The Change Up

by Quinn, Meghan

  Jason grips my shoulder. “It will be fine. We read the texts, and it looks like you’re winning her back.”

  Cory nods. “Yeah, man. Things are positive.”

  “Ditto,” Lincoln says.

  “Okay, are you guys ready? And remember, please don’t embarrass me.”

  “We would never.” Jason winks as I open the door to the shelter.

  We’re instantly greeted by the smell of fresh paint. I look around the space, not a single dog barking, not a single sound besides the light clacking of a keyboard.

  The entire space has been redone, new paint, new moldings, new floor. It’s light and airy, with a more modern vibe. On the wall they have a brand-new logo painted in mint green and black, and there’s a receptionist desk with a new phone system to greet us . . . but with no one to answer.

  “Wow, it looks amazing in here,” Cory says, taking it all in. “Dude, it this what our donation did?”

  “I have no—”

  “It is,” Marcy says, stepping out from her office, a giant smile on her face. “Hello, Maddox. Boys.”

  We all wave and say in unison, “Hi, Marcy.”

  “I guess I forgot to message you. We’re in day two of renovations. The crew has worked very quickly thankfully, but we have our animals at some posh overnight kennels right now until the paint fumes air out. We used the natural paint, but of course, there’s always fumes, and we wanted to be cautious. The animals will be returning tomorrow though.”

  “Oh cool.” Hands in my pockets, I look around the space and say, “It looks great in here, Marcy.”

  She glances around as well, happiness easy to spot in her posture and the way her eyes light up. “You know, I started this non-profit ten years ago. I started it from my home, taking in animals from those who were terminally ill. When we finally got a space, I always said I’d fix it up, but the more years went by, the more that idea dwindled and even though I hate to admit it, people do judge a book by its cover. I think the way we present ourselves matters. A welcoming reception area, state-of-the-art kennels . . . it gives off a positive vibe I’ve always wanted for the space. It sheds a bright light on these beautiful animals.” She clasps her hands together. “And I have Kinsley to thank, as she brought in all of this, not just your donations, but others as well. She’s portrayed these animals as joyful rather than depressed. She’s made a huge shift for this shelter, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have her on staff.”

  Pride puffs my chest. My girl is something special. Then again, I knew that from the start.

  “She’s pretty amazing,” I say.

  “She is.”

  I glance over at her office. “Is she . . . here?”

  Marcy shakes her head and my hope to see her today completely diminishes. Fuck. “She’s at home. I gave her the day off.”

  “Sure, yeah, that makes sense.” I glance back at the boys and then ask, “Do you need our help with anything?”

  “I do actually. Kinsley forgot the medicine for Taco, one of the Chihuahuas she’s been watching. She asked me to take it over when I stop by for lunch, but I have some things to finish up. Think you can take it to her?”

  I eye her, seeing right through her guise and in this moment, I don’t think I could love Marcy more. “Yeah, of course. I don’t know her address though.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll give you all the information you need.”

  After a quick tour of the new things in the office—my favorite thing being the picture I drew for Kinsley of her and Herman, framed and hung up—Marcy hands me the medication and the information I need to find my girl and we leave with a parting hug.

  Outside the shelter, Jason asks, “Dude, this is your moment. Quick, let’s come up with a dance routine and a song you can sing her. Something with a little pop to it.”

  “We are not singing a song.” I look at the address, still in disbelief that I know where she is. “I’m going on my own.”

  “Are you going to make a grand gesture?” Cory asks. “Do the big I’m sorry?”

  Three pairs of eyes meet mine and I shrug. “Not sure. We’ll see.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  KINSLEY

  Marcy: Be over in a few. Did the food come?

  I read Marcy’s text and look at the brown bag of food.

  Kinsley: It did. It smells divine.

  I open up the bag and put the food on the table, keeping everything in its respective containers so they don’t get cold. I finish up, just as there’s a knock at the door.

  Taco and Bella sound off from their beds, but don’t move and after three barks, they’re already about done and lying back down. Herman couldn’t care less that someone’s at the door.

  What great guard dogs.

