Ghosted

by J. M. Darhower

  She nods, whispering, “Don’t make me regret it.”

  I hope like hell I don’t.

  Madison runs over, breathing heavily, waving her hands all around as she stammers out some half-sentences. Kennedy grabs a juice box, poking a straw in it before handing it to her. The girl sucks it down in one gulp.

  “Do you have your suit?” she asks suddenly as she squeezes the empty box, crushing it.

  The question catches me off guard. “What?”

  “For Breezeo. Do you have the suit or no?”

  “Uh, no,” I say. “Not with me.”

  “Where is it at?”

  “In a wardrobe trailer somewhere, I imagine. Why?”

  She shrugs, giving the juice box to her mother. “Does it work? Does it go all invisible for real?”

  “No, it’s a normal costume.”

  “And you don’t go all invisible?”

  “No,” I say. “I’m normal, too.”

  She scowls. I feel like I’m telling the kid Santa isn’t real.

  “But you’re a hero,” she says. “I seen it on the TV, so maybe you don’t gotta disappear, so then you can stay and don’t have to go away now.”

  Those words are a punch to the chest. I blink at her, not sure if she means that how it sounds, but I’m verbally getting my ass kicked this afternoon.

  “We read part of Ghosted the other day,” Kennedy chimes in. “She isn’t happy that Breezeo leaves at the end.”

  The explanation doesn’t make it much better. Sighing, I sit down on the edge of the picnic table. “Yeah, I always thought that sucked. Sure, he thought it was for the best, but I figured they would’ve given him a happy ending.”

  “He should come back,” Madison says. “Then he can get better and they’ll be happy.”

  She’s hitting way too close to home with this shit, and she doesn’t even know it. “Huh, maybe you should’ve written the story.”

  Madison’s eyes widen, her face lighting up with a smile. Her expression makes my goddamn heart act up. She’s beautiful, this kid—even more beautiful than I ever could’ve dreamed of. There’s a spark inside of her, one that echoes inside of me, the kind of spark I haven’t felt in a long time.

  “I can do that!” she says. “I can fix it!”

  Kennedy laughs. “I’m sure you can.”

  Madison is off again, running around. I sit there in silence, watching her play. A few minutes pass before my phone rings in my pocket. I dig it out. Cliff.

  “Yeah?” I answer flippantly.

  “Hey!” Cliff says, sounding way too enthusiastic. “How’s our hero feeling this afternoon?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On what you want.”

  “Just checking in to see how you’re holding up.”

  “In that case, I’m doing fine.”

  “Good,” he says. “Any less of a moody prick?”

  “Maybe a bit.”

  “Well, every little bit counts.”

  He laughs.

  Cliff doesn’t laugh.

  “Anyway, I didn’t get the chance to check in with you after you got discharged,” he says. “You back home in LA now?”

  “No, I decided to, you know... stick around.”

  “Stick around,” he says. “You’re still here in the city?”

  “Uh, close to it.”

  It doesn’t take him long to realize what I mean. “You didn’t. Seriously, tell me you aren’t where I think you are right now.”

  “I am.”

  He huffs. “We go through this every time you go there. Every single time.”

  We do. Usually, I spiral after showing up in Bennett Landing. I’d go on a bender and binge my heart out and not stop until I was so fucking numb someone could’ve shot me and I wouldn’t have felt it. And after I pulled myself together, the lecture would come—I’m playing with fire, it’s a PR nightmare, imagine what will happen if word gets out…

  Imagine if the paparazzi show up there. Imagine if they invade her life the way they do yours. Imagine them stalking your daughter at school. Imagine the stories they’ll print about the kid you abandoned. Imagine what it’ll do to you when they call you a deadbeat father.

  “It’s fine,” I say. “Nobody knows I’m here.”

  “You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

  “Stop worrying. I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

  “You better not,” he says. “Serena’s causing enough trouble right now.”

  I sigh, lowering my head. “What now?”

