“Where’s your knight in shining armor when you need him?” My father’s voice startles me, and I turn around to find him standing at the bottom of the staircase. “I’ve always said, you can tell who your true friends are when you’re in dire straits. The real ones are there right away. The fake ones scatter like leaves to the wind.”
“You don’t have to be so condescending, Charles,” my mother steps out from behind him, surprisingly coming to Madden’s defense despite the fact that I very much know how she really feels about him. “The situation is already difficult enough.”
“Madden’s a good man with a good heart,” I say. “I’m sorry you two aren’t able to see that.”
My father scoffs. “He’s a small-town, uneducated tattoo artist with no future. I don’t care if he’s a good person, he’s not worth throwing away your entire career over.”
I ball my fists. “This has nothing to do with him. I told you that. The decision was made before I ever met him. And he has a future. His shop is one of the most successful businesses in Olwine. And he didn’t need to go to college. He’s a naturally gifted artist. You should see his work. It’s beautiful—the kind of talent they can’t teach in school.”
I don’t know why I’m telling them this.
It isn’t going to change their minds.
It isn’t going to make them suddenly see Madden as the self-made success story that he is.
“All we know is that ever since you started running around with him, you’ve been lying and making poor life choices, and you’re not the daughter we raised you to be,” my mother says.
I want to ask if that’s such a bad thing, but I already know how they’ll respond, so I bite my tongue and nonchalantly check my messages.
Still no reply.
Closing out of the app, I remember I have an Uber account—which is linked to my PayPal—which is linked to my bank card. Honestly, I’m shocked they haven’t asked for my phone, but then again, they wouldn’t have any way to reach me, and they would never do that to themselves.
They might be trying to teach me a lesson, but they’re still my parents and they’re not going to cut off their only means of communication with me.
Besides, how else would they be able to control me from afar?
Without saying another word, I sling my purse and duffel bag over my shoulder and wheel my bag to the front door, and then I close it behind me. With my belongings in tow, I walk to the coffee shop five blocks away and order an Uber to Olwine.
I just hope he’s home when I get there.
Thirty
Madden
* * *
It’s dusk by the time I pull up to the shop Sunday night.
I spent all day at the cemetery. Sitting. Thinking. Reminiscing. Missing. Watching cars drive through and people stepping out to place flowers on headstones.
I park my car, grab my keys, lock up, and head to the side door, only I stop in my tracks when I see a pretty blonde thing sitting on a giant suitcase outside my building.
Fuck.
“They kicked you out, didn’t they?” I ask.
“Yep.” She offers a defeated smile. “Tried getting a hold of you a few times, but your phone was off.”
Dragging my hand through my hair, I exhale. “Yeah. Sorry about that. Was with family.” I dangle my keys and point to the door. “Come on up.”
Brighton stands, gathering her things. I grab her biggest bag and lug it up the stairs once we’re inside.
“What are you going to do?” I ask once we’re in my apartment.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ll probably call a few old friends, see if I can stay with them for a few days at a time. Maybe apply for a credit card in the meantime.”
“They completely cut you off?” I ask.
“Everything but my phone.”
“Jesus.” I toss my keys on the counter. “You ever had a loan before? Or a credit card? Anything?”
She shakes her head.
“Then your credit score is probably shit. You won't get approved for anything,” I say. “And if you do, it’ll be thirty percent interest or some shit like that.”
Brighton takes a seat at my kitchen table, sinking into the chair, resting her head in her hands.
I’m going to have to help her.
She has nothing. Literally nothing.
“You’re staying with me until we can get you on your feet,” I say.
She peers at me from between her fingers, silent, like she doesn’t believe me.
“You can put in a few hours at my shop each day to earn some money over the next couple weeks,” I say. “Then when your job starts, you can at least afford to Uber there.”
My apartment is a whopping six hundred square feet. This is going to be tight, the two of us. I’ve never lived with anyone else before and there’s a chance we’re going to get sick of each other sooner than later. I’m not sure how this is going to work out, but I’ll be damned if I turn her out on the streets like a stray cat.
Besides, it’s not forever.
Nothing ever is.
Thirty-One
Brighton
* * *
Eight days.
That’s how long I’ve been shacking up with my fake boyfriend.
I dump the burnt Rice-A-Roni into the garbage, ruined pan and all, and open all the windows to get the smell out.
I spent all day making this place spotless. An hour ago, it smelled like lemons and clean laundry.
Now it smells like burned starch.
Guess we’re ordering pizza for dinner.
Again ...
Madden doesn’t act like he’s burdened by my being here, but I can’t help but feel guilty anyway, so doing small household chores makes me feel a tiny bit better about being such an imposition.
Of course I had to make it clear to him that I wasn’t trying to play house—that I was simply trying to be a gracious houseguest.
The apartment door opens, and Madden steps through the haze of clouded smoke that remains in the kitchen. It’s just past six, when he usually runs upstairs for a quick dinner break before heading down to finish up his evening appointments.
“I botched dinner.” I hang my head. “Going to order pizza. I’ll have it delivered to the shop.”
He fans the smoke out of his face, coughing. “Place looks good.”
“It smelled good too—until about ten minutes ago.” I make my way to the sink, filling the left half with warm water and soap to finish cleaning up the mess I made.
“You don’t have to do all this,” he tells me, hooking his hands around my waist and kissing the top of my shoulder.
I smile, though he can’t see it from behind me.
As fake as this is … sometimes it feels so real it’s scary.
“There are other ways to earn your keep, you know.” He kisses his way up the side of my neck, sending tingles down my spine, and then he presses his hardness against me before turning me to face him.
His lips crush mine, and I reach for his belt buckle, but he brushes my hands away.
“Later,” he says, his mouth on mine. “I’m going to head back down.”