  I open the door while saying, “You’re lucky I didn’t eat—” but my words die off when I see Maddox standing on the other side of the door, wearing a plain white shirt, his signature black jeans, and his hair styled in his signature messy way to the side.

  Jesus, hold my heart. I don’t think it can take it.

  “Hey,” he says softly, and instantly my legs draw together from the soothing tone of his voice.

  “Maddox, What, uh . . . what are you doing here?”

  He holds up a box of medication. “Marcy couldn’t make it, so she sent me.”

  Oh Marcy, I’m beginning to think she’s a hopeless romantic.

  I take the medication. “Thank you for bringing it by. I could have gone down to get it, you didn’t have to make the trip.”

  “I was there to volunteer, I didn’t mind. The place looks great, by the way.”

  “It does. We’re very excited about it.”

  We stand there, staring at each other, an awkward air starting to build.

  “Well, I guess I’ll head out.” He takes a step back, and this weird sensation hits me.

  With that one step, fear pricks at the back of my neck, fear that if I don’t invite him in, I might not see him again.

  “Want to come in?” I ask quickly. “I’m sure Herman would like to say hi, and I have all this food to eat that Marcy ordered.” I stare at the ground. “I wouldn’t mind the company.”

  When I glance up at him, he nods. “I’d love to.”

  I step to the side and let him in, quietly shutting the door behind him. I watch him take in the moderate space and when he spots Herman, he squats down and pats his leg. “Hey old man.” Herman perks up and hobbles over to Maddox, resting his heavy head in Maddox’s hands. “This collar looks good on you.” Maddox scratches Herman’s ears and then presses a kiss to the top of his head.

  I turn away so I don’t lose it emotionally. It’s hard enough being in the same space as him, but seeing Maddox love on Herman, that’s my undoing.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?” I ask, pulling two cups from the cupboard.

  “Water’s fine.” I feel him walk into the kitchen and when I turn toward him, he’s leaning against the wall, his eyes scanning my body, heating me from the inside out. “Want me to grab some plates?”

  “Uh, I got them.” I hand him the glasses of water. “You can take these to the table.”

  He does that and while I grab the plates, I take calming, steady breaths. I can do this.

  I don’t know exactly what “this” is, but I can do this.

  I take plates and silverware to the table and take a seat. Instead of sitting across from me, Maddox sits next to me at the square table.

  “It’s, uh, Indian and all vegan. I hope that’s okay.”

  “It’s great.”

  I pick up the first to-go container and start putting scoops of food on my plate, only to pass them over to Maddox. In silence, we fill our plates, working together, acting far too polite that it makes things more awkward.

  Our forks clank against our plates as we dig in. The dogs are lying together on their beds, and since the sliding glass door is open that leads to the balcony, there’s a light breeze swirling around us, carrying the sm
ell of food in circles.

  We’re both halfway through our plates before we say anything and when we do, it’s me who breaks first. “I’ve been wanting to try this restaurant for a while.”

  “It’s good,” Maddox says, taking down another swig of water, only to get up and refill his glass. I know he’s lying, because he’s washing away the food way too quickly after he takes a bite. But it’s cute that he’s trying.

  “Is that why you keep drinking water after every bite?”

  He looks down at his food and pushes some tofu masala to the side and says, “The rice was good and the coconut chickpeas.”

  “Not a fan of the masala?”

  “It’s different.” He chuckles and takes down another large gulp of water.

  “You don’t have to finish it.”

  He lets out a long breath and leans back in his chair. “Thank you.”

  He lulls his head to the side and keeps his eyes trained on me. It’s both intimidating and thrilling.

  I take my last bite and then wipe my face with my napkin. I lean back in my chair as well and drink my water, only for him to start chuckling.

  “What?” I ask. “Do I have something on my face?”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  “Then what is it?”

  He sets his water glass on the table and clasps his hands together. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this awkward with you in my entire life, nor have you ever been this silent.”

  I pull my feet up on my chair and hug my knees. “Yeah,” I sigh, unsure of what I want to say.

