by JA Huss
And it’s okay not to have a lot of friends, right? I think you feel that way too probably. I’ve always kind of thought we were the same that way. You don’t need a lot of friends when you’ve got one or two really good ones. Like how you and Scotty and Evan had each other. And, I guess, like how I had you guys too.
Because, I mean, that’s the thing. I know you probably didn’t feel this way because you’re older and a guy and stuff, so I don’t know if you ever noticed, but I always kind of saw myself as the fourth musketeer with you three. (Aramis or Porthos probably. I don’t think I’m Athos and you’re DEFINITELY D’Artagnan. LOL) But seriously, I don’t know if you saw how much I followed you guys around, but I did. Mom and Dad used to give me a hard time about it. Did I ever tell you that? They did. I think Mom was worried I was a lesbian or something. That’s why she was always shoving me in dresses and shit. I don’t know if you remember the time I asked for a fire hat for Christmas because you guys all had them, and she got me a Barbie Dream House instead. I know Scotty would remember because we set it on fire. (The box said it was flame-retardant, so we decided to see. I blame the manufacturer. Don’t claim that shit unless you can back it up.)
Anyway. I’m not a lesbian, btw! Like I am so totally not a lesbian. Not that it’s a bad thing or whatever, just… I’m not one. I just want to make that clear. That’s all.
Because…
Shit. I’ve tried to write this like three times and each time I scratch this part out and throw it in the trash. I’m only telling you that because my wrist is getting tired and I’m running out of stationery and I don’t want to do it again, so I feel like maybe giving that disclaimer will help me just write it this time and not scratch it out or throw it away.
So.
Okay.
Here goes.
Because here’s the thing…
And I know this will sound crazy! Okay!? Let’s just get that out of the way right now! I’m not stupid! And I know that feelings are just feelings and they come and go and that you grow up and stuff and when you do things change and whatever. I know that.
But mine haven’t. Changed, I mean. I’m nineteen now and I still feel exactly the same way I did when I was nine. And that’s ten years. That’s more than half my life. That’s a long time. Half your life, I mean.
So the point is that when I say this, when I tell you what I’m about to tell you, don’t think it’s just because I’m feeling needy, or because I’m lonely, or because of what happened to Scotty, okay? Because I’m not. Okay? I’m not.
I’m really, really not. This is really how I feel and it’s real.
I love you.
Like, I love you, Tyler.
I always have. Ever since I was a little kid, and a then a middle-sized kid, and then a big kid, and now, as like, a grownup-type person.
I love you.
And I hope that doesn’t weird you out or send you running. Because that’s the last thing I want to do. THE LAST THING.
I just wanted you to know so that whenever it is you finally come back (you are coming back, right? haha)—whenever that is, I want you to know… I’ll be here. I mean, I don’t want to presume that you feel the same way or have you think that I expect anything of you, because I don’t. I really don’t. But I just needed you to know. Because it’s been really, really hard this last almost year. And one of the things that’s gotten me through is thinking I’ll see you again.
And look, if this sounds crazy because it’s been, y’know, like six years since we’ve seen each other… I get that. It sounds crazy to me too. But just because something’s crazy doesn’t mean it’s not true. It’s not a lie. It’s just… a lot.
So.
I hope this letter finds you, and if it does, just know that it would mean THE WORLD to me to hear from you. Anything. Just any small thing letting me know that you’re okay and that you’re keeping your head up. Because, even though it’s hard—trust me, I know it’s hard—that’s where I’m keeping mine.
I’ll be looking for you.
Ever and always yours,
Maddie
Chapter Eleven - Maddie & Tyler
MADDIE
I can’t make out the look on his face as he’s reading. His head is down. He sniffs out a laugh a couple times, which is nice. I don’t remember what I wrote word for word, but I do remember trying to put some jokes in, because I thought he’d appreciate it, so I’m glad that he seems to.
