Combative Trilogy

by McLean, Jay

  “Jackson!” she squeals. “Get over here!”

  He practically runs up the driveway and lifts her off her feet, spinning her in a slow circle. “You’re such a goof,” she says through a laugh. “Put me down!” She kisses his cheek when he sets her back down.

  “How are you, Mom?” Jax asks.

  Christine glances at me. “I have my two boys,” she says. “Life’s damn near perfect!”

  I hear Madison’s voice. Quiet. Timid. “Ky?”

  I look back at the car, but she’s no longer there. She’s at the end of the driveway, hesitating to come closer. She presses her hand down her dress and shuffles on her feet, one hand carrying the frame, the other wiping her tears.

  Christine squeezes between Jackson and me, taking Madison in for the first time. “Oh wow,” Christine says.

  Yeah, I get it. Madison—she’s kind of breathtaking.

  Madison checks her hair and then pushes her shoulders back, trying to appear confident, but she looks so lost. So unsure. So imperfectly perfect.

  She checks her hair again, and I chuckle. “You look beautiful, babe,” I call, making my way over to her. I hear Christine whisper something to Jax and him agreeing with her.

  Taking her hand, I lead her back to Christine. Madison’s hand slowly moves between the two of them. “It’s a p-pleasure to m-meet you, Mrs. D-Davis.”

  Christine’s gaze flicks from Madison to me. And then a face-splitting grin appears. She ignores Madison’s hand and pulls her in for a hug—an extremely long hug. Christine starts to release her but changes her mind at the last second and squeezes her tighter.

  Jackson laughs from behind them. “This is why I don’t bring girls home, Mom,” he teases.

  Christine’s laugh bubbles out of her as she finally releases Madison. “Well, that last girl you brought home—”

  Jackson quirks an eyebrow, cutting her off.

  “You should’ve seen her, Ky. Nothing but tattoos and titties!”

  Jackson laughs.

  They carry on talking about the girl—the girl I’ve never met. Would probably never meet. They have inside jokes—ones that I’ll never know. Christine smiles sadly at me as if she somehow senses what I’m thinking.

  It’s not that I’m jealous, or mad even. I’m just sorry.

  “Are those for me?” Christine asks, nodding to the forgotten lilies in my hand.

  I try to smile, but I can’t. “Yeah,” I say, handing them to her. It all seems so stupid now—sending her anonymous flowers once a month. It wasn’t enough. I had five years of catching up to do. Five years of inside jokes to make up for. And I swore it now—I’d start today.

  She ignores the flowers and gives me a quick sideways hug. “I’ve missed you, Kyler.”

  Christine takes a liking to Madison right away—of course, I knew she would. Madison—she’s kind of impossible not to like. But there’s something off with Christine. She seems nervous and apprehensive. She often starts to speak and then cuts herself off. She can barely hold my gaze. I give Jackson a questioning look, but he just shrugs.

  Jax and I sit at the kitchen counter while Christine shows Madison how to bake Jax’s and my favorite cookies from when we were kids. Madison pays attention to the details, even going as far as writing down the recipe. Jackson rolls his eyes at them. Madison fakes a glare his direction. “It’s important I know this stuff,” she tells him. “How else am I going to keep him?”

  * * *

  “How long have you known Ky?” Christine asks, motioning to what I assume is Ky’s childhood bed. I look over my shoulder, half hoping Ky will show up and save me from the conversation I know I’m about to have.

  “Not long.” I sit on the bed and bite my lip, my hands clasped on my lap as I look around Ky’s old bedroom. Having Ky by my side was comforting, but now I’m alone. And if Christine’s anything like Ky says she is, I’m about to cop a ton of questions. Most likely ones about whether or not I’m good enough for Ky. I’m not. I know that. Which I guess is the reason why I’m so damn nervous.

  “Did he tell you about me?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I manage to say.

  “What did he say?”

  “That you were badass and that I remind him of you a little…”

  She laughs—this all-consuming laugh that has me relaxing slightly. After a moment, she sighs and sits down on the bed next to me. “I’ve missed him,” she says, like it’s something she hasn’t been able to admit before.

