Havoc: Mayhem Series #4

by Jamie Shaw

  Mike rubs his thumb over my hand again. “Bali was really beautiful though. We made a stop at this one beach . . . It was a private little cove surrounded by massive rocks covered in the greenest plants you’ve ever seen. The sand was like powder, it was so soft. And the water was as warm as bathwater.”

  “It sounds gorgeous,” I say, wishing I could have seen it with him.

  “I’ll take you there someday,” Mike promises with his chin resting on my shoulder. “There are tons of resorts all over the island. Even those kinds with the little wooden huts that sit out on the water. We can spend our honeymoon in one of them.”

  Mike stiffens at the same time I do—right when he says the word honeymoon. We’re quiet for a while, and his thumb starts drumming against my hand.

  “Are you planning on proposing to me?” I tease, butterflies soaring wildly inside my stomach.

  “Maybe in Australia . . .” Mike answers. “In the Capella Sunflower Fields in Queensland.”

  “Did you go there?” I ask, and all of Mike’s fingers begin twitching, drumming against the top of my hand. He shakes his head.

  I swallow, realizing what he’s not telling me. He didn’t go there—he looked it up.

  “Would I get to hug a koala afterward?” I ask to lighten the conversation, and he shakes his head again.

  “Nope. We’d hug one before.”

  “Why before?”

  “It’d guarantee a yes,” he says, and my whole body relaxes with a laugh.

  “You think I’m that easy?”

  “Okay,” Mike dramatically relents. “Two koalas.”

  I laugh again and elbow him playfully, and he sighs contentedly as he pulls me tighter against his body. Every inch of me is squeezed against every inch of him, and I close my eyes and smile against the pillow.

  “I’d buy you a house with a white picket fence,” Mike says, and my smile widens.

  “What would the house look like?”

  “Pretty. Lots of trees and flowers. Window boxes on every single window. A big deck for me to grill out back. A place for you to grow banana peppers in the yard. Like . . . seven bedrooms.”

  “Why so many bedrooms?”

  “For the six kids we’re going to have.”

  I bark out a laugh. “No way.”

  “Five,” he amends.

  “Two.”

  “Four.”

  “Two.”

  “Ten,” he argues, and I laugh hard. He presses a kiss against my neck before nuzzling his chin back in the crook of my shoulder. “Two,” he agrees softly, and I smile in spite of the butterflies wreaking havoc inside my stomach.

  “I hope they have your smile,” he says, and I close my eyes and picture it—a little boy and a little girl, both with my smile but Mike’s big brown eyes.

  My heart aches as I realize how much I want that. I want the white picket fence. I want Mike grilling out back. I want an obscene amount of bedrooms, and I want one of them to be ours. I want to lie with him like this at night—every night. I don’t want to let this go.

  I can’t let this go.

  I turn in his arms, and with our cheeks pressed against the same pillow, I allow acceptance to wash over me: I can’t let this go. Even if I lost him, even if I made the biggest mistake of my life and gave him up, I would fight to get him back. I would fight for him. Even if it meant giving up school for a while, I would never stop fighting to keep him.

  Because he doesn’t want a rock star mansion and fancy cars. He wants a pretty house with a banana pepper garden and kids with my smile. He wants me. Wild hair and tattered hoodies and all.

  “I love you,” I say, and Mike reads my expression. He doesn’t know I just made the biggest decision of my life, but I hope he can see it in my eyes—that I choose him, that I will always choose him.

  “I love you too,” he says, and when he kisses me, there is love, and there are sparks, and there is the promise of a future that I will no longer allow anyone to threaten.

  Mike Madden is mine, and I’m keeping him.

  Chapter 49

  When I wake a couple hours later, at two in the morning, I’m alone, and I panic. In Mike’s T-shirt and a pair of underwear, I throw off the covers and rush from his room, thinking he already left. It’s still pitch-black outside, but I missed him. He let me sleep, and now it’s going to be nine more days before I see him again. A lifetime.

  “No,” I say, fighting off tears. I flick on lights as I search the house, but I can’t even find Phoenix. She’s not on the couch. She’s not in the kitchen.

