Pricked

by Winter Renshaw

  … this time …

  … it’s her.

  It’s really her.

  “Madd,” Pierce is thirty feet ahead now, squinting through snowflakes and motioning for me to come on. “What the hell are you doing? We’re missing the opening act right now.”

  I’m paralyzed, unable to move. All I can do is stand here watching her. A fitted dress the color of shimmering champagne hugs her body and her skin has a sun-kissed glow, likely from her time closer to the equator. Her hair is swept back and secured at the nape of her neck, showing off the feminine curve of her shoulders and the subtle dips above her collarbone. She’s smiling at someone, her nose crinkling as she laughs. But it’s almost a sad sort of smile—like she’s doing her best to move on, to bury the pain.

  Brighton’s the only girl I know who can make a smile look sad, and it kills me to know I’m the reason.

  “Madd!” Pierce yells.

  I motion for him to go on. “I’ll catch up with you.”

  My heart races in my chest. I’ve waited months for this moment.

  I’m two seconds from going in when I realize she’s not alone.

  Standing beside her is a man in an expensive suit, the recipient of her full attention. A moment later, he extends his arm and she hooks her hand into his elbow.

  It’s a Friday night—I’m almost positive she’s on a date.

  But not for much longer …

  Before I have a chance to get to her, they disappear into the elevator and I find myself standing in the middle of the lobby, watching as the elevator stops on four separate floors before returning to the lobby without them.

  I’ll search this whole fucking building if I have to—I’m going to find her. And I’m going to tell her how I feel.

  How I really feel.

  I’ve had a lot of time to think these last several months. Too much time, maybe. And I realized something. My entire adult life, I always looked at love as a game of sorts—you can’t lose if you don’t play, and if you are idiotic enough to play, the one who feels the least wins.

  But it was a different kind of game with Brighton.

  Rock. Paper. Scissors.

  I was always the rock. She was always the paper.

  And it was never about winning.

  All she was doing was covering my dark with her light.

  My hard with her soft.

  53

  Brighton

  I swear I just saw Madden ...

  “You okay?” Johnathan asks. We’re coming back to the reception after getting some fresh air outside, which lasted all of two seconds because apparently since we’ve been holed up in the Skyline Tower all day for various wedding festivities, it’s been snowing like crazy all over Chicago.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You got quiet all of a sudden.”

  Johnathan leads me into the ballroom where my brother and his bride are already tearing up the dance floor. The live band sings an Earth Wind and Fire number, and everyone’s twirling and swaying and singing along and making their rounds, flutes of champagne in hand.

  Today’s ceremony was nothing short of breathtaking. It was all wintery silvers and icy whites and crystalline blues, a perfect December wedding.

  Mom cried.

  Dad actually smiled for pictures.

  Not a single caterer or florist or bridesmaid was late.

  Everybody held their peace.

  As frenetic as the past week has been, it all worked out because everything went off without a hitch.

  “You want to dance?” Johnathan asks.

  My feet throb in my pointed heels. I’ve been running around in these since eleven o’clock this morning.

  “Think I’m going to sit down for a bit,” I say. “But you go ahead.”

  “Yeah, no. If I’m going to be out there making a fool of myself and doing the Electric Slide, then so are you,” he says.

  I chuckle, deciding I’ll just have to dance barefoot tonight. “I’m going to need some champagne first.”

  “Whatever it takes.” He winks before heading off to find one of the white jacketed servers carrying flutes of Cristal around the ballroom and I take a seat at our reserved table, sneaking an opportunity to check my phone since I haven’t so much as looked at it since this morning.

  Shortly before I left for Honduras, my father gave me a new phone with an international plan. My old phone is off, sitting in a drawer in my room. I don’t even know if it’s still active, and I haven’t had the nerve to turn it on.

  Part of me is dying to know if I have any missed calls or messages from Madden.

  The other part of me is scared of how it might feel if there’s nothing …

  After all, the last time I saw him, he was with his ex, and for all I know, they’re still together. Plus, the week after I left, he’d called me a couple of times, but I was still so upset about seeing him with Veronica that I wasn’t ready to speak to him, and then after I lost the baby, I figured there was no point.

  But there hasn’t been a single day that has passed where I haven’t thought about him at least once.

  “Your champs, madam,” Johnathan says, returning with two flutes filled to the top with golden bubbly.

  “You’re the best.” I take one and we ‘cheers’ before taking sips. The strap of my dress falls down my shoulder for the millionth time tonight, and the sequins that cover the bodice keep digging into the skin beneath my arms, leaving red marks.

  Needless to say, this isn’t a dress of my choosing, but given the fact that I’ve been away the last few months, my mother saw an opportunity and wasted no time seizing it.

  “Johnathan!” His mother, Clarice, calls to him from across the room, waving him over. She must want to introduce him to someone.

  “Time to be Mama’s Golden Child,” he says, tossing back the rest of his champagne. “When I get back, we’re Electric Sliding all over that dance floor.”

