Combative

by Jay McLean

  9

  KY

  My phone rings.

  I feel around my nightstand for it; eyes still closed and my body unwilling to wake up. When I finally find it, I hit answer and lift it to my ear, groaning into it.

  “Parker.”

  DeLuca.

  Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

  “What fucking time is it?”

  Seconds of silence pass. “I need you to meet me. Now.”

  I throw the covers off of me and rub my eyes. “Where?”

  “I’ll text you.”

  When he’s hung up, I check the time; six in the goddamn morning. And now I’m officially pissed because no longer do I have control of anything in my life, but now DeLuca feels he has the right to bark orders at me.

  And I have no fucking choice but to obey.

  ***

  “Are you a cop?” DeLuca asks, taking a sip of his drink. We’re sitting in a Deli around the corner from my apartment. It’s completely empty, apart from the seedy looking guy fucking around on his phone behind the counter.

  “Do I look like a cop?” I say, attempting to sound bored. I hadn’t told Jackson that I was meeting with DeLuca, and now I’m starting to regret it.

  DeLuca leans forward and narrows his eyes. “What’s your story, Parker?”

  I shrug. “I’m between jobs.”

  “No. I mean who are you? Have you got a wife? Kids? Pets? What makes you tick? What makes you wake up in the morning?”

  Nothing. Absolutely nothing but a girl I can’t get out of my goddamn head. With a sigh, I lean back in my chair, wanting him to get out of my space. “What’s your point?”

  “I don’t trust you,” he says point-blank.

  “I don’t trust you, either, so I guess we’re even.”

  He lifts a finger in the air, like he’s about to gift me with his shitty words of wisdom. But what he says is, “You don’t need to trust me. That’s the thing, Ky. You’re completely replaceable to me. That built up rage you have—the one that’s worked its way so deep inside you that you can’t breathe—that’s there forever. And you have no other outlet.” He laughs mockingly. “I’m your ticket. I’m your outlet.” He pauses for a moment, tilting his head, letting his eyes bore into mine. “I’d love to know what happened to you. And I know it’s not the war. No...That’s not it. Not all of it, anyway. So what happened?” He smirks. “Did you fuck the wrong girl?”

  My fingers ache from their grip on the side of my chair. It’s the only thing holding me back from rushing across the table and treating his face like my personal punching bag.

  His menacing chuckle fills my head with fury.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” he continues, leaning forward again. “Or at least a part of it. Is that why you enlisted—to get away from her? I bet you disappointed a lot of people when you left, huh? Your perfect parents. Your brothers and sisters?”

  My jaw tightens.

  He smiles. “Yeah, that’s it. And guilt. I bet that guilt eats away at you, burning every last piece of your soul—to the point where you’ll never let yourself be happy. I bet—”

  My chair scrapes across the floor as I stand and lunge for him.

  He’s fast.

  Too fast.

  The cold metal of his gun presses against my forehead before I’ve even stood to full height.

  DeLuca’s eyes narrow, but they’re calm.

  Too fucking calm.

  I want to kill him.

  Then and there.

  Bare hands.

  Fuck the consequences.

  “I own you now,” he whispers before lowering the gun and shoving his hands in the front pocket of his sweatshirt. He lifts the hood over his head, straightens up, and casually walks out of there.

  I eye the guy behind the counter, but he’s too preoccupied with his phone to notice what just happened.

  I let DeLuca get to me.

  And worse—I let him see my fear.

  ***

  I’d walked halfway back to my apartment before realizing that I have no fucking idea why DeLuca even wanted to meet. Was that his plan? To fuck with my head?

  Because if so—it worked.

  And I was done playing his games.

  I stand just outside the apartment doors and call Jackson. He answers first ring.

  “I saw that he called this morning. Are you meeting him?”

  “I just did.”

  “You’re supposed to tell me before you do anything. Have I not made it clear enough how dangerous this guy can be?”