  “Mike?” I ask as I investigate room after room. “Phoenix? Come here, girl!”

  Silence answers me, and I stand in his living room with my hands on my head, wondering if I’ve finally cracked and lost my damn mind. There’s no sign of Mike—except the T-shirt I’m wearing. I lift it to my nose to see if it smells like him, and I’m still standing there sniffing it when the front door opens.

  Mike walks in, wearing a fresh shirt and holding a dog leash in his hand, and the loose fabric drops from my hands.

  “Good morning,” he says with a bright smile, letting Phoenix off her leash and walking over to wrap me in his arms and give me a kiss on the head. Phoenix stands by our side, wagging her tail excitedly.

  In shock, I search Mike’s eyes. I forgot to tell him about Phoenix living here last night, and now he’s . . . walking her? She’s letting him walk her? She let him touch her?

  “We met when I came in last night,” Mike explains, dropping down to scratch Phoenix behind her ears. She eats it up, pushing the top of her head against his chest. “I think she likes me.”

  I watch them together—Mike petting her head, Phoenix licking his face, him coaxing her onto her back, her letting him scratch her tummy.

  My hand flies to my mouth, and when Mike looks up at me, tears are welling in my eyes. “Baby,” he says, quickly rising to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

  “She’s letting you touch her,” I say, watching as Phoenix nuzzles Mike’s leg for more attention.

  Mike’s brow furrows before he gazes down at her—at the golden Chow who weeks ago was balled up in a cage, drenched in her own urine. “Wait, is this the dog? The one you rescued from the dogfighting ring?”

  I nod as scorching tears drip over my cheeks, and Mike glances at Phoenix again before tugging me into his arms. “Why are you crying, Hailey?”

  “I don’t know,” I sob, wishing I could stop. “I’m happy.”

  Mike chuckles and rubs my back. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” I sniffle, pulling myself together. I step back and hold my hand out for Phoenix, patting her nose when she pushes it into my palm. “You’re not upset she’s here?”

  Mike sits on the floor, and Phoenix immediately squeezes her big body onto his lap. He smiles as he pets her, and her tail swings wildly over his leg. “No, I owe her one for keeping you company while I’ve been away. Did you adopt her?”

  I frown, not knowing how to answer that question. “They were going to send her away, but I couldn’t let that happen, so . . .” I take a heavy breath. “I don’t have anyone to keep her.”

  “I’ll keep her,” he volunteers without hesitation, petting her as he gazes up at me.

  “Mike . . .”

  I stop myself, unsure of how to finish that sentence. Before last night, I would have talked him out of it. I would have felt guilty that he offered to help, and I would have rejected the favor . . . But I really don’t have anyone else to keep her, and she’s on his lap. The dog who wouldn’t let anyone else touch her is sitting on his lap, wagging her tail excitedly. I don’t know if it’s because she got used to his scent by living in his house before he came home, or if it’s just because Mike is impossible not to like, but she’s clearly as in love with him as I am, and who am I to take that away from her?

  “Are you sure?” I ask, giving Mike one last out, and he glances at Phoenix only to get a surprise lick to his nose.

  His answer c
omes in the form of a deep, happy laugh, and I fall even more in love with him. “Yeah,” he says as he wipes Chow slobber off his face. “We’ll share her, okay?”

  “So we have a dog?” I ask, and I don’t know why that question stokes the butterflies inside of me, but their silken wings tickle the inside of my stomach.

  “We have a dog,” Mike confirms, tugging me down next to him.

  Mike and I pack as many laughs, smiles, and kisses as we can into the forty-five minutes we have before he has to leave. I lament that he has to spend Thanksgiving so far from home, but he assures me that waking up with me in his arms this morning more than made up for it. I make him promise to try to track down some turkey lunch meat in Dublin so that he and the guys can at least have turkey sandwiches, and we make plans for me to try his mom’s green bean casserole next Thanksgiving.