  “She checked into rehab.”

  That isn’t what I expected him to say, but I’m not surprised. “Was it voluntary?”

  “Sure,” he says, “if you consider all those times you went to be voluntary.”

  Not even close.

  “She was getting out of hand,” he says. “Figured it was a good time for her to get some help.”

  “Good,” I say. “Hope it works out.”

  “You and me both.”

  “So, that’s it? Nothing else?”

  “No,” he says. “Unless you have anything to share?”

  I end the call without humoring that and shove the phone in my pocket, looking over at Madison. I’m not going to jinx myself. Today was a happy accident. I’m not sure what happens next.

  “Let me guess,” Kennedy says. “Your wife?”

  “I told you I don’t have one of those.”

  “I bet you tell people you don’t have a daughter too, huh?”

  I cut my eyes at her. Bitterness drips from every one of those words. “Nobody ever asks.”

  “But you don’t offer the information up, either.”

  “I would,” I say. “I will, if you want me to. I’ll call up a reporter right now and give them an exclusive. But just know, by tomorrow morning, they’ll be banging down your door. They’ll be hiding in the bushes, climbing trees, looking through windows, clambering to get pictures. Hollywood Chronicles will have you on the front page by next week. Is that what you want?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  Of course it’s not.

  It’s inevitable. Someday, they’ll find out. I just hope we have time to figure things out before that happens, time for me to get to know my daughter and earn Kennedy’s trust before the vultures swoop in and try to fuck it all up.

  “Maddie!” she hollers, standing up. “We need to get going, sweetheart!”

  “Don’t,” I say right away. “Please don’t leave.”

  “I have things to do,” she says.

  “Just twenty more minutes,” I say. “Ten minutes.”

  “I would, but…”

  Kennedy trails off as Madison runs up to us, her hair wild now. “Do we have to leave, Mommy?”

  “We have to go to Grandpa’s, remember? We told him we’d come over.”

  “Can he come, too?” Madison asks her before turning to me. “Will you come?”

  “To your grandfather’s house?”

  “Yep! Grandpa will like you, ‘cuz he watches Breezeo, too!”

  Kennedy laughs under her breath as she gathers their stuff.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say. “Maybe another time.”

  She looks disappointed, pouting. I want to take it back. I want to tell her I’ll go anywhere she wants me to go, even if that means visiting a man who once said he’d cut off my nuts if I ever stepped foot in his house again. I’ve shown up a few times since then, never brave enough to go inside, but I’d do it for her.

  I’d grow big enough balls to risk him taking them. Snip, snip.

  “Oh, don’t even try those puppy dog eyes on him,” Kennedy says, playfully grasping Madison’s chin, her fingers squeezing her chubby cheeks. “He’s way too smart to fall for it.”

  “But he can come next time?” she asks.

  “Maybe,” Kennedy says. “We’ll see.”

  I open my mouth to say goodbye, but Madison lunges at me before I can. She wrap
s her arms around my neck, and my heart fucking aches as I hug her. It’s over quickly, way too quickly, as she pulls away. “Thank you, Breezeo!”

  “Jonathan,” Kennedy corrects her.

  “Jonathan,” Madison says, “but still Breezeo, too.”

  “You’re welcome, Maddie,” I say. “Thank you for letting me feed the ducks.”

  Kennedy grabs Madison’s hand, lingering there for a moment. I can tell she wants to say something. Her lips part, but all that comes out is a sigh before she walks off.

  On Saturday evening, at a few minutes past eight o’clock, you pull your blue Porsche into the driveway of the modest two-story house.

  The girl meets you out on the porch. She’s barefoot, wearing a simple gray dress, the kind that looks like a long t-shirt.

  You step onto the porch in front of her. You aren’t sure what to expect. Your gaze scans her. It’s blatant you’re checking her out, your eyes lingering on her smooth, bare legs.

  “So, my parents aren’t home,” she says. “I swore I wouldn’t leave the house while they were gone.”