  I laugh. “I doubt that song’s even on the set list.”

  He shrugs. “So? We’ll Electric Slide to Al Green if we have to. Be right back …”

  I sip my champagne and stare out the windows, to a midnight-black skyline peppered with the biggest snowflakes I’ve ever seen, turning downtown Chicago into a winter wonderland of sorts.

  On the dance floor, Laurel and Eben are linking arms and twirling and laughing while the live band sings, “Shake Your Groove Thang.” She’s barefoot, laughing as he spins her around.

  That’s what love should be right there—easy, simple, uncomplicated. Fun.

  I hope my brother realizes how lucky he is to have found someone who wants to be with him as much as he wants to be with her.

  Turning back to the window beside our table, I toss back the remains of my Cristal and gaze at the snowy kingdom outside. Johnathan’s elbow deep in some conversation with his mother and a few of her friends, so it would seem our Electric Slide is on hold for the time being. Placing my empty flute toward the center of the table, I turn around to scan the room for another server because the night is young and I’m not driving.

  I spot one about ten feet away with a tray full of freshly poured champagne.

  Rising, I gather my skirt in my hands and turn to catch the guy before he gets away—only to find myself face to face with a different guy.

  “Oh my God.” I lift my fingers to my mouth. “What are you doing here?”

  Madden Ransom stands before me, hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking every bit as casually gorgeous as he always has.

  My heart stops, skips, and skids, and I swear the room gets ten degrees hotter.

  “I need to talk to you,” he says.

  “Now?!” I scan the room. Everyone’s doing their own thing, in their own little bubbles.

  “Yes, now. I’ve waited almost four damn months to talk to you.” He hooks his hand around my elbow and navigates us around, through, and between dozens of round tables covered in white table clothes, dyed roses, and shimmering can
dles until we find a quiet spot in the hall outside the ballroom.

  Before he says a word, his eyes fall to my stomach. I wonder how much he knows?

  “How did you know I was here?” I ask.

  An older couple, likely from Laurel’s side of the guest list, walk past us, their narrowed gazes lingering on Madden in his ripped jeans.

  “You didn’t keep it,” he says as soon as they’re out of earshot.

  “Not because I didn’t want it.”

  His jaw flexes. “Great, so you let your parents make that decision for you too?”

  I want to slap him. “It wasn’t a viable pregnancy. I lost it.”

  Scoffs. “That’s not what your dad told me, but then again, he isn't the most honest man, is he?”

  “What are you talking about?” I fold my arms across my chest. It’s chillier out here than it is in the ballroom, and a spray of goose bumps covers my bare skin. Still, I feel none of it.

  “There’s so much I have to tell you.” His dark eyes are wild, excited almost, and he begins to say something until the double doors leading out of the ballroom swing open and out walks my father with two security guards in tow.

  “That’s the one,” he says, pointing to Madden.

  “No, wait.” I step between them, but my father pulls me away.

  “I want him out of here. Immediately,” my father says, pointing. “Brighton, get back inside.”

  Madden looks to me before lifting his palms and walking away before the guards can lay a hand on him. A moment later, the three of them disappear into an elevator.

  “Why did you do that?” I ask.

  “He had no business being here,” he says, practically spitting his words. “And how did he even know you were here?”

  I have no idea, but I’m sure I’d have found out if he hadn’t interrupted us. Madden was about to tell me something, and by the incited look on his face, I imagine that something was big.

  “Have you been in contact with him again?” he asks. “Since you’ve been home?”

  “No.”

  He studies me, like he doesn’t believe a word of it. My mother appears in her shimmery baby-blue mother-of-the-groom gown and asks what’s going on.

  I shoot my father a look before giving her a simple answer. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  And then I return to the ballroom to find Johnathan.

  “Dance with me,” I say as the band begins to play an Al Green song. If I’m on the dance floor with him, in front of hundreds of friends and family, my parents won’t dare make a scene. And while dancing isn’t my favorite thing in the world, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to avoid my parents the rest of the night.

  I press my cheek against Johnathan’s suit jacket and breathe in his unfamiliar cologne. Sometimes I wonder if we’d have ended up together if he weren’t gay. We get along so well, like we have an unspoken language. And it speaks volumes that we can go years without seeing each other and pick up right where we left off.

  But alas, it was never meant to be.

  With my hands on his shoulders, I can’t get comfortable. It’s like his height is all wrong for me. He isn’t tall like Madden. The top of my head doesn’t fit perfectly beneath his chin like it did with Madd. And his shoulders are narrower, not nearly as substantial as Madden’s were.

  I’m not sure why I’m comparing the two right now. It’s a pointless endeavor all around.

  A new song begins a few minutes later, this one peppier, and it draws more people to the dance floor. Johnathan twirls me under his arm, laughing, not a care in the world. I try to place myself back in this moment. I try to enjoy being surrounded by friends and family and the kinds of things that symbolize love …

  But it’s hard to be here when my heart is somewhere else.