  “Probably not, but him holding a gun to my head just now may have done the trick.”

  “Fuck! Tell me you’re joking.”

  “Jax, it’s fine. I handled it.” Lie. I’m still not handling it. “Can I ask you something?”

  Jackson sighs loudly. “Anything.”

  “Are you doing this for you or me?”

  “What’s the right answer here?”

  “The truth, Jax.”

  “Both.” He clears his throat. “Thank you, Ky.”

  “No need.”

  “Also,” he says, “call Mom!”

  Once he’s hung up I rub my eyes, hoping to hell this day would just end. When I open them, my heart drops to my stomach.

  Watching Madison walk from the elevator to the mailbox is like a sweet form of torture. Her hand shifts around the box and comes back empty. I find myself smiling, though I know I shouldn’t. Then she quickly turns, catching me mid-stare.

  Shit.

  But then she does something completely unexpected. She smiles and walks to the door, her hips swaying from side to side. I’m in a trance, completely tangled in a web of nothing but Madison. For a moment, it feels right. And at that moment—I forget about the shit DeLuca just pulled.

  She opens the door and sticks her head out, her eyes squinting from the little sun that peeks through the clouds. “Morning,” she says, her voice smooth.

  “Morning,” I reply, trying to look her in the eyes.

  But I can’t do it.

  When I do, all I see is her pain.

  Her pain and my regrets.

  She steps out of the doorway and stands a foot in front of me. “It’s nice out,” she says. “And I’m pretty sure you owe me a walk.”

  Relief washes through me. “I have somewhere to be,” I tell her.

  Her face falls.

  “But I’d love for you to join me.”

  She grins from ear to ear, and settles her hand in the crook of my elbow.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  She bounces on her toes as I lead us away. Instead of answering her question, I pull us to the side until her back is pressed against a building. “You okay?”

  She looks up, confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Not that I’m complaining, but after last night I swore you’d never speak to me again, yet here we are...”

  “I’m sorry,” she says, but it comes out a question.

  “You’re sorry? I’m the one—”

  She shakes her head quickly, cutting me off. “No, Ky. I was...” There’s a hint of hesitation before she reaches out and links our hands. “I’m new...to whatever it is that’s happening with you and me. You did the right thing. Honestly. It’s just that, I guess I have a lot of self-doubts and very little self-confidence. So maybe I took it out of context—that’s not your problem, it’s mine. And I’m here because I want to try to work on it. And I’m hoping that maybe you can help me with that.”

  With a smile, I lean in close to her ear. “So if I tell you that I think you’re beautiful, will that help?”

  She nods slowly, a slight smile on her face.

  And that’s all the answer I need.

  She says, “I like you, Ky, I really do...”

  “As much as you like that mailbox?” I ask, hoping to steer her away from whatever rejection she’s about to hand me.

  It works, because she tosses her head back with her laugh.

  “I hav
e to admit—I do have a strong case of jealousy. If one day you wake up and there’s a giant hulk-smash fist through it, just know that it started it first.”

  She smiles. “Friends?”

  “Friends,” I agree, and as the word leaves my mouth, I hadn’t expected it to feel so right.

  I need a friend. A distraction from everything else. She could be my distraction.

  I hold her hand and continue our walk.

  “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “We’re here.” I stop to open the door of Debbie’s Flowers and wait until she steps inside.

  She freezes immediately, her hands at her sides. Then she inhales, her eyes closed and her smile getting wider with each passing second.

  I stare in fascination.

  It’s as if she’s just gained the sense of smell and is appreciating it for the first time. She inhales twice more before finally opening her eyes. “It’s beautiful,” she whispers.

  And, somehow, I find myself smiling with her.

  “What can I help you with?” the older woman behind the counter asks.

  I take Madison’s hand and lead her there, pulling out my credit card at the same time. “I need to get a dozen white lilies delivered, please.”

  The woman smiles at Madison first and then at me. “This is the third time you’ve been in here. I remember your order.”

