce. Disappointment only came after contemplation, after thinking about how badly he’d fucked up, and he didn’t do that shit anymore.

  “Fuck ’em,” he said.

  “No.” He could hear Victor getting to his feet, crossing the room to put a conciliatory hand on his shoulder, but Billy wasn’t having that. “Look, maybe you can go in and talk to Hornsby. Throw yourself on his mercy. Apologize.”

  He spun around and paced over to the window. “I won’t do it.”

  Victor stared at him long and hard, his disappointment all too obvious. “Then you’re on your own.”

  “You’re dropping me? After all these years?”

  “You’re not giving me a choice! I’m an agent for athletes. If you don’t play hockey …”

  Then who am I? It was as if he’d screamed it. The roof shook with the force of everything he wasn’t saying.

  “I’ll just check on the kids,” Maddy said, slipping back toward the kitchen just as his life was exploding around him, giant chunks of turf and cement falling down around his head.

  Two kids.

  No agent.

  No hockey.

  Oh God, he was going to twitch right out of his skin. Right out of his mind. He had to do something or he’d start throwing punches, and as mad as he was, as blind angry, he knew that wasn’t the right choice. There was no one here he could hit.

  “I’m going to go work out,” he said.

  Victor threw his hands up. “I can’t help you if you won’t at least try.”

  Try? Billy stormed down the hallway. Try what? Everything he’d ever tried was coming down around his ears.

  Maddy had no idea what she was supposed to do. Handling a PR nightmare like paternity accusations, that seemed do-able, oddly enough. Like a problem that could be taken apart piece by piece and made right.

  Billy playing in the minors? Walking away from his career?

  Too much. It was asking too much of her to help him through that. And maybe it meant she was a coward—she could live with that. But it was clearly time for her to leave, to retreat and formulate a new plan.

  She crept into the kitchen, only to find both kids asleep where they sat, heads resting on their curled-up arms. Charlie’s face was covered in powdered sugar and icing. Becky’s donut had half the sprinkles picked off, but was otherwise intact.

  “Becky?” she whispered; the girl didn’t stir.

  Remembering what Billy had said, she carefully nudged Becky’s elbow, which didn’t even cause her to twitch.

  But when Maddy laid her hand on Becky’s shoulder, the girl leapt up.

  “What!” she cried, all wild-eyed panic. “Where’s Charlie?”

  “Shh. Shh, Becky, Charlie is right here. You’re okay. Everyone is okay.”

  Slowly the girl seemed to get her bearings, staring at her brother where he slept. “He’s out cold.”

  “You were, too. Why don’t you go back to your bedroom? Get some real sleep.”

  Becky’s yawn could have cracked her jaw.

  “Yeah,” she said and slowly stood up from her seat. “Come on, Char.”

  The young girl moved to pick up Charlie, but Maddy stepped in. “Honey, you’re about to fall over. Let me carry Charlie.”

  It was obviously a big deal to Becky, letting someone else take care of her little brother, and Maddy was reminded so much of Billy and Denise. The way he’d carried that girl under his wing for so long. Her and Janice, really.

  “Okay,” Becky whispered and then watched as Madelyn lifted Charlie, his dead weight awkward and heavy.

  “Oh my gosh, girl, how do you do this?”

  Becky didn’t even laugh. “Careful with him.”

  “Of course.” Maddy sobered. Becky apparently wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “Lead the way.”

  Once they reached the guest bedroom, Madelyn put Charlie down on the bed, pulling the comforter up over his shoulders. Becky crawled in next to him, lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

  Becky glanced over at Charlie, as if she was making sure he was there, and then went back to studying the ceiling.

  There were twenty different things Maddy wanted to say to Becky. About her mom. Her uncle Billy. How no one was going to hurt her. Maddy wanted to know if the girl had been hurt. And how. And then she wanted to unleash Billy on that person.

  “What?” Becky asked, finally glaring in her direction.

  “I’m sorry about your mom.”

  Becky’s shrug wasn’t fooling anyone.

  “I … I knew her, a long time ago. We were friends.”

  I’ll braid your hair, she remembered saying that night, to try and get her to stop crying.

  Becky licked chapped lips and Madelyn wanted to tell her to stop. They
were going to bleed soon. She made a note to leave the girl the ChapStick she had in her purse.

  “When you were kids,” Becky said. “I know.”

  Becky wiped her nose with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “She told me about you when she was pregnant with Charlie, she told me some friend of hers had gotten rich and sent us some money. Aunt Janice said it was you, before we came down here. She showed me a bunch of pictures of you when you were a kid.”

  Oh. As far as ties went, it seemed weak. Terrible.

  “You really grew up on the Hill?” Becky asked.

  “Around the corner from your mom and Billy.”

  Becky laughed a little, like she just couldn’t believe it. “How’d you end up here?”

  “I worked really hard.”

  “Yeah. And got your teeth fixed.”

  Maddy jerked at the accusatory tone of Becky’s voice, but then somehow, with the hungry sixth sense that came from being raised in that neighborhood, she realized Becky was trying to make her own associations. Trying to connect every dot from where Madelyn stood to where she’d come from. Because it wasn’t something that happened all that often, and the map, at least from where Becky sat, was a mystery.

  She remembered, all too well, how that felt.

  “I had pretty bad teeth.”

  “Marrying Uncle Billy must’ve helped.”

  She nodded. “It didn’t hurt.”

  “And you probably had like straight A’s. You must’ve been smart. Like for real.”

  “You know, Becky …” She ran a hand over the comforter tucked up high around Charlie’s ears. He sighed and rolled over, flinging out an arm. His hand was so small and pink. She resisted the urge to touch a finger, just a finger. “Not really. Not any smarter than you probably are. I really wanted out of that neighborhood.”

  Becky’s eyes filled with tears and Madelyn forced herself to pretend she didn’t notice them. She took great care to tuck Charlie’s hand back under the blanket.

  Becky turned her face to stare at the ceiling and the tears ran from the corner of her eyes to soak into her hairline.

  Madelyn didn’t know what to do or say. She wasn’t even sure if the girl was scared or sad or homesick.