  He gives me a nice kiss before he gets in his truck to leave, and then he gets back out of it to pin me against the door and kiss me breathless. I’m a boneless mess when he finally drives down the dark road, through the trees that separate his house from the city. I watch him disappear, touching my fingers to my lips and closing my eyes, smiling in the dark.

  Just a few hours ago, nine days seemed insurmountable, and I didn’t feel like I could get through them. Now, I can actually breathe when I think about them. Nine days—it’s not that long. Mike knows I’m waiting for him, and now I know I’m waiting for him too. I’m not waiting to give him up—I’m waiting to launch myself into his arms and pay him back for how flustered he made me against the side of his truck.

  In his living room, I sit on his overstuffed couch with my legs pulled under me, and I bite my thumbnail between my teeth. With my decision made, there’s just one big detail to take care of.

  Danica.

  I’m supposed to meet her at our place in a few hours so we can carpool to her parents’ house for Thanksgiving dinner. It was her idea, not mine, and I frown as I think about how nice she’s been recently. It started with her taking me on that shopping trip, and then it became me helping her with her homework; her excitedly asking me about my smoke-and-mirrors boyfriend; us watching TV together on the same couch. When we’ve talked about boys, I’ve pretended that her Mike wasn’t my Mike, and I’ve ignored the guilt that knocked against my stomach with every little lie I’ve had to tell.

  I haven’t worried about Mike wanting her back, since he’s made it very clear that will never happen—with me or without me—but that hasn’t stopped Danica from trying. She’s changed her phone number at least three times since he keeps blocking her, and she has all sorts of grand plans for when he comes home from his tour. I’ve listened helplessly as she’s shared them with me—how she plans to bake him his favorite cookies; how she’s going to give him a scrapbook of pictures of them in high school; how she plans to be in the front row of his next show at Mayhem, wearing the lowest cut top I’ve ever seen in my life.

  In a way, I feel sorry for her. She lost the best man she ever could have had, and even though she already regrets it, one day she is going to regret it to her core. I don’t think she truly loves Mike—not like I love him—but one day she is going to realize that he loved her, and she’s going to know that it’s her fault she lost him.

  He’ll be with me. Maybe we’ll even have our white picket fence by then. And even though I feel bad for the heartache and regret she’ll feel about that, I’m not willing to sacrifice him for her. If he wasn’t with me, he still wouldn’t be with her. She lost him twice, and that’s not my fault. She doesn’t deserve him—she never deserved him. And even though I’m not sure I deserve him either, because he’s a fairy tale prince in a rock star’s body, I’m keeping him.

  I tell myself that over and over again as I drive to my apartment in the same clothes I wore to Mike’s house two days ago. Danica will think I spent both nights at Leti’s, and I’ll let her think that until after Thanksgiving dinner. I don’t know how she’s going to react when I tell her that I’m in love with Mike and that we’re in a serious relationship, but I know I don’t want to find out until after we no longer have to be in a closed space together. She deserves a nice, drama-free holiday with our families as much as I do, so I’ll tell her after we get home. And I’ll pack up my things beforehand, just in case she decides to go crazy again. If I have to live at Mike’s, I know he’ll be okay with it. And if I have to drop out of school for a while, I know I’ll be okay with it. I can find a job around here until I find some way to re-enroll—because there has to be a way for me to do it on my own. I have to believe that, and I have to believe I’ll find it. Eventually.

  Positive thoughts: I’m confident, I’m powerful, I’m strong . . . I’m also fifteen minutes late since my feet aren’t as brave as the rest of me.

  “I was just about to call you,” Danica says when I finally gather the courage to step inside our apartment. She smiles, and I force a smile back.

  “Sorry,” I say as I head toward my room. “I just need to change real quick, and then I’m ready to go.”

  “Busy night?” she teases as she follows me, and I swallow my nerves.

  “Yeah, sorry. I overslept.”

  Danica plops down on my bed as I pull clothes from my dresser, and when she makes no attempt to give me any privacy, I take them to the bathroom in the hall.

  “Were you at Leti’s?” she asks through the door, and my throat thickens as I slip a fresh top over my head.

  I glance in the mirror and release my lip from my teeth. “Yeah.”

