Crazy Thing Called Love (38 page)

Billy froze. One foot out the window. No. No way. Not his hockey fees. He’d just made the rep league and there was no way his dad was taking that money. He’d been working all spring and summer cleaning gutters and mowing lawns. Walking Mrs. Monroe’s stupid dog.

He climbed back into the room.

“What are you doing?” Maddy grabbed onto his T-shirt.

“He’ll go through my room,” he said. “He’ll find my money.”

“But …” She was so scared and he felt bad, he did, but he couldn’t lose that money. “He’ll hurt you.”

Probably. “It’s okay. Honestly. Climb down the rain spout and go on home. Don’t come back over here for anymore sleepovers.”

He yanked himself away from the girl and jerked open the door just in time to see his dad opening the door to his room.

“Hiding with your sisters?” His dad asked. He was drunk, but that wasn’t unusual. He had a cut on his forehead that was dripping blood down the side of his face. His mom must have got him with a plate.

“Where’s Mom?”

“Minding her own goddamn business!” he yelled backward down the stairs. “I need some money, Billy.”

“I don’t have any.”

“Bullshit.” He smiled, which was always more terrifying than when he yelled. Everyone said Billy looked just like his dad. Big, tall, thick brown hair, and dark brown eyes. A chip off the old block. A charmer, just like his father had been.

Nothing charming about his dad right now.

“Everyone in the neighborhood knows you’ve been saving money for the rep league.”

“I already gave the money to Coach.”

That made his father pause. But then he stepped into Billy’s room anyway.

“What are you doing?” Billy asked. “I told you there’s no money!”

“What about this shit, though?” His dad grabbed Billy’s hockey bag and tore open the zipper. “This equipment costs money, it’s probably worth something.”

Hurt and rage and his own fucking uselessness bubbled up and he knew better, he really did, he’d been taught at a pretty young age to just stay out of his dad’s way when he was like this, but he couldn’t let anything happen to his hockey gear.

It was his. All his. The only thing in his life that meant anything.

“Don’t touch that!” he cried and jerked his bag sideways. His sticks clattered down from where they’d been propped against the wall and hit his father in the head.

The smile vanished from his dad’s face, and quick like a rattlesnake he reached out and cuffed Billy hard on the side of his head. It hit against the door frame, but Billy didn’t let go of the bag.

Which didn’t stop his father from ripping open the zipper the rest of the way and taking out Billy’s skates.

“What are these worth?” he asked. “Christ, this stuff stinks.”

“Don’t—” He grabbed the skates by the blades but his dad jerked them away, slicing open Billy’s hands. He’d just had the blades sharpened and they were like knives.

Billy reached for them again, but his father smacked him backward, holding the skates in front of Billy’s face like a switchblade.

“Listen, you little shit, my money bought this stuff—”

“No, it didn’t. I bought those skates. They’re mine!”

His dad leaned in closer, the cool metal of the blade touching Billy’s face, the corner of his lip. Fear prickled all along his back, his hairline. Billy tried to back up, but he was pressed tight against the door frame.

“You think you’re a big man, huh?” He pressed the skate against Billy’s mouth until the metal touched his teeth. Billy forced himself not to wet his pants. “Some kind of hockey star? Well, let me tell you, son, you’re a Wilkins. Which means you ain’t shit.”

“Leave him alone!”

Out of nowhere, his mom cannonballed into her husband, shoving him sideways, just as Billy jerked his head.

For a moment he felt nothing. His father just stared at him, his face white with horror. And then he dropped the skate and ran.

His mother started screaming.

Pain exploded across his face. It hurt, his mouth, his face, it hurt so much he wanted to climb out of his skin. He wanted to die.

“Mom!” he tried to scream, but his mouth didn’t work and blood sprayed the white wall.

Holy shit
, he thought as he slipped down the door frame.

There was a thud. Someone screaming.

The world throbbed in time to the pain. And he curled into a ball on the floor. In his blood. He was all alone.

Oh shit. Oh God. Please. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but it was bad. He needed to call an ambulance. He tried to brace himself to stand, to go find the phone, but he slipped in the blood, his head light.

“I called the police,” a voice said, high and thready and panicked.

He looked sideways and saw Maddy.

Maddy.

Those copper eyes were wide with panic and fear but she was there.

“It’s … it’s okay.” She stepped closer. Crouched down.

“I’m sorry,” he tried to say. The black edges of the world were creeping in and he lost himself, but then he felt her hand, warm and real.

And he grabbed on tight.

Don’t let go
, was his very last thought before he passed out.

Billy didn’t remember
the drive home—they could have ended up on the moon, for all the attention he paid to the road. Luckily his subconscious remembered where he lived.

Charlie fell asleep in the car, which Becky seemed to think was a sign of the end of the world.

“He won’t sleep tonight,” she muttered as Billy carried the sleeping boy into the guest room of his house.

Billy put Charlie down on the bed and stood up, facing Becky.

“I swear …” he whispered, smiling a little because she looked so … new. So pretty. Her hair had dried into big pretty curls around her face. She looked somehow older and younger at the same time. Wise and vulnerable. A girl walking into womanhood. It made his throat feel tight with a certain nostalgia and affection. “… I don’t even recognize you.”

She frowned at him, her scowl utterly familiar. What was it about him that made the women in his life so angry? So furious with him?

“Ah,” he said, trying to make a joke of it all, when there was nothing funny about a single thing in his life. “There’s the angry girl I know.”

He walked past her and curbed the instinct to put his hand on her head. Never so keenly had he felt the lack of touch in his life.

He collapsed onto his couch, his head back on the headrest. He felt empty. Like if they drove back to the studio, there would be a trail of his blood and guts along the roads and highway. His still-beating heart in Maddy’s hand.