  “I bet,” I tell her. “I’d miss him, too, if he were gone that long. Hell, I miss him when he’s not right next to me.”

  She reaches over, taking my hand in hers and settling them between us. I almost flinch, not used to the comfort it gives me. Her touch is soft, warm—everything a mother’s should be. My chest tightens, memories of my own mother trying to break free.

  I don’t let it happen. I can’t.

  “I’m holding on to a lot of secrets,” she says. “And I don’t think I’m ready to face them.”

  “About Ky?” I ask, turning to her.

  She wipes tears off her cheeks and nods, releasing a silent sob as she does.

  “Secrets aren’t good…” Trust me, I want to say. I would know. “Especially with Ky. Whatever you’re keeping from him, he deserves to know. He cares so much about you,” I add. “We wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.”

  Her smile reaches her eyes as she tilts her head to the side. “Young lady, I think he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t care about you.”

  I stay silent.

  “Do you care about him?” she asks.

  More than I should. I push down the sob and nod. “Yes,” I tell her, looking her right in the eyes. “Actually, I think I’m in love with him.”

  * * *

  “What did Mom whisper to you when I went to get Madison?” I ask Jackson, eyeing the doorway that Mom and Maddy just walked through, hoping they can’t hear us.

  He laughs. “That Madison was smokin’ hot.”

  “And you agreed?”

  “Dude, have you seen Madison?”

  “I’ve seen more of her than you ever will, asshole.”

  “Yeah, but I can still get off imagining it,” he says through a chuckle.

  I punch his arm.

  He doesn’t even flinch.

  “What do you press these days?” I ask, shaking out my hand to relieve the pain.

  “What? Are you jealous?”

  I shrug. “A little.”

  “I’m not that kid anymore, Ky.”

  “You’re just avoiding my question. Tell me.”

  He shakes his head and changes the subject. “You need to speak to Mom.”

  “Yeah, I know. Is she acting strange right now?” Or maybe I just don’t know her anymore, I think.

  “She carries a lot of guilt, Ky, and you’re the only one that can fix that.”

  “Guilt over what?”

  “Talk to her.”

  It’s silent a moment, my mind reeling with so many thoughts I can’t focus on one.

  Jax clears his throat, bringing me back to reality. “So, four days.”

  I turn to him, confusion clear on his face.

  “The fight?”

  “Yeah.” I sigh.

  He glances around the room, making sure we’re still alone. “And you haven’t heard from DeLuca?”

  “Nope. He said he’d be out of town, though.”

  “He did?” he asks, surprise clear in his tone.

  I eye him sideways. “Yeah… why?”

  “My guys have been tailing him. He hasn’t gone anywhere.”

  “What?”

  “Why the hell would he lie to you?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Madison’s sniffle interrupts us. She walks into the room wiping her cheeks, Christine behind her. “You broke her, Ma,” I tease, pulling Madison to my side. “You okay? What happened?”

  She kisses me quickly but stays silent.

  “Kyler,” Christine sa
ys, her voice shaking. “Can we talk?”

  We take the fresh cookies out onto the back patio. Jackson grabs two handfuls of them, lifts the bottom of his shirt, and uses it to store them. Then he grabs Madison’s hand and leads her away, giving Christine and me the alone time we both need. “Let me show you around the yard,” Jax jokes, pointing his finger at a bush. “This bush right here is called the Sophia. Named after the Sophia Bush. Latin name, the Jaxjerkoffagus.”

  Madison’s head throws back with her laugh. “I have no idea who Sophia Bush is.”

  Jackson glares at her, then at me, then back at her with a look of disgust. “I need to talk to Kylie about his choice of girls.” He shakes his head at her. “Sophia Bush is the hottest girl who’s ever existed.” He gives her a quick once-over. “You actually look a lot like her.”

  Madison grins from ear-to-ear. “You think I’m hot?”

  His eyes widen. “Moving on,” he says loudly.

