Combative Trilogy

by McLean, Jay

  “And you love it,” he teases.

  “Okay!” Debbie shouts as if we’re not standing right in front of her. “Make it a good one,” she says, lifting the camera to her eye.

  I look up at Ky, at a man who’s given me more unforgettable experiences in the months since I’ve known him than I’ve had my entire lifetime. But I can’t ignore the nagging in my gut, this blinding ache. Because if Nate’s no longer around, then Ky’s no longer needed, and I—I’ll be discarded, again, thrown away as if I have no real purpose. But that’s all secondary to the fact that… that Nate might no longer be around. The thought hits, and hits me hard, and the tears I fight back are instant. And I don’t know if I can do this, carry on without him, living a life full of endless lies. I can’t pretend forever, and Ky’s not going to want me if he ever finds out, and so I look up at him, resolved, and give him the same thing Nate had given me: a goodbye without a goodbye. “I love you,” I mouth.

  “I love you, too,” he says, his eyes closed when he kisses me.

  The bell above the door chimes, then the click-whoosh of the Polaroid camera. And then Debbie’s gasp, followed by a deathly shriek.

  My eyes snap open, and I turn to the door. “Oh my God,” I breathe out, blood draining from my face. “Nate…” He’s alive, and he’s here but… there’s something wrong with him. Something… bad. There’s no color in his face, no life in his eyes. Sweat coats his skin, and his lips part as his shoulder twitches, moving his entire arm. My gaze follows the length of it, and I choke on a breath when I see the gun held loosely in his grip.

  Ky must see it, too, because he pulls me behind him.

  My heart thumps, but I can’t hide from him. Don’t want to. I peer around Ky, watch as Nate moves closer, wiping the sweat off his cheeks. And when I look in his eyes again, I realize it’s not sweat.

  It’s tears.

  “Nathaniel,” I cry, because the man before me is not the man I know. The man I love.

  “Boss Man, don’t do this,” Tiny says, stepping up behind him.

  I grip the back of Ky’s shirt because I know what’s about to happen. I finally make sense of that feeling in my gut. Someone’s about to die… and that someone is holding the gun.

  “I feel like I need to find a way to forgive him. Because I feel like he won’t be around to forgive himself.”

  I forgive you. The words are right there, on the tip of my tongue, but fear halts my voice. And all I can do is cry.

  Footsteps approach, one after the other, and I count them in my head. One. Two. Three. Four. I release Ky’s shirt and quickly step around him. Nate’s aiming the gun right at Ky, but he won’t shoot him. I know he won’t. Nate’s focus switches to me, and he blinks, hard, his lashes coated with tears. He swallows, his throat moving with the action, and then he speaks: “Get in the fucking car, Bailey.”

  I nod, my breaths nothing but sobs as I raise my hands in surrender. “Okay. Just please—”

  Nate winces, his face scrunched as his hand clutches his chest, right over his heart. The gun falls to the tiled floor, bounces once. Twice. And then Nate falls, too, first to his knees, and the rest of him follows. “Nate!” Tiny yells, rushing to him.

  “Nathaniel!” I drop down, watching as Tiny picks him up off the floor, flips him onto his back.

  Nate chokes on a breath, and his eyes shut tight.

  “Call 9-1-1!” Tiny orders, and I crawl over to them, my tears making it impossible to see.

  “Nate!” I take his hand, hold it between mine. “Nate! Open your eyes! Please! Open your eyes!”

  Nate does as I begged, his eyelids fluttering. “Bailey…” he chokes out.

  “It’s me,” I cry. “Where does it hurt?”

  His face turns red. “I can’t… breathe… Bailey… I can’t… my heart…”

  “Motherfucker!” Tiny shouts.

  Behind me, I can hear Ky’s voice, distant, as he relays our location. To me, he says, “Keep him awake, Maddy. Talk to him.”

  I scoot around, place his head on my lap while Tiny paces the room, gripping the back of his neck. I look down, my hands cradling his face. “Nate, I need you to keep your eyes open, okay?”

