“No one is going to hurt you,” she said, taking a shot at scared.
“Tell that to Uncle Billy.”
“He’s … he’s scary, but I swear to you, he won’t hurt you. He won’t lay a finger on you.”
Becky stared at the ceiling so hard, as if she were the only thing keeping it from falling and crushing them.
“Get some sleep, Becky,” she said. Becky sat up and grabbed Maddy, her sweaty fingers a handcuff around her wrist.
“Are you leaving?” she asked. The girl’s attempts at bravery, at cool indifference, were gone. She was white with fear, wide-eyed with worry.
“No,” Maddy said, her plans changing on a dime. “I’ll be right outside.”
Becky lay back down, collecting herself as if she was painfully aware of how young she’d sounded. How panicked. “It’s okay,” she said, too late to take back what she’d revealed. “Do whatever you want.”
“I’ll be right outside when you wake up.”
Becky turned her face away, curled up on her side, the small bones of her spine pressing against the thin sweatshirt she wore.
Maddy took the hint and shut the door behind her before resting her hand against the wood for a second, as if she could send her unvoiced, unsure hope for healing through that wood.
Billy was right—she had forgotten. She’d forced herself to forget what it had been like to grow up in that neighborhood, with the Wilkins family, because the burden was too heavy to carry.
Behind her was the whir and thump of a treadmill and she followed the sound to a back bedroom. The door wasn’t completely shut and she stood in the shadows of the hallway watching Billy through the crack.
He ran at a relentless, punishing sprint. Sweat ran down every clenched and rigid muscle, dripped off his nose, from the stubborn thrust of his chin. And despite looking like the epitome of health, she knew he was wounded.
Bleeding out in front of her eyes.
The white wires of his MP3 player bounced against his shirtless chest and she realized, with a sudden pang of affection, that he’d put on the iPod so he wouldn’t disturb the kids.
She had no idea why it comforted her, but it did. A small sign that things might be all right. If he could just hold on to his compassion and his reason, he would be okay. He’d see himself out from under this mess.
“Goddamn it!” Billy yelled, and smacked the face of the treadmill with the flat of his hand. Again. And again. Until the treadmill readout cracked.
Or, she thought, ducking back into the shadows, away from the eruption of Billy, he’d screw this situation up worse with his blind anger.
One just never knew which way Billy would go.
* * *
Maddy’s eyes blinked open and she was lost. She was on a couch. Brown leather, so not hers. The gray blanket thrown over her was fleece. Definitely not hers.
“Why in the world is she here?” A woman’s voice said, muffled by walls and distance.
The smell of garlic in butter filled the air and her stomach roared, waking her all the way up.
She was on Billy’s couch. After cleaning up the donuts she’d sat down on the couch and must have fallen asleep. Judging by the sun falling in great sheets through the windows, she’d been asleep for a few hours.
“Billy,” the woman’s voice said and Maddy lifted her head, realizing it was coming from the kitchen. Tara Jean. That steely southern magnolia tone was unmistakable. “It’s her show. She took advantage of you. You can’t tell me she wasn’t planning that shit all along.”
There was a clatter and clang of dishes, a sizzle and the smell of searing meat.
“She told me she had nothing to do with it,” Billy said. “And I believe her.”
“I’ll tell you what I believe—”
“Tara,” another voice chimed in, deep and resonant. “You’ve been telling us for the last half hour what you believe.”
“Fine,” she snapped after a moment. “But I don’t want Billy to be hurt.”
“Maddy won’t hurt me.”
Internally, Maddy flinched, his faith painful. No, she thought, don’t believe in me.
“I swear,” Tara Jean murmured and Maddy imagined the woman hugging Billy, her thin arms around his thick neck, her mouth against his cheek, and jealousy—irrational and sudden—stabbed her. “When she wakes up I’m going to tell her what I think of her.”
Great. Maddy sighed and sat up, only to find Becky sitting at her feet, Charlie wrapped in her arms.