  Christine and I settle on the patio furniture, watching them. Madison laughs again, placing her hand in the crook of his elbow. He smiles down at her before walking to the next plant. “This one here,” he says, faking a posh British accent, “is the Tyra, a form of banksia. Named after Tyra Banks, of course. Latin name—”

  “Let me guess,” Madison cuts in. “The Jaxbeatoffalot.”

  He barks out a guffaw. “No, young Madison,” he says, patting the top of her head gently. “Nice try. It’s called the Jaxspankbanksimus.”

  I turn to the sound of Christine laughing next to me. She’s watching them, but I need her to see me. “Ma?”

  She tenses. “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “You wanted to talk?”

  She pushes her shoulders back, gearing herself up for what she’s going to say next. I find myself copying her, choosing to ignore the thumping of my heart. Then she looks at me with those eyes so familiar, and everything else fades away. “I’m sorry, Ky.”

  Confusion blurs my mind. “Why are you sorry? I’m the one who left.”

  She swallows, fighting back the tears threatening to fall. “I’m the one who let you.”

  “Ma—”

  “No. I’ve waited five years for this conversation, Kyler. I have it memorized, so please let me get it out.”

  I nod, the lump in my throat refusing to let me speak.

  “I was meant to be your mother. Your rock. But I failed you. When Jeff died—”

  “Ma—”

  She holds up her hand and continues. “When Jeff died, I should’ve been there for you. I was so consumed by my own loss that I didn’t think about you boys. I didn’t see how much you were suffering, and then Steven… I should’ve paid better attention—should’ve taken better care of you, Ky. Do you hear me?”

  Her gaze holds mine while I clear my throat. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You were just a kid. You were hurt and lost and desperate. I shouldn’t have let you leave… and when you did—”

  “You didn’t know,” I cut in.

  “I knew where you were stationed, Ky. I knew when you deployed.”

  “Then why didn’t you call me?”

  “Because I was guilt-stricken and I was ashamed, Ky. And when my friends would ask me how you were, I told them you were great—that I sent you packages often. How insane is that? I was lying to everyone, and I was lying to myself.”

  “Ma, you can’t blame yourself. You were going through the same thing. I chose to leave you behind. You and Jackson—you needed me and I just left.”

  “But you were suffering more than just the loss of Jeff and your brother. You were heartbroken… and I wasn’t there for you.”

  “You knew?”

  She shakes her head. “Not at first. Jackson found out at school, and he told me—and even then I couldn’t bring myself to care about anyone but myself.”

  “Come on, Ma,” I comfort.

  She wipes her eyes. “Thank God for Jackson,” she says, looking over at them.

  I follow her gaze. Jackson’s throwing handfuls of dirt from the garden toward my old house while spewing immature profanities. “You piece of shit on a stick!”

  Madison’s holding her stomach from laughing so hard.

  “Yeah,” I say, “Thank God for Jackson.”

  He throws another handful. “You shit stinking whore face!”

  Madison laughs harder.

  “You try it,” Jax says, dropping dirt in her palms.

  “Try what?”

  “Just yell whatever you’ve always wanted to and throw the dirt.”

  Madison looks at the dirt in her hands, then back up at Jax.

  “Seriously,” he encourages. “It feels so good.”

  Madison nods, a slow smirk developing. Then, as loud as she can, she yells, “You child-abusing, alcoholic, dick of a cunt!”

  We leave soon after Madison dropped the C bomb. Christine pretty much declared her love for Madison right then and there. Jackson, too. But to be honest, I passed that stage a long time ago.

  We spend the car ride home feeding Madison stories from when we were kids, and it feels good—better than good—to be able to sit back and laugh about the good times instead of just remembering the bad. Because there actually wasn’t that much of it—bad, I mean.

  And Madison—she’s living proof of that.

  It took Madison coming into my life for me to let go of the past, of the guilt that I’ve carried with me since the day Jeff died. How can you thank someone for giving you that gift—the gift of being able to breathe again?