  He shuts them tight, releasing the tears there. I wipe them away, press my lips to his forehead. “Please stay, okay? Just stay.”

  Ky squats down beside him, slapping Nate’s cheek when his eyes close again. He grabs Nate’s wrist, two fingers to his pulse. “DeLuca, you gotta stay with us, man.”

  His tone is calm.

  My world is chaos.

  “Bailey,” Nate croaks, barely a whisper. I lean down, my ear to his mouth, so I can hear him. “I’m sorry… Ti amo.”

  “No.” I kiss his mouth, his jaw. “Don’t be sorry, Nathaniel… just be—”

  “Fuck,” Kyler snaps, dropping Nate’s arm. “Maddy, you need to give him mouth-to-mouth.”

  I look up at him, my eyes wide. “What? Why?”

  “Can you do that or not?” he yells.

  “I don’t… I don’t…” I look back at Nate, his eyes closed, and for the first time since we were reunited, his features are relaxed… as if he’s finally found peace.

  My heart… he’s my goddamn fucking heart.

  “Nooo, Nate…” I kiss him again, my heavy tears landing on his cheeks. “Noooo!”

  Chapter 49

  Tiny rides with Nate to the hospital.

  Ky calls Jackson.

  I call the agents.

  We take separate cars there.

  Ky doesn’t ride with me.

  When we get there, Tiny’s pacing the waiting room. The agents flash their badges, giving them full access behind the sliding doors of the ER. They give clear instructions to the nurses behind the desk: no one else is to enter. Not Tiny. Not me. Not even the detective.

  Tiny stands by the door; Ky and Jackson are sitting against a wall opposite. I sit in the middle. No one approaches me. Because everything’s changed and nothing will ever, ever be the same.

  The minutes feel like hours as we wait and wait. And then the doors open and Ashton walks in. “Tiny!”

  “Ash!” He’s quick to catch her in his arms, embracing her, shielding her. “We haven’t heard anything yet.”

  Ashton looks around the room, and when her eyes find mine, they narrow. “Do you know what happened?”

  “No.” I shake my head, attempt to sit taller. “He just came in and… and…” And I can’t say anymore, not only because I don’t know any more, but because the giant knot in my throat prevents it. I stare down at my lap, unable to look at her any longer.

  “You should sit down,” Tiny tells her. “I don’t know how long this is going to take.”

  It doesn’t take long. A doctor comes out first, followed closely by the agents. “Nathaniel DeLuca?” the doctor calls, looking around the room.

  Ashton gets to her feet. So does Tiny.

  “You’re immediate family?” he asks them.

  “I’m his wife,” Ashton says through a sob, then motions to Tiny. “And this is his brother.” She glances at me but doesn’t say anything more because I…

  I am no one.

  “I’m Dr. Christoferson,” he tells them, leading them to a room just off the waiting area. A window to the room allows me to see inside, but the barrier’s enough that I can’t hear what they’re saying.

  Ashton and Tiny have their backs to me, and I watch the doctor’s mouth move, ignoring the arm that slips around my shoulders, pulling me into him. I can tell by his aftershave that it’s Brent’s chest my cheek’s pressed against. I don’t look at him. Can’t. Because I can’t take my eyes off the doctor.

  It’s strange… that a single intelligible sound can mean so much. Ashton’s cry pierces through my chest, directly into my heart, creating a void, and I watch her collapse, fall into Tiny’s arms. My sob is silent and I turn into Brent, let him be the one to hold me. “I’m sorry, Bailey.”

  The door behind me opens, and Ashton’s cries drown o
ut my own. I turn to her, just in time to see Tiny holding her back by the arms, her legs kicking out. “You motherfuckers!” she screams.

  “I’m sorry, Ashton,” Perceval says. “If there’s anything we can do...”

  She lets out a laugh, cynical, and Tiny releases her. “Haven’t you done enough?” she yells. “You put all of this on his shoulders, and what did you get from it?” She swipes every fresh tear that falls from her eyes. “You got no closer to anything… and I—I got a dead husband!”

  A sob bursts from my throat.