It feels like it’s taking a really long time for him to read the whole thing. And even though I want to ask him questions or say something to him, I force myself to sit there quietly until he finishes and looks up at me.
And then he does. And his eyes are glistening. He swallows. Shakes his head a tiny bit. Closes his eyes and smiles a bittersweet smile.
“I told you it was pretty good,” I say.
He opens his eyes and suddenly he’s on top of me, pressing my back against the bed and kissing me with the urgency of someone who’s been stranded in the desert for days and just got handed a glass of water.
He takes the back of my head in his hands and presses his forehead to mine. He’s gripping me tightly but at the same time pulling back, like he wants to squeeze me with all his strength, but knows that if he does, he’ll crush my skull. Which I assume neither of us wants.
“I’m so, so sorry,” he says, his voice quavering.
“I know,” I say.
“No, you don’t,” he assures me. “I am sorrier than I will ever be able to explain.”
“It’s OK,” I say, stroking his cheek.
“I should have been there.”
“Yeah,” I say. “That would’ve been nice. But you’re here now.”
“But when you needed me—”
I lean forward and shush him with a kiss. “Living in the past, babe,” I say, and wink.
He pushes up off of me and sits next to me on the edge of the bed. I sit up and join him. He takes my hand. We don’t talk, he just looks at my hand in his.
Finally, after a minute, I ask him, “What are you thinking about?”
And in true Tyler Morgan fashion, there’s no way I can predict his answer.
TYLER
“Daniel Day Lewis.”
That’s what I tell her. That’s what I’m thinking.
“What?” she asks. “Daniel… The actor? Why? Do I remind you of Daniel Day Lewis?”
“No.” I laugh.
“OK. Good. Although he is very talented, so I suppose…”
“You ever see The Last of The Mohicans?”
“No,” she says. Then adds, “I read the book.”
“Pfft, book,” I say with some scorn. “Reading. Blech.”
She smiles and nods like she’s tolerating me, silently asking me to go on.
“There’s a famous quote from the movie where he goes, ‘Stay alive. No matter what occurs. I will find you. No matter how long it takes. No matter how far. I will find you.’”
“Yeah, I know,” she says. “It’s also from the book.”
“OK. Well, wherever it’s from, it’s all I can think of. It just keeps running through my head over and over.”
I roll our interlaced fingers over so that I can see the back of her hand. It’s strong, but delicate. Long fingers and white skin. Veins that tense with the clench of her grip. Freckles. Just a few light, faint, perfect freckles.
I have the same thought I had the other day. That I want to learn her. Her body. Every millimeter of her. I want it burned into my brain. I want to imprint her into my memory before she goes. I want to study her. I want to have a PhD in Maddie Clayton.
I let go of her hand and stand up, turn to face her and then kneel down.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
I don’t say anything. She’s not wearing shoes, so I start tugging at the toes of her socks and she giggles as I work them off her legs and then hold her precious feet in my hands, examining them. I stroke the bones that run along the top, ending at the
tips of her toes, and I kiss each toe one by one.
I turn them over to inspect the scar I found the other day, and I give it a kiss. Then I spread her legs and slide in between them, popping my head up to give her a kiss on the lips, before I unbutton her jeans and draw down the zipper. She leans back, propping herself on her elbows, and shimmies her hips as I pull her pants down. They’re so tight on her, so fitted, that they draw her underwear along with them as I pull, and then the pants are off her body and on the floor, and her bare calves, and knees, and thighs, and pussy are there for me to explore.
Still leaning back on her elbows, she tilts her head to the side, presses her lips together in a tight smile, and raises her eyebrows at me.
I lift one of her legs and place my face right next to it. Like an archaeologist exploring the contours of a priceless, ancient artifact.