  She’s nervous as she tells you that, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. It distracts you. Your eyes keep darting to it as the material inches up further and further. “How long will they be gone?”

  “Until tomorrow,” she says. “So it’s just me, home, alone, all night long… whatever shall I do with my night?”

  You meet her gaze. You smile.

  You don’t have to say a word.

  She pulls you into the house. She’s bold, again making the first move, kissing you as soon as you’re inside. Her lips express confidence, but her hands are shaking. You grab them, holding them, and kiss her back.

  “Happy birthday,” she whispers. “I have something to show you.”

  “Can’t wait to see it.”

  She takes you upstairs.

  She takes you to her bedroom.

  It’s dimly lit from a small lamp and looks like the typical room of a teenage girl—cluttered, a lot of color, flowery comforter. There’s a Breezeo Ghosted poster on the wall above her bed. There’s a candle lit on a nearby desk. It smells like vanilla.

  “You sure about this?” you ask when she kisses you again, but there’s no doubt that she’s sure. “I figured you’d want to watch a movie or something first.”

  “Do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Do you want to watch a movie?” she asks, kissing along your bruised jawline. “I mean, I guess we can, if that’s what you want…”

  “Fuck that,” you say as you move her to the bed. “What I want is to find out what it feels like to be inside of you.”

  She blushes, and laughs, the sound morphing to moans as you kiss her neck. You waste no time pulling off her dress, leaving her in front of you in a lacy black thong with a matching bra.

  “Fuck, you’re beautiful, K,” you say as your gaze scans her. “So goddamn beautiful.”

  She dramatically rolls her eyes.

  “I’m serious,” you say, tugging her down onto the bed. “Don’t you ever doubt that. You’re the queen, baby… I’m just a commoner.”

  “Did you just…?” She stares at you as you push her onto her back and hover over her. “Oh my god, you seriously just quoted Breezeo to me.”

  “Foreplay,” you say. “Besides, it’s a good line.”

  She’s speechless.

  You yank off your shirt and kick off your shoes. You only have one condom stashed in your wallet, not thinking you’d actually get this far, and who knows how old the thing is, but she’s on the pill, so you roll with it. No stopping now.

  The rest of the clothes disappear.

  You move slowly, your touch gentle, giving her time to adjust. Your fingers are inside of her, and your mouth is on her, as orgasm rips through her. You go easy, as you take her virginity, pushing in carefully and pausing. She’s trusting you, giving herself to you. You don’t want to hurt her.

  You make her feel good.

  Over and over.

  You stay all night long.

  It’s nearing dawn when you finally slip your clothes back on. She’s laying there, the blanket wrapped around her, watching as you sit down on the edge of the bed to put your shoes on.

  As you tie them, she sits up, wrapping her arms around you from behind. She hugs you, her head resting against your back. She stays that way for a few minutes before she pushes away from you. “Crap, almost forgot to show you that thing for your birthday!”

  “I thought that thing was you.”

  “What? No.” She laughs, blanket still wrapped around her. She almost trips on it as she drags you downstairs, forcing you onto the couch in the living room. “Sit.”

  She sits beside you and turns on the TV. You think maybe she’s trying to watch a movie now, but no, she goes to something that she recorded—Law & Order.

  “No way,” you say when she presses play.

  It’s your episode.

  “It was on a few days ago,” she tells you. “Luckily, cable plays the same things over and over, and I caught it on a rerun.”

  You laugh, putting your arm around her.

  The two of you sit together and watch it.

  Not just your parts. You watch the whole thing. When it’s over, she looks at you and says, “I don’t care what else you do in the future, even when you’re the biggest movie star in the world… the dead kid on Law & Order will always be my favorite part you’ve played.”

  You leave not long after that.

  It’s seven o’clock in the morning.

