by McLean, Jay
Then I fell to my knees.
And it finally happened.
I broke.
And I cried seventeen years’ worth of tears.
And it didn’t fucking help.
Not even a little bit.
Not even at all.
Chapter 10
Dr. Aroma taps her pen on a notepad a few times while she openly glares at me and I glare back. I’ve been in her office a good ten minutes, and neither of us has spoken a word. I don’t know what game she’s playing—but I can go with this shit all day long. She’s the first to crack, breaking the silence with a sigh. “So are you ready for the list of boys I slept with during college?”
“Is this how you get all your clients to talk to you?”
She nods, her smile full force. “It works.”
Leaning back in my chair, I rest my ankle on the opposite knee and wave a hand in the air. “Ask your questions, Doc.”
“Nah.” She shrugs. “I think I’m just going to let you talk this session.”
“I think I’d rather sit in silence.”
“Okay then,” she says, her eyes never leaving mine.
And so the game begins again.
Only this time, she doesn’t stare; she scribbles in her stupid notepad instead. I sit up higher, curious as to what the hell she could be writing, and this goes on for ten minutes. Occasionally she’ll eye the ceiling as if deep in thought before continuing to write, and my curiosity wins out. “What the hell notes could you possibly be obtaining from me sitting here?”
She shakes her head. “These aren’t notes about you. It’s a list of my college conquests.” She glances up at me. “You wanna see?”
“No.”
“Want to talk then?”
“No.”
Pressing her lips together, she looks back down at the page. “Colin. Freshman year. He was so dreamy. Wait. I think his name’s Colin. Could be Chris. Or Craig. Either way—”
“So I met a girl,” I blurt out. I don’t know if it’s because I want her to shut up or because I haven’t stopped thinking about Madison.
Dr. Aroma’s smile is instant. “Oh yeah?”
I clear my throat. “Yeah.”
“And how did that make you feel?”
“Really?”
She releases the tiniest of laughs. “No. Not really. Tell me about her, though,” she says, setting the pen and paper down to give me her full attention.
“There’s not much to say, honestly. She’s my neighbor. We had pizza. Then I guess I maybe tried to kiss her.”
“And how did that go?”
“She squealed and slammed the door in my face.”
Doc laughs again. “And how did that make you feel?”
Excited, I want to say. But instead, I play it down and shrug.
Her smile gets wider, as if she knows my real answer. “And have you wanted to punch anything since said door-slamming incident, Kyler?”
“Nope.”
DeLuca: Meet me at O’Malley’s bar at 1600, soldier.
Ky: I’ll be there.
I call Jackson from my department-issued phone as soon as I get the text on my walk home from therapy. “DeLuca contacted me. I’m meeting him this afternoon.”
“Nothing’s registered on your phone.”
“Yeah, you’re going to have to somehow transfer my real number to this one. I don’t want to give him a new number.”
“Shit. I should’ve thought of that.”
“Hey, you’re the detective.”
“Smartass.”
“Love you, too.”
Madison’s the first thing I see when I step off the elevator on my way to meet DeLuca. Again, she’s standing in front of the mailboxes, peering inside hers. “You must really like mail,” I call out.
She spins around, laughing when she sees me. “I think it’s more the element of surprise that I’m drawn to.”
“Surprise?”
“Yeah. It’s more the not knowing if something’s going to be there and then one day… surprise!” she sings, moving toward me.
With a chuckle, I open the door for us and step out into the fresh air. She squints, trying to block out the sun as she looks up at me.
“Funny,” I tell her, trying to hide my smile. “The only things I get are bills and credit card applications.”
“I can’t wait,” she says, grinning from ear-to-ear. “You want to go for a walk or something?”
“I can’t,” I tell her honestly. “I have to meet someone.”
Her smile drops. “Well, are you walking, because maybe I could walk with you?”
“It’s kind of personal.”
“Oh.” Swear it—she looks as disappointed as I feel. “A girl?”
“No,” I say, pushing down the excitement at her reaction. “Not a girl. Promise.”
DeLuca’s already at O’Malley’s, sitting at the bar, beer in one hand and phone in the other.
I pass Tiny, who’s sitting at the opposite end, and silently take the seat next to DeLuca.
He looks up, startled, and then quickly drops the phone on the bar—face down. He chugs the rest of his beer, then nods toward a door a few feet away. “Let’s go.” Not surprisingly, he leads me down to the basement. “What do you think?” he asks.
“About what?”
“The venue?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
His eyes widen slightly, as if surprised by my tone. If he’s waiting for me to apologize, he’ll be waiting a long-ass time. “Your debut fight. Here. One month. One of my fighters got injured. You think you’re up for it?”
“I don’t care where I fight. I just want to fight.”
“Good.” He starts to climb back up the stairs. “Keep your phone on you at all times.” He stops at the top step and turns to me. “You want to fight? You do what I say, when I say it. You’re in my world now, soldier.”
On the outside, I force myself to nod. Inside, there’s an anger brewing deep and low in my gut. I know people like him—the kind to think their time and their words hold more value than everyone else’s. I hate people like him. Hell, I was raised by people like him.