“That woman does not like you,” Becky whispered, her eyes bright. Maddy wasn’t sure if it was because the girl was laughing at her or because she’d finally gotten some sleep.
“Yeah,” she muttered. “I got that sense. How long have you been sitting there?”
“Not long. Charlie just woke up.”
And they sat here with me, instead of going into the kitchen. Maddy was uncomfortable with that trust, too.
“I’m hungry,” Charlie cried and all noise in the kitchen went silent.
Becky winced. “Uh-oh.”
Yeah, uh-oh. Maddy threw off the blanket and got to her feet, smoothing down her hair in a lame attempt to be ready for Tara Jean when she came around the corner.
But it was Billy. In blue jeans and a faded blue Mavericks T-shirt. His feet were bare and he looked like every Sunday afternoon they had ever shared.
“You’re awake.” His eyes ran over the kids, as if checking for wounds or stolen silverware. “All of you.”
“Sorry,” Maddy said. “I didn’t mean—”
He waved her off. “It’s all right. Everyone needed some sleep. Are you guys hungry?”
“Starved,” Charlie said, jumping around the floor for no reason.
“Becky?”
She shrugged, which seemed to be the most fluent of Becky’s languages. “Okay, we’ve got lunch coming in a little bit. My friend Luc is making meatball subs.”
“Meatballs!” Charlie yelled—the kid couldn’t have been more excited if Billy had announced that a circus had moved into the kitchen. Billy seemed taken aback by his sudden enthusiasm.
“Calm down, Charlie,” Becky admonished, reading Billy’s unsure surprise. The girl was incredibly adept at gauging a room and calculating moods, Maddy thought.
Survival skills.
“No, it’s fine. I feel the same way about meatballs,” Billy said, smiling down at the boy. “Luc could probably use some help.”
Charlie charged off before Becky could stop him, and without him by her side, she seemed suddenly lost. Suddenly very young. Her hair was coming out of her ponytail in a frizzy little halo around her head, and she still had a wrinkle from the bed across her cheek.
“So that’s what he’s like when he’s had some sleep,” Billy said, with a small smile at Becky. Maddy had to look away, emotion swelling high in her throat. He was trying, he was trying so hard.
Becky ignored his attempt to build a bridge between them and tucked her hands into the sleeves of her sweatshirt. “Have you heard from Janice?” she asked.
Billy shook his head. “She won’t answer my calls or call me back.”
“You gonna put us on a plane?”
“Not until I talk to her,” he said.
“She may never answer her phone. It’s probably been turned off.”
Billy stretched out his neck, as if an invisible collar were getting a whole lot tighter. “Well, we’ll figure that out later. Right now, let’s have some lunch.”
“Becky!” Charlie yelled and Becky took a deep breath.
“I need to use some of that money you gave me,” she said.
Billy’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“We need more diapers. And some cream for Charlie’s butt. And vitamins, and he can’t use adult toothpaste, and—”
Billy held up his hand. “Got it. We’ll go shopping after lunch.”
Becky nodded, her shoulders relaxing around her ears.
“Hey, you guys coming?” Tara Jean stood in t
he doorway to the kitchen, glaring at Maddy. It was obvious her words were for everyone else.
“Yeah.” Billy turned sideways, lifting his arm as if to touch Becky’s shoulder to usher her into the kitchen, but he stopped himself when the girl flinched away.
Billy wasn’t ushering Maddy anywhere. In fact it was very obvious that it was time for her to leave. Past time.
“I’m … I’m going to head home,” Maddy said.
“What?” Becky asked, panic all over her face. And she wanted to tell the girl that she’d bet on the wrong horse. Tara Jean, who looked like she would draw knives on the girl’s behalf, would take better care of her. Maddy didn’t have anything maternal inside her. She’d forgotten how to give of herself. “You said you would stay.”