  And you don’t know this, but that girl? She realizes, as your car speeds away, that she’s desperately falling in love with you. Her body’s sore, and her chest aches, her heart pounding wildly. She hasn’t had a moment of sleep, but that matters not a bit. She’s sky-high, and nothing can bring her down from this euphoria—not even when a nosy neighbor tells her father all about the blue Porsche that spent the night parked in the driveway. Not even when he notices the love bites around her neck from your frantic lips. Not even when he threatens to take your manhood and tells her she’s grounded for the rest of her life. Because the night that girl just spent with you? Worth it.

  Chapter 11

  KENNEDY

  “Grandpa! Grandpa! Guess who I saw!”

  Maddie starts yelling the second she’s out of the car, running up onto the porch of the house. My father sits in his rocking chair, stalling his movement. “Who?”

  “Breezeo!” she says, stopping on the porch in front of him, flailing her arms as she launches into her story. “He was at the store, and then he didn’t believe that the ducks like kale, so he came to the park to see and he fed the ducks, too! But I think he got scared, ‘cuz he didn’t feed them good, but they ate it anyway.”

  My father blinks at her as he absorbs those words. “Breezeo.”

  She nods. “But not real Breezeo, ‘cuz he’s not real, so he’s Jonathan.”

  “Jonathan.”

  Another nod. “I told him he should come here, too, ‘cuz you like Breezeo, and he said maybe he would the next time.”

  My father lets out a laugh of disbelief. “Ha! I’d like to see him come here.”

  “Dad,” I warn.

  “Me, too!” Maddie says, not realizing that’s a borderline threat. She runs inside, leaving me alone with my father. He says nothing, but yet his expression says it all.

  “It kind of snowballed,” I say, sitting down on the porch beside him. “We need to have the stranger danger talk because she took to him right away.”

  “Like mother, like daughter,” he says. “I’m guessing you didn’t tell her who he is to her.”

  “Yeah, no… not sure how to explain it.”

  “You just tell her.”

  “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

  “But it is,” he says. “She’s a smart girl. Besides, do you really think she’ll take the news bad?”

  “No, I think she’s going to be the happiest ki
d on the planet, which is half the problem. Because what happens if he lets her down?”

  “Hate to break it to you, but that’s not something you can control. Will she ever be disappointed? Probably. But he’ll love her, because who wouldn’t? And if he’s making an effort, she deserves a chance to love him in return.”

  He’s right, of course, but he makes it sound so simple when it feels anything but at the moment.

  “You realize we’re talking about the same guy that you once called the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone’s daughter?”

  He laughs.

  “Grandpa, can I have this?” Maddie asks, bursting out onto the porch, holding a banana Popsicle. She licks it, not waiting for permission, a bite already taken off the top.

  “What? You want my Popsicle?” He scrunches up his face. “No way! I was saving that for later!”

  She freezes, wide eyes flickering between the Popsicle and him. “Uh-oh.”

  “I’m kidding,” he says, nudging her. “Of course you can have it, kiddo.”

  It’s after dark when we make it home. Maddie’s fast asleep, so I pick her up and manage to carry her into the apartment. Her shoes are already off, abandoned in the car, so I set her in bed as she is, covering her up and kissing her forehead. “Love you, sweetheart.”

  She sleepily mumbles something back that sounds like ‘crazy ducks’.

  Exhaustion weighs me down, so heavy in my bones that my insides feel brittle, pieces of me already broken. I take a hot bath, trying to relax, but nothing can shut off my thoughts. They’re a jumbled mess.

  I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel anymore.

  Getting out of the tub, I throw on my robe and settle in my bedroom. Reaching into my bedside stand, I pull out the old business card and lay down in bed with my cell phone.

  Johnny Cunning

  Beneath his name is his contact information, along with his management on the other side. The cards are tucked into the envelopes that show up with the grotesque checks. I never accepted a single penny of his money, but once, long ago, I kept one of the cards. Just in case.

  Opening my text messages, I type his number in, hesitating as I stare at the blank screen. What to say?

  Hey, it’s Kennedy.