  “I get it,” he says. “I blew everything. And I know it’s the last thing you probably want to talk about, but I owe you an apology and not a drunk one, not one through a text, but a true, heartfelt apology in person. He pushes his chair out so he can turn it to face me. He bends at the waist and clasps his hands together again. He looks me dead in the eyes and he says, “What I did to you, what I said, it’s unforgiveable. I know this. It was harsh and not the man I ever want to be. There’s no excuse for my behavior that night, and I’m so ashamed. Ashamed, regretful, and frankly sick to my stomach that I’d treat someone so important to me like that.” He looks down at the floor and his voice grows tense. “The more I reflect on that night, the more I see my dad in my head, rather than my own face and it”—he takes a deep breath—“it’s sickening.” He reaches out and takes my hand in his. Eyes trained on mine, he rubs his thumb over my knuckles and says, “I’m so fucking sorry, Kinsley. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions, for not hearing you out, for causing you such horrible pain, for kicking you out of my apartment and life, and for scaring you, like my dad used to do.” He shakes his head. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  I . . . I don’t know what to say. His apology impacts me in a way I wasn’t expecting. I’m not emotional, but rather, grateful. Grateful that Maddox has the wherewithal to understand that night, to know how it gutted me. How it wasn’t just what he said, but how he said it, his demeanor . . . his rage. He definitely gets it. And from the devastation in his eyes, his apology is serious and genuine.

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” Maddox says, pulling his hand away and pushing it through his hair. “I never should have said anything. I just thought . . . hell, I don’t know what I thought.”

  He stands and pushes his chair in.

  Oh God, he must be taking my silence as not forgiving him, not wanting to talk about this.

  “Thanks for lunch, Kinsley.” He pulls on his neck and then takes off toward the door.

  Wait.

  I trip out of my chair and fall to the ground just as Maddox opens the door to the apartment. When he hears me fall, he’s instantly back at my side, helping me up.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nod and catch my breath, my heart pounding so fast that it feels like I might have a heart attack. “Don’t leave,” I say, my breath heavy. “Stay.”

  “Okay,” he says, lifting us both to our feet. He shuts the door, and I take his hand in mine and walk us over to the couch where we both sit.

  I keep hold of his hand while I find the courage to speak.

  When I finally look up at him, I say, “You broke me, Maddox.”

  He nods. “I know. I broke us. I broke our friendship, our love. I made it impossible for you to ever trust me again with your heart.” I hear the tightness in his voice, the regret, the fear. And when his eyes connect with mine again, I see how much pain he’s been feeling, which is possibly more than mine. “You are special, Kinsley. I’ve always felt like you were too special for me. Like somehow, I would wake up one morning and realize, the girl next door who saved me, would only be an illusion, a fantasy to help me escape the abuse of my father. But you weren’t.” His voice falters. “You were real, so fucking real and it scared me. That I somehow lucked out to have this special person in my life, watching over me, taking care of me, cheering me on, and I had nothing to give in return. I was waiting for the moment for it all to fall apart. I knew it was too good to be true and at some point, I’d drop the ball. I was self-sabotaging, preparing for that moment and when I thought it happened, I lived it, breathed it, let the worst part of me take over me. I let myself fall into the shoes of my father, and I treated you so fucking terribly that I will never forgive myself. I can understand if you never forgive me either.” He gives me a soft smile and says, “I wish I could say that I’m here to win you back, but honestly, I know that’s a far cry from reality. I’m here, just hoping that when you look at me, you don’t see the monster you saw the night of my birthday. I don’t want you to remember me as that . . . but rather someone who has always cared about what you care about, someone who supports you, and someone who will forever and always love you.”

  That does me in. The tears tip over.

  “Babe, please don’t cry,” he says, wiping away the dewy drops. “Please don’t cry.”

  But it doesn’t work. More tears fall, and this consuming pressure builds in my chest, straining my lungs, and making me feel lightheaded.

  My heart aches, not for myself, but for the man sitting in front of me. I ache for his childhood, for the loss of his mother, the loss of his father, who had been loving at one point. I ache for the damaged soul begging for someone to understand him, for someone to appreciate him for who he is. I ache for his love, his loyalty, his protection.