“I … can’t—”
“She has to go back to her show,” Tara Jean said, her eyes narrowed like every playground bully Maddy had ever known. “She’s got some more lives to ruin.”
“TJ—” Billy said, trying to step in, but it was too late. Maddy could fight her own battles.
“I didn’t know,” Maddy told Tara Jean. “And I’m doing everything I can to make it right.”
“I saw the donuts. Very generous.”
“You think you know me? You think because you watched that clip you have any idea how bad I feel? Denise was my friend, my very first friend, and Billy was my—” Her voice cracked. My life. For so long.
She took a deep breath, reining herself in. No wonder her ideas about friendship were such a mess.
“Billy was my best friend,” she finally said, careful not to look at him. “And I just wanted to help.”
And save my career.
How did this all get so complicated? Nearly blind with tears that she wasn’t about to shed here, she found her boots by the door and shoved her feet inside.
When she glanced up she saw Becky, stone-still with fear.
“You’ll be all right,” Maddy said, hoping she wasn’t lying. “I told you, Billy’s a good guy.”
“But—”
“Here.” Maddy pulled out a business card from her big purse and a pen and wrote her cell phone number on the back. “You can call me anytime.”
Becky took the card, holding it with both hands as if someone might take it away from her.
“I mean it,” Maddy said. “Anytime.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.” She would stand by it. Sometimes doing the right thing didn’t give you much of a choice.
“Becky, come here!” Charlie yelled from the kitchen.
“Okay,” Becky called back, tucking the card into the pocket of her jeans. She walked away and Tara Jean followed, leaving Maddy alone with Billy.
He must have run off the worst of the frantic energy, because he seemed much calmer. Subdued almost.
Was it just a week ago he’d given her that ride home from the charity function? Just a few days ago he’d kissed her body as if she were precious. Special.
“You don’t have to leave,” he said.
“Tell Tara Jean that.”
“It would be close, but I think you could take her.”
Maddy laughed. “My girl fighting days are behind me, Billy.”
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
She blinked, surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”
“You going to quit?”
“My job? No.”
“You’re going to go back to the job that just ambushed you.”
“The job didn’t ambush me. Phil did. And, yeah, I’m going back to the job that I love, to try and make things right. I don’t want this to be the only thing people remember me for. I would think you’d understand.”
He stiffened, crossing his arms over his chest. The thin blue sleeves of his shirt stretched across his biceps.
“What are you going to do, Billy?”
“You heard Victor, what can I do?”
Maddy swung her purse over her shoulder. “I never thought I’d see the day Billy Wilkins would go down without a fight.”
“Hornsby doesn’t want me to fight. He wants me to grovel.”
“Isn’t it worth groveling, or doing whatever it is he wants, so you can end your career with some pride?”
“I’ve got pride!” he nearly yelled. “That’s why I’m walking away.”
“Oh, Billy,” she sighed, and though she wasn’t sure what her reception would be, she couldn’t stop herself from reaching for him, curling her hand around his wrist, feeling the bones, the muscles and tendons under his skin. And for a moment, brief and wonderful, she was restored by the reality of him. Recharged. A thin reminder of what it was like to be on his side. “I don’t think that’s pride.”
“Why does it seem like you’re calling me a coward?”
“Because I am. You are the bravest fiercest coward I know. You are the only person I know for whom fighting is the easy way out.”
“You think fights—”
“Stop.” She squeezed his hand. “Stop right there. For you fighting is the easier choice. It’s easier to not think, to not put anything but your body on the line. You act stupid better than anyone I know.”
She could tell he wanted to argue, but no one knew him like she did. A truth neither of them could deny, much as she might want to.
“You know why everyone liked you on my show? Because you weren’t fighting. You were vulnerable and uncomfortable. You were honest. It was like seeing you when we were young, before hockey got to you. Got to us.”
He grabbed her hand like a lifeline in rough seas and pulled her closer. She knew it was a mistake even as she did it, but she let him pull her into his arms.