He returns my nod and leaves through the same door we came in from.
I stand in the middle of the basement, waiting to see if he’s coming back. When enough time has passed and I assume he’s left, I walk around the room. The only other door leads to a hallway. At the end of the hall are two doors, opposite each other. I make my way over and open the one on my left. The room’s empty, just like the one on my right. I pull out my phone—“What the fuck are you doing?” DeLuca snaps. He stands in the doorway with his arms crossed over his faded gray shirt, his biceps flexing against the sleeves. His head tilts to the side, his eyes narrowed, waiting for me to answer. “So?” he pushes.
He’s trying to be intimidating.
It almost works.
I match his stance. “Just checking things out.”
We stand, eyes locked, waiting for the other to break first.
He visibly swallows.
I raise my chin.
“Right,” he finally says, his gaze shifting to the basement stairs. He starts to back away and slowly shakes his head at someone who must be waiting at the top of the stairs, but the movement’s so slight I almost don’t notice.
But I do. Just like I notice the nine-millimeter hidden in his waistband.
After snapping a few pictures on my phone, I send them to Jackson. He calls when I’m a block away from my building. “I have no idea what you just sent me,” he says.
I check behind me to make sure I’m not being followed. I fucked up—dropped the ball—and DeLuca has every right to start being suspicious. Ducking my head and keeping my voice low, I tell him, “It’s the basement of O’Malley’s. That’s where I’ll be fighting in a month… Dude,” I lower my voice again. “DeLuca’s packing heat. Should I be surprised?”
“Are you surprised or are you worried? Because if yo
u’re worried, let me know right now and I’ll end this.”
“Don’t be dramatic. I was just asking.”
He sighs. “I don’t know, man. The guy’s a complete mystery, wrapped in an enigma, covered in suspicion. We tail him for days and nothing. He’s home, at a bar, or at the gym. Nothing else. What he does and who he meets? No one knows.” He pauses for a moment. “The guy has to be wicked smart to cover all his tracks. It just doesn’t make sense.”
I shake my head and push open the door to my building. “You know I’m in this, Jax, but maybe we need to sit down and discuss what I should be…” My words die in the air when I see Madison—or at least the back of her. She’s changed into tiny denim cutoffs and a tight tank. I wouldn’t have recognized her if not for the fact that she was searching through her damn mailbox again.
“Ky?” Jax says.
“Hang on,” I tell him, then cover the phone with my hand. I raise my voice so Madison can hear me. “I’m getting a little jealous of all the attention that mailbox is getting from you.”
Her head throws back with her laugh. “Ky, Ky, Ky,” she says, turning to me.
“Holy shit,” I say quietly, but going by the smirk on her face, I wasn’t quiet enough.
She has curves upon curves.
Endless legs.
Phenomenal tits.
I wonder what they’d feel like in my hands. On my face. In my mouth. “Ky!” Jax yells.
I hold the phone to my ear, my eyes never leaving her ridiculous body. “I’ll call you back.” I hang up and return Madison’s smirk. “How ’bout that walk now?”
She purses her lips and eyes the ceiling. “Well, Ky, there’s absolutely nothing more in this entire world I’d love to do than go for a walk with you…” Her eyes shift back to me before shrugging. Then she fakes a grimace and inhales loudly. “But unfortunately I have somewhere to be, and I can’t get out of it.”
“Liar.”
She shrugs again. “It’s true.” She steps around me and heads for the door. “But it’s always a pleasure running into you. We should do it more often. Maybe next time I’ll supply the pizza.”
* * *
I lied. I had nowhere to go. But the way his eyes widened when he saw me and the way he was looking at me… I couldn’t be around him a second longer. My heart was pounding way too hard, way too fast.
I was told to flirt with him, to dress in a way that would get his attention and make him want to spend time with me. It worked. Now if only I could work around him, everything would be fine.
The moment I’m out the doors, a panic sets in. I don’t know where to go. I go left and hope that the decision is fast enough that he doesn’t find it suspicious.
I walk half a block until I see a tiny little café. There’s no one sitting on the tables outside, and I pray that it’s the same inside. It’s not that I don’t like people. It’s just that I’m not used to them. Luckily, there’s only one person in there, and he’s too preoccupied on his computer to notice my existence. “Hi. I’ll have a coffee,” I tell the bored-looking guy behind the counter.
He rolls his eyes and sighs heavily, inspecting his nails. “Americano, Latte, Misto, Mocha, Cappuccino, Macchiato or Espresso?”
I gulp nervously and take a step back. I have no idea what he just said. “Just coffee that tastes like coffee,” I squeak.
Dean, I’ve worked out from his name badge, quirks an eyebrow and slowly points to the corner of the store where a table’s set up with what I assume is a thermal coffee dispenser.
I try to smile at him. “Thanks,” I say, reaching into my pocket. “What do I owe you?”
He leans on his elbows and eyes me curiously. And then he scoffs. Right in my damn face. “That coffee tastes like burnt asshole. I’d pay you to drink it.”