  We dance to two more songs before I pull him to an uncrowded corner and tell him I’m leaving.

  “If my parents ask where I am, can you cover for me?” I ask, scanning the room to make sure they’re not watching me like hawks.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  I rise on my toes, kissing his cheek. “I’ll tell you everything later. I promise.”

  54

  Madden

  Pierce drops me off in front of my place shortly after one in the morning.

  Ears ringing, I make my way to the side door. I have to say that’s the first time in my life that I’ve attended a Flaming Lips concert and not enjoyed it.

  And how could I, with the woman I love a few blocks away, dancing the night away with some other guy?

  When I saw her board the elevator and watched as it hit the fourth, eleventh, fifteenth and top floors, I searched them all until I found her.

  Apparently it was her brother’s wedding, not a date. But who the hell gets married on a Friday night in December?

  I’d barely had a chance to say more than a couple of sentences to her when her father had me escorted off the property.

  Heading into my building, I climb the stairs. I’m halfway up when I fish my keys from my pocket and glance up at my door.

  “Hi.” A pretty blonde in a sparkly gold dress is seated on the top step. A pair of pointy gold heels rest beside her. Nothing about her looks like she belongs here but the juxtaposition of her radiant beauty against stained concrete steps in a dimly lit apartment building is a sight for sore eyes—and one I never thought I’d be lucky enough to see again.

  “Hi.” I continue toward her, never taking my eyes off her, as if she’s a desert mirage that could disappear if I so much as blink. “How long have you been waiting here?”

  She gives me a tender smile. “A while.”

  “You could’ve called me.” I’d have left that concert so fast …

  “I have a different phone now. Your number’s in my old one.”

  That explains a few things.

  I slide my key into the lock and let us in, flicking on a couple of lamps before meeting her in the small bit of open space between the bed and the living area.

  Her hands fall at her sides. “So? What’d you want to tell me?”

  Drawing in a hard breath, I let it go before answering. “Everything.”

  “Everything?” She raises a brow.

  “Yes. Ask me anything. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  Her full lips press together and her eyes scan the length of me before returning to mine. “How much time do we have?”

  “All night.”

  Her tongue darts to the corner of her mouth before she squints at me. “All right. Why don’t you have any tattoos?”

  I take her hand, leading her to the loveseat by the TV, and we sit together.

  “I had a brother once,” I begin, chest tightening. “We were twins, actually. Identical. His name was Dallas.” She says nothing, but her eyes soften. “Growing up, we did everything together. And we were twins in every sense of the word—right down to our interests. From the second we were old enough to write our names, we both took an interest in drawing. And over the years, we’d practice, getting better and better. Then we started practicing on each other—drawing different tattoos and that sort of thing. Anyway, when we were sixteen, we made a pact … we were going to open a tattoo shop together when we were older. And we agreed that I’d give him his first tattoo and he’d give me mine.” I stop for a second, swallowing the lump in my throat just to have it return. “Anyway, he died later that year … and I vowed to keep my end of the agreement. So there you go. I know it’s not some scandalous secret, but losing my brother … I can’t even begin to describe—”

  She places her hand over mine. “It’s okay. I get it. I know what it feels like to lose someone you love more than anything.”

  We sit in silence for a second. I’m not sure if I feel lighter because I got that off my chest or because she’s here, but suddenly the world feels a little less heavy.

  “But there’s something else,” I say.

  “Okay …”

  “My father …
he killed your grandparents.” I wince, watching for her reaction.

  “I know.” She leans toward me. “And for the record, I would never hold any of that against you. Honestly, I wish you’d have told me sooner.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “Since the week after I last saw you.” Her eyes shift from a stack of sketch pads on the coffee table to me. “I’m sorry about your brother, by the way. I can’t imagine. And I’m sorry for the role my grandfather played in his death.”

  I nod, at a loss for words at first. It’s good to hear somebody apologize for his death, even if it had nothing to do with her.

  “How’d you find out?” I ask. “About everything?”

  “My father did a background check on you.”

  I sniff. “Of course he did.”

  “Which leads me to my next question … why didn’t you tell me about your criminal history? The stalking and the harassment?”

  My head cocks to the side. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Madden,” she says. “I saw your criminal record. Everything was listed there on the background check. Burglary, DUI, criminal mischief …”

  “Brighton.” I half laugh because this is completely ridiculous. “I’ve never so much as had a speeding ticket.”

  She straightens her posture, watching me. I get the sense that she wants to believe me, but I’m sure her father’s filled her head so full of lies that it isn’t that easy.

  “Whatever he gave you … it’s probably fake,” I say.

  She shakes her head, and for a second, I’m sure she’s about to defend him.

  “Here.” I tear a piece of paper from one of the sketch pads and grab the nearest pencil, jotting down my full name, date of birth, and Social Security number. Handing them to her, I say, “All yours. Run your own background check on me and see what you come up with.”