  Not in the mood for small talk, I hand over my card and give the old lady the delivery details.

  “This isn’t for her?” the woman asks, nodding her head at Madison. I look down at her nametag; Debbie. Of course.

  “No, ma’am.”

  Madison releases my hand and starts to walk around the store while Debbie gets the order ready. I use the time that Madison’s distracted to purchase something extra.

  Something small.

  MADISON

  “Give my your keys,” Ky says as we enter our building.

  I stop and turn to him. “What?”

  He has his hand out, palm up, and motions toward it.

  I hesitate for a second before reaching into my bag and finding the keys. His eyes light up, matching the goofy grin on his handsome face. “Turn around,” he says.

  “What?”

  “Turn around,” he repeats, louder and firmer.

  I do as he asks.

  His footsteps move farther away, right before I hear the lock turning in my mailbox. He comes back a moment later and drops the keys in my bag, then grabs my hand. “Let’s go!”

  I look longingly at my mailbox while he drags me to the elevator. “But—”

  He cuts me off. “It’s the element of surprise, remember?”

  I dig my heels in the floor and grasp his hand tighter. Looking into his eyes, I suppress my smile when I tell him, “I can’t wait.” Slowly, I back away from him and move closer to the mailboxes.

  He sighs and shakes his head, but he’s smiling as his eyes fixate on me, watching me. I wonder if he can see my excitement—because I’m sure having a hard time containing it.

  My finger shake when I place the key in the lock, the anticipation bursting out of me. I stop to take a breath, trying to calm myself. Trying to savor this moment.

  Ky comes up behind me and places his hands on my waist, the warmth of it causing my heart to race. He dips his mouth close to my ear. “Go head.”

  I don’t hesitate this time. I open the box, reach in, and pull out the single short-stemmed yellow rose. My breath catches on a gasp. Too many emotions hit me at once. I push them all back and take a moment to gather my thoughts. Then I lift the rose to my nose, and inhale deeply. Tears fill my eyes, but I don’t care. I turn to him, a million voices in my head wanting to tell him everything. Instead, I just lower the rose and let him see me. “Thank you, Ky.”

  He nods in response. “Yellow roses—they’re the flower of friendship.”

  10

  KY

  Tapping her pen on her notepad, Doctor Aroma eyes me curiously. “I’d love to play this little guessing game but I have a feeling it’ll be easier if you just tell me what it is that has you a little more relaxed and smiling today.”

  “I’m not smiling,” I say defensively.

  “Well,” she says, “you’re not exactly pissed at the world like you were last time.”

  I roll my eyes. “Do all girls like flowers?”

  She sets her pen and notepad on the seat next to her. “What’s her name?”

  “Madison.”

  “And you want to give her flowers?”

  I shrug.

  She laughs a little. “Most girls do. Tell me about her?”

  “She’s...different, I guess.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell her, the uncertainty in my voice evident. “She’s kind of hot as fuck but she doesn’t know it. Makes her hotter, you know?”

  Smiling, she asks, “Has Jax met her?”

  “Who?” I tease.

  Her face falls, and she clears her throat—squirming in her seat as she attempts to rein in a level of professionalism. “I mean Detective Davis.”

  I raise an eyebrow at her slip up. “How well do you know Jax?”

  “Time’s up.”

  ***

  There’s a knock on my door. It’s quiet. Timid, almost. Which only means one thing, and that one thing has me grinning like an idiot.

  Madison stands on the other side with a pizza in her hands. “Your place or mine?”

  I open the door wider for her. We’d only been apart for a couple of hours and I was already looking forward to seeing her again. Taking the pizza box from her, I set it on the coffee table and link both her hands in mine.

  We stare at each other, trying to contain our matching smiles.

  “You miss me, huh?” I ask.

  “I was hungry.”

  Laughing, I lead her to the couch, pulling her down with me and scooting her ass as close as possible.