“Nice. I’ll think of that when I’m sipping on it.” I sit on the opposite end of the room from computer guy and drink my burnt-asshole flavored coffee, which doesn’t actually taste like burnt asshole. It tastes like every other coffee I remember having.
Four cups later and I can no longer ignore my need to pee. I look around but there doesn’t seem to be a bathroom here, so I leave quietly and make my way back to the apartment—my apartment. I wait impatiently for the elevator and practically jump in when the doors open. I squeeze my legs together and do everything possible to avoid having to cup my privates. When the elevator doors open on my floor, I run to my apartment, rifling through the contents of my bag for my keys. “Fuck!”
“Madison?” Ky’s standing in his doorway now, arms at his side. “I was thinking—”
“Pee!”
“What?”
I push past him and run into his apartment. “I need to pee!”
* * *
Madison drops her purse on the couch as soon as she enters my apartment and runs to the bathroom.
She’s laughing.
She’s on the toilet laughing.
And peeing.
I don’t even know how I’m supposed to feel right now. “Madison?”
“Don’t talk to me while I’m peeing!”
“Okay…” I say through a chuckle and look down at the contents of her purse, now spilled out onto the cushion. Quickly, I scan her stuff: mace, a pocketknife, a kubaton, and a rape whistle.
Girl’s prepared.
She starts laughing harder.
“Are you good?” I shout.
“I had to go so bad!” She opens the door and says, “Why is it that your bladder always seems to try to tip you over the edge just as you’re at your door? It’s strange, right?”
“I think maybe you’re strange, Madison,” I joke.
She freezes in her spot when she sees me standing over her stuff. Clearing her throat, she walks over and starts placing the items in her bag.
“That’s a lot of protection you’re carrying,” I tell her.
She ignores my remark and sits down on the couch, holding her bag on her lap. “For someone who doesn’t work, you’re not home often.”
I sit next to her. “You noticed?”
“What do you do?” she asks, ignoring me again.
I sigh, now realizing what it must be like for good old Cinnamon Aroma to have to deal with my evasiveness. “Not much. Gym and errands.” I grab the remote and turn on the TV, hoping to put an end to her questioning.
“What kind of errands?”
What am I supposed to say? Court ordered therapy? Undercover drug bust? I change the subject. “Where did you go anyway?”
She faces me, folding her leg beneath her. “Just to this coffee place a block away.”
“You meet up with a friend?”
“No. Just by myself.”
“But you said that you had to be somewhere and couldn’t get out of it.”
Her face falls, her smile completely wiped now. “I just…”
“Just…?”
“Um…” She starts to stand up, but I grab her arm to stop her from moving.
Her gaze moves to the door, like she’s searching for a polite way to bail. I don’t want her to leave, so I say, “I’m bored. You want to get out of here?”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“Yeah.” I stand up. “Let’s do something.”
“Like what?” she asks, her brow bunched.
“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
Her gaze drops to her lap. “Do you…” she trails off.
“Do I what?”
“I’ve always wanted to go to dinner and a movie.”
“Like a date?”
She gasps quietly. “No. Not a date. Just—I don’t know. Maybe?” Her eyes flick to mine, the uncertainty in them clear.
“Wait. You’ve never gone to dinner and a movie?”
She shakes her head slowly—her eyes fixed on mine. “No.”
“So what do you do on dates?”
“I’ve never dated,” she says slowly, each word more unsure than the last.
I just stare, too dumbstru
ck to speak.
“Can we go now?” she asks, her words rushed. “Never mind. I’ll just go home.” She stands quickly.
I grab her hand. “Are you ready to go?”
Her smile is all-consuming. “Let me change real quick.”
* * *
Madison: So he asked me out.
Sara: Yeah? Are you going?
Madison: Yes… we’re going to dinner and a movie.
I rush around the room, changing clothes and shoes, and putting on what little make-up I wear. My phone never leaves my hand. I squeeze it so tight my knuckles turn white.
The phone is my lifeline. My security blanket. It’s my past and my future. And it’s my only connection to the one person who truly knows me.
I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the screen, waiting anxiously for a reply. The feeling of dread overshadows my excitement. Just as the tears start pooling in my eyes and I can no longer feel my heart’s beat over its slow, torturous break, the phone sounds with a text.
Sara: Good.
A knock on the door interrupts my reply, or at least my thoughts of how to reply. I have nothing. No words of comfort. Nothing.
“Maddy!” Ky yells, just as I stand. “Are you there?”
By the time I get to the door, I can hear him laughing on the other side. “Yeah?” I yell back.
His laugh gets louder. “I don’t know how long I should have waited before picking you up. What’s the normal protocol on how long it takes a girl to get ready? Should I leave and come back? Or even better—you can let me in and change in front of me!”
My mouth drops open. It’s still like that when I open the door to his sexy-as-sin smirk. I grab his arm and roughly pull him into the apartment. “Everyone can hear you!”
He chuckles, then stops abruptly as he crosses his arms and scans me from head to toe. He gets to my bare feet and licks his lips. “I have a thing for short skirts and bare feet,” he mumbles. “You better cover them, or we’re gonna skip the date and stay in.”