  * * *

  I’m quiet as we take the elevator up to our floor after Jackson drops us off. I can see her watching me—waiting for me to say something. I don’t, because I can’t.

  We stay silent as we walk into my apartment and she steps in behind me, apprehensively closing the door. “Ky,” she starts, then breaks off when I turn to her, my gaze pinning her in place. “If you’re mad at me for overstepping, get it out now. I’d rather you yell at me than not talk to me again.” She chews her lip, her gaze lowering.

  Say something. “Madison.” It’s all I can say. ‘Thank you’ doesn’t do her justice. ‘I love you’—well, it’s pretty damn close. I take the few steps to get to her and then lift her chin with my finger.

  The tears in her eyes cloak the uncertainty behind them.

  Her chest rises when mine falls.

  She exhales.

  I inhale.

  She takes.

  I give.

  She pushes out a breath.

  I pull one in.

  So here we are—taking each other’s breaths away.

  My gaze drops to her mouth; her bottom lip quivers with each release, and I look back into her eyes. “Ky?” Her voice echoes in my mind, playing havoc with my heart.

  It’s just like her knocks.

  Quiet.

  Timid.

  And then it happens—the final gasp of breath before I can no longer breathe without her knowing the truth. “I…” Love you. Say it!

  I can’t. But I don’t have to.

  “I know,” she whispers. “I do, too.”

  Our mouths crash together, frantic at first, and then after a beat… imperfectly perfect. My body covers hers, my hands everywhere all at once. And then, in sync, we slow down.

  Maybe we both know that this isn’t like the other times. We aren’t driven by lust or by our physical need to be together.

  This is so much more.

  More than I ever expected.

  And I know it now—that I was wrong.

  I wasn’t waiting for her to be ready.

  She was waiting for me.

  And I’m finally ready to give her everything.

  I pull away, intent on telling her how I feel.

  But the words are caught—not in my throat—but in my heart.

  So I do the next best thing. I place my hand on her chest, covering her heart. And when she looks up at me, her eyes wide and waiting, I whisper, “Madison, I exist in here.”
r />   * * *

  I can’t recall ever seeing magic. Not in person and not on TV. So it made me wonder how I knew what it was or how it was supposed to make me feel.

  But when Ky Parker places his palm on my chest—holding my heart in his hand—I somehow knew.

  I felt it.

  Magic.

  And magic, at least for me, was undeniably, unequivocally, real.

  Chapter 27

  She takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom—the same room where we’ve spent so many nights together, but we both know that tonight’s different.

  It’s the beginning of a new existence.

  She sits on the edge of the bed, her hands twisting on her lap. “I’m scared,” she says.

  I sit next to her. “Of what?”

  “Everything.” She turns to me. “I’m scared of feeling too much… of wanting too much.”

  I watch as tears pool in her eyes and she tries to breathe through it, but the air’s too thick. I know—because I feel it, too.

  I reach up to cup her face, my thumb wiping at her tears. “You have no reason to be scared, Maddy.” I kiss her once. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Her eyes flick between mine, carrying an emotion I can’t decipher. We stay that way, a thousand unanswered questions between us. But none of them matter. Not to me—and not to her—because when she leans forward and captures my mouth with hers, we become lost in the moment and in each other.

  I gently push on her shoulders until she’s on her back and I’m resting on my elbows, looking down on her. Kissing her. Feeling her. Wanting her. Needing her.

  My hand drifts down her body, past her breasts, her hips, and down her thighs until I feel the hem of her dress. Then I move up under the material and onto the softness of her thighs until my fingers meet the lace of her panties. She reaches down, pulling on my shirt, asking for permission.

  I sit up slightly, just enough for her to pull it over my head and then I’m back, my mouth on hers and my hands between her legs, moving her panties to the side. A gasp escapes her when my finger slides effortlessly inside. Her back arches, causing her head to tilt back, away from our kiss. So I kiss her jaw, her neck, her shoulder, down to her chest—the entire time my finger causing her to moan, to grip the covers beneath her. “Ky…”