Her smell. Her smell will be the thing that I know I will hold onto most. It’s always been that way for me. Smell is the most potent sense I have when it comes to triggering memories. When I smell cinnamon, I remember my mom. Because she was baking when she collapsed that last time after chemo. And so that’s the smell I choose to associate with my final memory of her, as opposed to the antiseptic smell of the hospital. Because that wasn’t her anymore anyway. Mom stayed in the kitchen. Only the shell of her stuck around for a couple weeks more in the hospital bed.
Anyway.
Right now, Maddie smells like freshly cut grass. She’s been packing and getting ready to leave all day, and it’s been weirdly warm of late, so she’s a little sweaty. And that smell—that pungent, dense, round smell of sweat on her skin that fills my nostrils—reminds me of summer. Which I love. Because I suppose that means that for the rest of my life, there’ll be an entire season where every day all I’ll be able to think about is her. Even though I don’t imagine needing a lot of prompts to steer my thoughts in her direction.
As I stroke my fingers along her leg, kissing as I go, and drinking in her scent with every breath, she drops down from her elbows, letting herself lie flat on her back, her legs dangling off the side of the bed. She traces her fingers up and down the line of her stomach, pushing her t-shirt up to the curve of her breasts as I continue my survey of her flesh.
I’m discovering things. Things that no one else on earth besides me will know.
Her right calf appears just infinitesimally stronger than her left. Her left knee is the teeniest bit knobbier than her right. And when I kiss her behind either of her knees, she shudders through her stomach, causing her toes to crinkle.
As I pass the bend in her knee, I draw my nose along the inside of her thigh. She wriggles a teeny bit as my beard moves along her soft skin. And then my mouth is right at the brink of her entrance. I take my thumb and run it along the pink folds and she lets out a “mmmmm.” I tilt my head, studying my fingers as they massage her tender skin, and take note of what sound each gesture evokes from her.
Kissing tenderly on her opening causes her to growl from somewhere deep inside her throat. So I do. I kiss, and I let my warm breath signal my presence, but I don’t want to penetrate her. Not this way. If she wants me to be inside her, I will happily oblige, but for now I just want to be here with her and hold her close.
And I will.
And I will hold her close in my thoughts every second that she’s gone.
But more importantly...
I will hold her in my heart.
MADDIE
Some people search their whole life looking for that one place they belong. For that one person who gets them. Who brings them into their world, lets them fall easily into the pull of their gravity, and lets them just… be. Just exist. Quietly. Naturally. Freely. This is Tyler for me. The center of my universe. The man around whom I now orbit.
Not like a satellite, either. But like… like two things meant to be one. Like long ago something crashed into us, broke us into little pieces, and left us adrift. Floating in directionless space. Spinning wildly with no tether. And now we’ve been pulled back together. And we circle each other, still spinning, but with the purpose of joining. Of becoming one thing again. Not because of tragedy, the way I’d imagined when I sent that letter. It’s not a lifeline of salvation connecting us now, but some force of nature we can’t explain, or control, or bend to our will. Some law of the universe that dictates the fate of things.
We are connected by something more powerful than shared sorrow. And every moment we’ve spent apart has been valuable. Necessary. Critical.
His mouth between my legs feels wonderful. I could close my eyes and enjoy it. Let myself reach the heights of pleasure.
But alone?
No. I’m done doing things alone. We’re connected now. And everything we do will be together.
So I whisper, “Tyler,” as I caress his head. Run my fingers through his hair. Touch his shoulders. Slide my fingertips up and down the hills and valleys of his muscular arms.
He looks up at me, his eyes smiling even though they’re half closed, even though his mouth is still working. His tongue still flicking against my pussy.
“Come up here,” I say. “And kiss my mouth.”
Now he smiles with his whole face. His hands plant on either side of my hips and he draws himself up to standing. He lifts his t-shirt over his head and undoes his jeans, letting them fall to the floor, and his nakedness reminds me that he has lived every single day of his time on this earth.
He leans onto the bed and eases forward. My legs open wider for him, welcome him between them as his cock—hard, and long, and ready—rests against my clit, making me want him.