  “And you,” she spits, stopping only feet away. “You have no right to cry! You did this to him!”

  “I’m sorry,” I cry.

  “He gave you his heart, Bailey! And he died because you broke it!”

  “That’s not fair,” Brent tries to step in.

  “She’s right,” I whisper, glancing over her shoulder at Tiny. I look right into his eyes and see the pain he carries. And of everyone here, he would feel it the most. He just lost his best friend, his brother. “I’m sorry, Tiny.”

  He nods once, the only response he’ll give me. He won’t talk to me. Won’t look at me. He saves it all for Ashton. “Come on,” he says, taking her hand. “Let’s get you home.”

  I watch them leave, her cries never-ending. I lower my gaze, my mind, my heart, my entire body numb. I’d never been close enough to anyone to actually feel loss, and now it’s here, and I don’t know what to do with it.

  “Don’t listen to her,” Brent tells me. “You did nothing wrong. People’s sadness can come out in anger, and grief—grief is the saddest, most unpredictable emotion of all.”

  “That’s a nice speech and all,” Jackson says, and we all turn to him. He’s on his feet now. Next to him, Kyler’s still in his seat, his head in his hands. “But when exactly is anyone going to tell us what the fuck is going on?”

  Brent heaves out a sigh.

  It’s Perceval who answers: “Clear an interrogation room at your precinct. We’re going to take Bailey home, and we’ll be right there.”

  Kyler groans, lifting his head just enough to glare at us. “Who the fuck is Bailey?”

  Chapter 50

  “If anything happens, or when I know for sure that all of this is coming to an end—good or bad—I need you to do something for me.”

  My mailbox is empty. No matter how many times I open it, it’s always empty. I’d spent weeks pulling away from him and now… now all I want is to see him one more time, to hear his voice, to feel the way he looks at me. But I can’t. He’s gone, and my mailbox is empty, and I don’t know what to do now.

  It’s been three hours since the agents left me here, and now they’re in a room with Ky and Jackson, and they’re going to tell them everything. Everything. And Ky—he’s never going to want to see me again. But, I need to explain things from my perspective. I need him to know that what I felt for him was real, even if the circumstances that led me there were a lie.

  I sit on the chair in the lobby, determined to speak to him. People come and go, ignoring my disheveled state and the tears that don’t stop flowing.

  Another hour passes before Ky walks through the door, Jackson only a step behind him. They look like they’ve been to hell and back. If only they knew what it was like to live that hell.

  I get to my feet, my heart hammering against my chest, my mind filled with the words I’ve practiced. Kyler approaches, his eyes locked on mine, and relief washes through me. I open my mouth, his name right there—ready to be spoken—but then he walks past me, bypassing the elevator and taking the stairs, and all I can do is stand there and watch because this is who I am.

  Who I’ve always been.

  Discarded.

  Chapter 51

  I refuse to look at Doctor Aroma when I ask, “You said your parents were on crack?”

  “Yes, I did say that.”

  “Were you serious?”

  “No, Ky. It was a metaphor. They’re just loopy.”

  “My parents were on crack. No metaphor.” I uncross my arms and look around her office. “They your parents?” I ask, looking at the framed picture of her in a graduation gown with an older couple. “Yes.”

  “I could have been you,” I mumble.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I found my birth dad. He’s straight-edge. I could’ve gone to college, gotten a degree. I could have been you.”

  “And why do you think you didn’t turn out that way?”

  “Like I said, my parents were on crack.”

  “And it affected you how?”

  “I’m allowed to be bitter, right?” I ask, ignoring her question.

  “You’re allowed to feel however you want to feel, Ky.”

  “As long as it’s not angry?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because it leads me here.”

  “To my office?”

  “No.” I look back at her. “To the edge of destruction.”

  “Huh.” She sets her pen and paper down on the table beside her, no longer needing to take notes. “Do you think you have an anger problem, Ky?”

  I shrug.

  “Are you always angry?”

  “No. Not always.”

  “So, when?”

  “I don’t know,” I huff out. “When bad shit happens.”