  “Can I ask you something?” she says.

  “Sure.”

  “The flowers—”

  My instant smirk cuts her off.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You want to know who they were for?” I can’t wipe the smug smile off my face. “Are you jealous?”

  “No!” she all but shouts.

  “My mom,” I tell her. “Well, my foster mom. Kind of.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what you want to ask, right?”

  She nods.

  “They’re for her,” I admit. “I’ve been sending her flowers once a month since her husband passed away five years ago.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You call her your mom?”

  I shrug. “She’s the closest thing I have to the real thing.”

  “That’s sweet,” she says, but doesn’t ask anything else.

  I take one of her hands and trace lazy circles on her palm. “So Jeff...he used to come home with them once a month on the date of their anniversary. White lilies were their wedding flower. Today’s their monthly wedding anniversary.” I smile to myself, lost in my thoughts—in my memories of them. “It was kind of beautiful—the way they were. I’d never really witnessed what love was until they took me in.”

  “That is beautiful,” she whispers. “And I’m sorry about Jeff but...” she trails off.

  “But what?”

  “Nothing. I’m just nosy.”

  “No. What were you going to say?”

  She straightens up as if preparing for battle. “It’s just that I saw a sign at the shop and it said local delivery only...so she’s local, right? Why not just give them to her?”

  I release an anxious breath, trying to find the right words. “I haven’t spoken to her since I was eighteen. I doubt she even knows they’re from me.”

  “So who do you think she thinks they’re from?”

  A single laugh escapes me. “Probably Jackson.”

  “Jackson?”

&nb
sp; I lift my gaze to hers. She’s concentrating on my finger tracing her palm. “Her son.”

  “Do you keep in touch with him?”

  “Actually, Jax and I just started talking again.”

  She looks up from her hand—her eyes now focused on mine. “Did you miss him?”

  “Yeah. I really did.”

  KY

  Age Seventeen

  I locked myself in my room for three days. Three days I didn’t see Jackson or Christine. And in those three days, Jackson became our rock, our strength. I don’t know how he did it—but he must’ve known we needed saving, or at least knew Christine did. Me though? He had no fucking clue how badly I needed someone—something—to take my pain away.

  A knock on my door made me groan. “Go away.”

  Jackson entered anyway. He opened the curtains, letting sunlight in the room. It’d been three days since I’d seen it and it made me want to puke. I threw a pillow at his head. He ducked it and told me to fuck off—a well-earned response. “Are you okay, Ky?”

  I sighed and lifted the covers over my head. What was I going to say? That the only man I’d ever looked up to was gone, and my girlfriend that I needed at the time needed someone else’s cock more?

  “Mom—” Jackson started.

  “Has she been asking for me?” I cut in.

  I felt the bed dip. “No. But she’s not in a good way, Ky.”

  “She’ll get over it. We all will.” And even as the words left my mouth I knew it was harsh. And I knew that it wasn’t the truth. How do you get over losing someone you love? How do you stop missing them?

  “So...” Jackson said, and I could hear the hesitation in his voice. I knew what was coming before he spoke. “Did something happen with Ashlee?”

  I couldn’t speak.

  “It’s just that she hasn’t been around to see you or Mom. I thought for sure she’d be here...” he trailed off.

  I sunk further into the bed. “Can you close the curtains and leave, please?”

  He exhaled loudly, then got off the bed. I heard the curtains scrape across the rod and then footsteps moving toward the door. “Jax?” I lifted the covers and faced him.

  Jackson froze with his hand on the knob. “Yeah, Ky?” His voice was so quiet, so low, so damn sad I wanted to cry for him.

  “Thank you.”

  He turned around slowly and leaned against the door, staring down at his feet. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugged. And then he frowned. I hated it, because I knew what it meant—pity. “It’s no problem, Ky. You’re my brother. You saved me.” He let out a sad laugh and finally looked up at me. “Maybe now you can let me save you?”