If we stopped right now, if he just rested his chest on top of my breasts, became nothing more than heavy weight as he closed his eyes, relaxed, and fell asleep… I’d be content, happy, and satisfied.
And not because there’d be more chances to do this later. But because it’s him I want. Not the sex.
He leans down, his hands on either side of my head now. Bending the mattress the way spacetime bends around a sun. And when his lips reach mine, my eyes are closed.
And I fall again.
I fall far, and long, and easily. The same way I drifted towards him. And as I drift, weightless, we kiss. But I’m still connected to him. Always next to him. Because this is what it feels like to fall into someone, not away.
This is not me slipping down the mountain.
This is not me losing my footing.
This is me finding myself. In him. In us.
So when I reach my hand between my legs and place him right where he needs to be, he enters me. And all those broken, spinning pieces come together to once again create the thing we were always meant to become.
Our bodies move together. Perfectly synchronized. Like the dance of stars in space. His body is hot, and my body is hot, and the heat we create between us doesn’t burn like fire but rearranges us. Like the molecules of two metals mixing to form the strongest sword made of the very best steel.
Our lovemaking is slow. And perfect.
We reach the heights of pleasure together. As one. And it’s the kind of climax that only happens once in a lifetime. The kind of release that means more than the way it makes you feel. It tells you who you are, and who you’re with, and exactly where you fit in the grand scheme of things.
He says, “I love you, Madison.”
And I say it back. “I love you, Tyler.”
We mold ourselves into each other as we relax and grow sleepy. Our bodies back together. His arms around me. My back pressed against his chest.
Our hearts beating. Keeping time.
Becoming what we were always meant to be.
Chapter Twelve - Maddie
I see a lot staring out the window of Ricky’s car as we drive south, towards Mexico. But then again, I see nothing. Because I’m picturing Tyler when I left him behind this morning. He tilted his head a little, like he was about to veto the whole thing. But I did this little headshake in response. A no. A soft one, but still a
no.
It was hard to say goodbye, but we did it. I refused to cry because that wouldn’t be fair to him. This was my decision, so I have to be strong no matter what. But I was sad, and he was sad. So…
I glance at the watch on my wrist. Tyler’s watch. Nadir’s watch. It’s not lost on me that history is nothing more than the passage of time. And that we record time to give us some sense of our place in our own stories.
And now we’ve been driving for hours. In silence. Complete. Dead. Silence. Ricky and I haven’t said one word to each other. Ricky is staying in character and I’m too paranoid that Carlos might have the car bugged. So I’ve been dwelling on my decision.
Was it really a decision? I mean, I guess I could’ve let Tyler pay the money, but would that’ve been the end of it? Would Carlos really have let me go?
No. There was never a decision to be made because it was made for me. Somehow, some way, I got Carlos Castillo’s attention. And like Pete said, “You’re in Castillo’s orbit now. There’s no getting out of it.”
He was wrong though, wasn’t he? He got out. Dead.
This thought gives me new strength as we drive straight through Mexicali. I know we’re close to arriving, so my leg’s been bouncing, and my hands are sweaty and my heart is racing… but Pete’s words to me are just what I need to stay focused on this goal. I don’t care if Logan killed him by accident. And I give no shits that Carlos didn’t give the OK to kill Pete.
Pete is dead. You can’t fix that. You can’t take it back. There’s no do-over.
So I’m gonna do my job.
More miles pass and then we’re out in the countryside. It looks a little familiar from the last time. And pretty soon the roads turn to dirt and there’s nothing but dust kicking up behind us when a large house appears off in the distance.
A fortress.
It’s typical Spanish style. Stucco with arched windows and doorways. And the gate leading into the property is intricate metalwork and the walls surrounding it are solid and look impenetrable. There’s lots of little outdoor walkways winding around the perimeter of the house that I never noticed before. All of them behind bars.