  “So…” Her eyes shift from left to right. “When bad shit happens, you get mad?”

  “I guess… this is stupid. Can we talk about something else?”

  “We could,” she says, “but let me clarify before we move on from this. Bad things happen to you, and you get mad?”

  “Yes.” Jesus. I hope Jax isn’t paying for these sessions out of his own pocket, because clearly, she’s not worth it.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, both hands raised in front of her. “I’m struggling to see how that’s a problem. Everyone reacts to bad experiences, and yours is anger. Others will shut down, or get upset, sad, devastated. You get angry, and that’s okay, Ky. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  I open my mouth to speak but then clamp it shut.

  “No, no.” Dr. Aroma sits taller. “Tell me what you were about to say.”

  I sit down opposite her, my head between my shoulders. “I had a pretty messed-up childhood, right?”

  “To say the least, yes, Ky, you did.”

  Nodding, I tell her, “I could get the shit beaten out of me, and it never really… I don’t know. It never got me worked up to the point of anger. I was just… I was more sad and disappointed, I guess.”

  Her lips kick up on one side. “So when do you think it started?”

  I sigh. “When Jeff died.”

  “And Jeff is…?”

  “Jackson’s dad. He was the only real father figure I had, so it hit pretty hard. For a long time, I blamed his death on myself, and that guilt… that guilt turned to anger, turned to rage.”

  She’s quiet a beat, her eyes downcast. “Losing someone important to you is… There are no words to describe it.” She looks up at me now, her eyes right on mine. “Did Jackson and his mother help you through it?”

  “They tried. Definitely.”

  “That’s really all we can do to be there for someone in their time of need, Ky.” Her smile is sad. “We just try.”

  Chapter 52

  Madison: Are you there?

  Madison: Nate?

  Madison: Call me when you get this.

  Madison: NATE!!

  I hold the phone to my chest while sob after sob wracks through my body. It’s been an entire day of feeling like this. I try to fill my mind with something else, something more, but the emptiness keeps outweighing it.

  Madison: Hey!

  I stare at the phone, waiting for a reply. When nothing comes, I pick myself up off the floor, start pacing the living room. I need to do something, anything. I go to the kitchen, open the fridge, but everything makes my stomach turn. I can’t eat. Can’t sleep. And then my phone rings. I’m quick to answ
er. “Nate?”

  “Madison?” It’s Debbie. “Is everything okay?”

  I hang up because I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to talk to anyone. All I want is Nate, and Nate is…

  I pick up a bowl of leftovers and throw it against the wall. I do the same with the carton of milk, and then I do it again, one thing after another, tear after tear falling from my eyes. I need the fridge empty, as empty as I am.

  I laugh hysterically when plastic cracks, when glass breaks into shards. I like the sound of my laughter, the warmth that floods my insides. And so I find more things. The lamp in the living room—I smash that into the TV, cackling when sparks fly in the air. Then I empty the kitchen cabinets, searching for something big, something heavy. A rolling pin! Perfect! I take it to the bedroom, smash the TV there, and I’m no longer empty. I’m excited! Elated! I go to the bathroom: my perfect escape. The shower door doesn’t smash into shards. It crumbles. That’s not fun. And so I take on the mirror, give myself a moment to look at the woman staring back at me. There are still areas of void, but not for long. I smash the mirror. Again and again, my breaths short, my heart racing. I scream, flinching at the sound. So loud. My throat burns. I step on a shard, not feeling the pain. And that’s when I notice it. The tiles. So many tiles in such a little space. So much perfection in such a horrible world. I sit on the floor, my back against the wall, and I count them. One by one. These tiles are different. Nate’s were rectangular.

  “One, two, three, four…”

  These are hexagonal.

  “Five, six, seven, eight…”

  It’s harder to count these…

  “Nine, ten, eleven…”

  The patterns play tricks on my mind.

  “Twelve, thirteen, fourteen…”

  A loud bang sounds from somewhere outside, and I curse under my breath, wipe the tears from my eyes so I can see clearer. I lost count. Fuck. So I start again…