What do I do now?
he thought. How do I get over this? He wished the season wasn’t so far away. He’d even be happy to play in the minor leagues, if it would start right at this moment.

He didn’t want to fight. For the first time in his life, he was mad and angry and he didn’t want to put his fist through a wall.

Maybe he’d take the kids on a fishing trip. The thought lifted some of the pressure in his chest.

“Hey?”

He looked up to see Becky in the doorway, her sleeves pulled down over her hands. Her lips totally ravaged, which was usually a precursor to her running away or doing something equally drastic.

He sat up, marshaling himself to focus on Becky.

“What’s up?” he asked, hoping whatever she was planning would be a good distraction but wouldn’t get anyone hurt.

“I … I had an idea.”

“Does it involve stealing my car?”

“No.”

“Then shoot.”

“Gina—the lady that cut my hair—was saying there’s this boarding school right outside of Dallas. Her niece or something goes there.”

His whole body went still, like those moments before sliding into the boards, both braced and relaxed, waiting for the hit.

“Boarding school,” he said, just to be clear.

“Yeah, you know, where kids live at the school they go to. Maybe … maybe you could send me there.”

It wasn’t personal, he wasn’t stupid enough to believe that. She was scared and alone, but right now, beaten and battered, it still hurt. It still felt like rejection.

“Do you want to go there?”

“Sure.”

“Why?”

“I … I don’t want to feel shitty every day for being here. For being a problem.”

“You’re not a problem!”

She turned sideways, touching her fist against the wall, the oak wainscoting. “You don’t have to lie,” she whispered.

Billy rubbed his scar, looked out on his backyard, shining and sparkly from the recent rain. “We’re family,” he said.

“So?”

He cleared his throat and decided this was just his day for letting it all out. The words he didn’t want to spill, the vulnerability he didn’t want to show—he couldn’t hide it anymore.

Maybe being a family meant not pretending. If that was the case, if it would help, he’d show this girl his heart.

“Maddy had a great family growing up. A mom who made dinner and made sure Maddy did her homework, and a dad who worked really hard to make sure they had food on the table and they could go to Dairy Queen every Sunday night. I used to be so jealous of that.”

She was silent, tracing a circle in the wood.

“My mom tried, but she was a mess. My dad was never around, and when he was …” He got caught for a moment in the memory of the pain and the blood, the screaming, the escape route over the porch. Maybe he’d tell her that story later, when she was older. “Well, let’s just say there weren’t any trips to Dairy Queen. Janice and Denise … I’m not sure they cared. Not like I did.
Maybe when we were all young we wanted to be a family, but after a while they seemed to think how we were, how awful our house was, was normal. But I still wanted it. I still wanted a family.” He waited for her to look at him. Outside, birds flew, clouds broke apart and scattered to mist. Finally, quickly, she glanced sideways, her eyes meeting his and then sliding away.

He recognized that look so well. Like a kicked dog, searching for a little kindness.

“And I still do. I want a family. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” She stared at a spot on the carpet, three inches from the front of his feet. Closer, but not close enough. He could feel her yearning, as painful and unbelievable as his. “Please, Becky … please just look at me.”

Finally, she did. Her blue eyes swimming with tears, huge and liquid. “If you really want to go to boarding school, we’ll do it. I’ll send you wherever you want to go, Lord knows you’ve earned a shot at being happy. And I have enough money for you to do whatever you want. But I am really hoping you might be happy here. With me.”

She sniffed. Lifted one wrist to rub at her eye.

And suddenly they were in one of those moments that could change everything. For him. For her. It was a line in the sand and someone had to be brave enough to cross it.

Despite being gutted by the woman he loved, he was suddenly that someone. Brave enough for the two of them.

He climbed to his feet, taking his time crossing the carpet, feeling like he was a hundred years old, hurt and wounded but somehow hopeful all the same.

His arms were loose by his sides and she had plenty of time to run, to dodge him, but she stood there, shaking. Tears dropping off her nose onto her sweatshirt. Careful, aware of how fragile she was, how fragile the moment
was, he touched her back. She flinched but didn’t run, and he rode it out. Waited patiently for her to relax into the contact. Just his hand gently resting there.

And when that seemed okay, he carefully, slowly, pulled her sideways into his chest. Her shoulder at his sternum, his hand at her elbow.

“I want you to stay,” he said, and he felt her drawn so tight he was worried she might snap. Might break into a thousand pieces at his feet.

She coughed. Or something. And then another. Her head bent over, her hands clenched into fists at her stomach, and he realized she wasn’t coughing, she was sobbing. Nearly bent double, she was crying her heart out.

“I want you to stay,” he said again and she turned sideways, putting her arms around his waist. Sobbing against his shirt.

Yeah, he thought, patting her back, holding her close, letting her cry—probably all things that hadn’t happened to her in years.

This is right
.

The only thing that might make it more right was having Charlie awake. And Maddy here. A real family. The only family he would ever dream of wanting.

But some things just weren’t meant to be.

Maddy closed the door to her condo behind her and in the darkness she shrank back against the wood. For three years this place had been her sanctuary. Three years.

Ivory tower. Fine. Yes. He was right about that.

But why was it wrong? Why was it wrong to be safe? To create a place for herself that was hers and hers alone. Why was that intrinsically bad?

Just who the fuck was he to judge her?

And the fact that she felt lonely? The fact that she
stood here, in the dark and shadows of her own life, and felt like a sliver of a person, a quarter of who she’d been, as if the last few years had sucked something vital and real and important out of her. Maybe that was just growing up. Maybe that was divorce.