  He might have hurt me, but he’s been hurt worse. His demons have eaten him alive, his past has swallowed him whole, and he’s so desperately trying to break the cycle, trying to change, that I can so clearly see it in his eyes.

  He needs to know how much I care for him.

  He needs someone to be there for him through the good and especially through the bad.

  He needs someone to stick around and hold his hand when he isn’t seeing clearly.

  And he needs someone to love him. To truly and fully love him.

  Reaching out, I press my hand to his cheek. “You’re mine, Maddox. No matter how hard I tried to put distance between us, I couldn’t. I couldn’t push you out of my head, and I couldn’t even attempt to push you out of my heart.” His eyes squeeze shut, and I take that moment to push him back on the couch and straddle his lap. His eyes shoot open and his hands fall to my hips. “I love you, Maddox. I’m hopelessly infatuated with you and that will never change. You’re mine . . . forever, no matter how hard you try to push me away. You’re mine.”

  “Fuck,” he says, his eyes welling and his hands coming to my cheeks. “Fuck, baby. I love you. I fucking love you so damn much.”

  Clutching him tightly, I bring our tear-soaked faces together and press my lips to his, pulling a huge sigh of relief from him. I feel him relax beneath me, as if from the simple press of our lips, the built-up tension in his body is relieved.

  His hands travel up my back, to my shoulders, and then to my cheeks, where he holds my forehead against his, his body heaving.

  “Kinsley, please tell me you’ll be my girl again, that I didn’t fuck this up. This is f
or real and I’m not dreaming it.”

  “This is for real, Maddox. I’m yours . . . forever.”

  “Jesus Christ, I’m lucky.”

  And with that, he slips his hand behind my neck and holds me in place as his lips crash down on mine.

  There’s no other way to describe this moment other than pure joy.

  Even though we had to paddle through a horrendous time of darkness, I know coming out of it, we’re going to be stronger than ever. Not only is he the love of my life, but he’s my best friend, my person, my soul mate, the person in this world who was specifically made for me. And nothing is going to change that.

  Epilogue

  MADDOX

  “Are you nervous?” Lincoln asks, walking up to me.

  “What do you think?”

  Lincoln gives me a slow once-over. “Honestly, I have no idea. You have this weird calm about you that’s throwing me off.”

  I rub my hands together and look around the shelter. Herman is dressed up in my tux, our friends are surrounding us, and there are zero decorations. Kinsley thinks decorations contribute unnecessary waste into the landfill because we never reuse them, but I did make a generic sign that says happy birthday that can be reused, so there’s a little something. And I made it out of fabric and fabric paint so it will last a long time. I told all our friends that it’s the signature birthday banner for the group now.

  I rock back on my heels and say, “A little nervous.”

  “Dude,” Jason says coming up next to me. “Herman in a tux is a nice touch. I’ve taken at least twenty pictures with him and can foresee at least ten more. He has that brooding look down. Dog’s got game, I see the lady dogs giving him the eye. Like, ‘oh, over here, Herman, bring those fine three legs over here.’”

  “Why did I invite you?”

  “Couldn’t be sure,” Jason says, taking a sip of his drink. “Could. Not. Be. Sure.”

  “She’s almost here,” Marcy says, holding her phone up.

  Kinsley has no idea we’re here. Last night we were in Arizona, battling it out in the first round of playoffs. We barely squeaked by to the next round with a one to zero game. It went extra innings and was a fucking battle, but our rookie, Houston Marrow, worked his magic in the eleventh. Single up the middle, stolen base to second. And Cory popped a can of corn between center and right that he took a gamble on not being caught and booked it to home. We held Arizona in the bottom of the eleventh and claimed victory. We came home last night, and since Kinsley is still staying with the foster care dogs for at least another week—fucking torture—I didn’t tell her we were home. I’ve been begging her to come back and live with me, but she’s been adamant about staying with the dogs, even though I said she could bring them over to our place. There’s also no sex in her temporary apartment, because she said it would feel disrespectful.