They hugged, that was all, just their arms around each other for comfort. Comfort they both needed.
“Stay,” he whispered against her hair.
She pushed back, tried to smile, tried to pretend she wasn’t rattled and shaken all the way down to her bones. “I think you have a full house.”
“I’ll ask Tara and Luc to leave.” His eyes were dead serious. I choose you, he was saying all over again. Over everyone else in my life, I choose you. “You were my best friend, too.”
“It’s not that easy, Billy.”
“It is for me. It always has been.”
She had no answer for that.
“Now who’s the coward?” he whispered.
Oh, what a weak word for all the fear she felt. She was afraid of him, of her, of how inadequate all the problems in this house made her feel.
She was terrified of the millions and millions of gossamer thin threads that connected them. Past and present. She was scared of being the girl who would give up anything to share what he had.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Billy,” she said, proud that her voice was clear and strong when the rest of her felt paper thin and torn.
And it was so hard walking away.
The front door closed behind her and she leaned backward, suddenly so weak. She pressed her hands to her face and tried to find her footing.
Remember, she told herself, trying to pull back from the allure of the past. The allure of Billy. Remember who you are. Remember how hard you worked to put your past behind you. The woman on television every morning had no memory of the kind of hunger Becky had in her eyes. Not for food, affection, respect, but for a choice. A choice that didn’t suck.
Remember how hard you worked to put yourself back together after Billy broke you into a thousand pieces.
She dropped her hands, stared straight into the sun.
Truthfully, and she was too worn down to lie; truthfully, she couldn’t stand on Billy’s front porch and tell herself that he was the same man he’d been.
Billy was different. And that was the problem. This man he’d turned into was infinitely more generous and kind and appealing than the boy he’d been. And she didn’t know what to do with that. How to resist that terrible, beautiful temptation.
The last reporter lingering outside Billy’s house
started to approach, and Maddy walked to her car, ignoring his questions as she slipped her sunglasses on.
If Billy didn’t go back on the show there was a good chance she would lose everything she’d worked for in her career. But getting him to do it would require her to embrace everything she’d given up in order to be Madeyln Cornish.
And right now, this moment, hounded by a reporter, she couldn’t say which was worse.
Twenty-one years ago
“Oh my God,” Fiona whispered. “There he is.”
There could only be one “he” that would make Fiona talk like that. Maddy looked up and there, pausing at the end of the cafeteria food line, a tray in his hands, his eyes searching the crowd, was Billy Wilkins.
His eyes landed on her and he grinned, his face lifting, the scar twisting.
Nervous heat prickled all over her skin, like she’d been caught doing something bad. Not sure if she was going to laugh or cry or vomit, she had to look away.
The faded blue jeans and red shirt he was wearing were nothing special, but he was still so hot.
He usually ate out in the parking lot with the rest of the jocks, but for the last week, he’d been coming into the cafeteria to sit with her and the theater nerds.
It was the strangest thing that had ever happened to her.
After that slumber party, after he’d gotten out of the hospital, she would see him at his house sometimes when she went over to hang out with Denise. But he’d thrown himself into hockey, working harder than anyone had ever dreamed he could. And she went to high school, drifted away from Denise, who was getting into drugs and trouble, and never saw Billy anymore.
It was like they lived down the street from each other on different planets.
But this summer she’d seen him at the pool and it had been … different. She’d gotten boobs and this stupid butt and her red swimsuit was too tight and all the boys said stuff about her.
But not him. He’d just smiled, that sweet twisted smile, and her whole body freaked out.
Maddy reached up to her hair, trying to push away the curls that had gone frizzy halfway through second period. Stupid hair.
“What is he doing?” Fiona whispered and Maddy dropped her hand, feeling foolish for caring when he probably wasn’t really here for her. Maybe he wanted tutoring and didn’t know how to ask?
Crazy Thing Called Love Page 20