  “When am I going to get to meet him?”

  I hop into a clean skirt and force a brush through my hair. “Uh, soon.”

  “You should go on a double date with Mike and me when he gets home,” she says, and I hesitate with my hand on the knob. God, how can I face her? Mike is on my skin. He’s in my body. I should have showered before I left his place, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to erase the memory of his touch so soon.

  I take a deep breath, forcing another smile as I finally open the door. “Ready to go.”

  Danica grins and follows me to her car. I try to turn on the radio, but she stops me. “Let’s talk,” she says, pushing my hand away from the dash. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “What do you want to talk about?” I ask, glancing into her mascara-framed eyes.

  “I want to talk about Leti some more,” she says, the corners of her mouth turned up.

  “Oh . . . what about him?”

  “You’ve been spending a lot of time at his place,” Danica notes, and I straighten my skirt.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s like you’re practically living there.”

  “I guess . . .”

  “Seems like things are really serious between you two.”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “Are you in love with him?”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “Uh, I . . . um . . .”

  Danica pats my knee. “Oh, sweetie. It’s okay. Of course you are.” I search her expression, and she gives me a sad smile. “You two have been inseparable lately.”

  My toes curl painfully in my special-occasion flats, matching how uncomfortable I am.

  “But listen,” Danica says, pulling her phone from her cup holder. I wish she would watch the road, but instead, she fiddles with the device in her hand. “I need to show you something, okay?”

  I wait, and she eventually hands me the phone. And when I look at it, my eyes flash wide.

  “Do you know who that is?” she asks as I stare at a picture of Leti kissing Kale on the mouth, and I nervously shake my head. “That’s your boyfriend’s profile picture.”

  “Oh.”

  “It was easy to look him up,” she says. “Leti isn’t exactly a popular name. Did you know he’s gay?”

  My eyes are saucers when I stare over at her.

  “You didn’t know your boyfriend was gay?” Danica asks, and I shake my head.

  “See, that’s interesting,” she says wi
th a smile.

  “Interesting?” I croak.

  “Why wouldn’t Kit tell you that your boyfriend is actually dating her brother? That’s who’s in the picture—Kale Larson. Why wouldn’t your BFFs Dee or Rowan tell you?”

  “Kit’s brother?” I ask, trying to gauge how much Danica knows, and she bursts out laughing. She throws her head back, her laughter filling the car as it picks up speed.

  “Hailey, you’re so fucking dumb. You can’t lie to me. Did you really think I didn’t know?”

  Her laugh is like ice shooting through my veins, and I realize she’s playing with me.

  “What do you want?” I ask, and my cousin smiles at me—a glass smile that threatens to shatter and slice me to pieces.

  “I want to know where you’ve been.”

  She’s holding all the cards, and I can’t tell if she’s bluffing. I search for a tell, a crack in her serpentine smile . . . “You know where I’ve been,” I venture, and Danica’s penny-brown eyes shine.

  “Hm,” she hums. “Do I?”

  I say nothing, refusing to be a pawn on her board.

  “I think you’ve been at my boyfriend’s house,” she finally accuses, and I stare out my passenger-side window, knowing the game is finally over. This isn’t a conversation I wanted to have before Thanksgiving dinner—much less in a moving vehicle that Danica could drive off a bridge on a whim—but I’ve never been in control of this game. Danica has always been in the driver’s seat, and I resign myself to watching the trees we leave behind.

  “Aren’t you going to say something?” she asks, but I continue resting my forehead against the glass, ignoring her. “Typical Hailey. Clam up like a coward the minute shit gets real.” I don’t take her bait, and she snaps, “Fucking say something, you stupid bitch!”

  “My boyfriend’s house,” I correct her. I lift my head and level her with my stare, and Danica’s face reddens as she glares at me. I don’t back down, and she eventually looks back out at the road, her jaw ticking furiously.

  “You think you’re pretty fucking special, don’t you?” she snarls as I look back out the window. “Congratulations, you got to be the pathetic side bitch waiting at home for a rock star who’s fucking everything with legs thousands of miles away.”