Rival (16 page)

This house, once alive with laughter and parties, was empty now, and Addie’s family that she’d loved and taken care of was separated and broken. She’d been almost entirely alone these past three months. Because of me.

I backed away, knowing she wouldn’t want to hear another apology. Turning around, I started back for the patio doors.

“You still have things in your room,” Addie called out, and I turned back around. “And you have some boxes in the basement.”

What?
I didn’t have anything in the basement.

“Boxes?” I asked, confused.

“Boxes,” she repeated, still not looking at me.

•   •   •

Boxes?

I headed into the house, but rather than go upstairs to pack up the clothes I’d left months ago, I went straight for the basement door off to the side of the kitchen.

It didn’t make sense for me to have anything down there. My mother threw away everything from my room, and I hadn’t come to live here with much to start with.

I walked down the brightly lit stairs, my feet almost silent on the carpeted staircase.

For a huge-ass house like this, it featured an equally huge basement
with four rooms. One was decorated as an extra bedroom, and another was Mr. Caruthers’s liquor storage. There was also a room dedicated to tubs of holiday decorations, and then the large open area that held a gaming center with standing video games, a pool table, air hockey, foosball, a gigantic flat screen, and just about every other entertainment a teenage boy like Madoc could enjoy with his friends. The room also held a refrigerator full of refreshments and couches for relaxing.

But the only part I ever enjoyed about coming down here was when Mr. Caruthers decided that I needed my own outlet for activity in the basement.

My half-pipe.

He thought it was a way for Madoc and me to bond, and since I wasn’t making friends, it served to put me side by side with Madoc’s. While they played, so could I.

It didn’t work.

I simply stayed out of there when Madoc entertained, and I worked on my skills at other times. It wasn’t him so much but his friends. I found Jared moody and everyone else dumb.

Looking around the large area, I noticed everything was spotlessly clean. The beige carpets looked new, and the wood smelled of furniture polish. Light poured in from the set of patio doors leading outside to the sunken backyard off the side of the house. The tan walls still burst with Notre Dame paraphernalia: flags, pennants, framed photos, and souvenirs.

An entire wall was splashed with family photos, mostly of Madoc growing up. Madoc opening Christmas presents when he was eight or nine. Madoc hanging from the goal post on a soccer field at ten or eleven. Madoc and Jared under the hood of his GTO as Madoc throws a goofy gang symbol with his hands.

And then one of him and me. Right in the middle of the wall, over
the piano. We were out by the pool, and Addie had wanted a picture of us. We must’ve been about fourteen or fifteen. We had our backs to each other, leaning against each other with our arms crossed over our chests. I remember Addie kept trying to get Madoc’s brotherly arm around my shoulder, but this was the only way we’d pose.

Studying the picture closely, I noticed that I was half-scowling at the camera. There was, however, a hint of a smile. I tried to look bored despite the butterflies in my stomach, I remembered. My body had started having a reaction to Madoc, and I’d hated it.

Madoc’s expression was . . .

His head was turned toward the camera but down. He had a tiny smile on his lips that looked like it was bursting to get out.

Such a little devil.

I turned around and ran my hand over the old piano that Addie said Madoc still played. Though not anymore, since he was away at school.

The lid was down, and there was sheet music scattered on the top. The music rack had Dvorˇák on it, though. Madoc had always been partial to the Eastern European and Russian composers. I can’t even remember the last time I heard him play, though. It was funny. He was such an exhibitionist when it didn’t matter and not one when it did.

And that’s when my foot brushed something. Peering down underneath the piano, I noticed the white cardboard boxes.

Kneeling down, I dragged one out only to notice that there were about ten more underneath.

Flipping the lid off, I froze so still that only my heartbeat moved my body.

Oh, my God.

My stuff?

I stared down into a box full of my Legos. All of the robots and
cars with remotes and wires were thrown in here, scattered with loose pieces around the box.

I licked my dry lips and dug in, taking out a Turbo Quad I made when I was twelve and a Tracker that I’d just started on before I left.

This was my stuff from my room!

I was frantic, smiling like an idiot, ready to laugh out loud. I dove under the piano, pulling out two more boxes.

Tossing off the lids, I gasped in surprise at all of my mock engineering blueprints and another box of Legos. I shuffled through the papers, memories flooding me of the times I’d sit in my room with my sketchpad and design futuristic skyscrapers and ships.

My fingers started tingling and a shaky laugh broke out, causing me to giggle like I hadn’t in a very long time.

I couldn’t believe this!
This was my stuff!

I scurried back under the piano, slamming my head into the edge in the process.

“Ouch,” I groaned, rubbing the top of my forehead and pulling another box out much slower this time.

I went through all of the boxes, finding everything I’d missed and things I didn’t even remember that I’d had. Skateboards, posters, jewelry, books . . . nearly everything from my bedroom except the clothes.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I stared at all of the stuff around me, feeling strangely disconnected from the girl I used to be yet so glad to have found her again. All of these things represented a time when I’d stopped listening to others and started listening to myself. When I’d stopped trying to be what she wanted and just started to be.

These boxes were Fallon Pierce, and they weren’t lost. I closed my eyes, clutching my sea otter stuffed animal I’d gotten from my dad at SeaWorld when I was seven.

“Madoc.”

My eyes popped open, and I saw Addie at the bottom of the stairs.

She had her arms folded across her chest and let out a long sigh.

“Madoc?” I questioned. “He did this?”

“He lost it a little when you left.” She pushed off the wall and walked toward me. “Stealing his dad’s liquor, partying, girls . . . he bounced off the walls for a few months.”

“Why?” I whispered.

She studied me and then gave a defeated half-smile before continuing. “Jason sure had his work cut out for him. Madoc and his friend Jared wreaked havoc like nobody’s business the summer after sophomore year. One night he went into your room and saw that your mom had cleaned everything out to redecorate. Only she hadn’t packed anything. She’d thrown it out.”

Yeah, I knew that. But somehow the pain in my chest wasn’t spreading. If she threw it out, then . . . I looked down, closing my eyes against the burn again.

No. Please no.

“Madoc went outside and dug everything back out of the trash.” Addie’s soft voice spilled around me and my chest started to shake. “He boxed it up and saved it for you.”

My chin started trembling, and I shook my head.
No, no, no . . .

“That’s what makes Madoc a good kid, Fallon. He picks up the pieces.”

I crumbled.

The tears spilled over my lids, and I gasped as my body shook. I couldn’t open my eyes. The pain was too great.

I doubled over, clutching the sea otter, and put my head down, sobbing.

Up came the sadness and despair, and I wanted to take back
everything I’d said to him. Every time I doubted him. Everything I didn’t tell him.

Madoc, who saw me.

Madoc, who remembered me.

•   •   •

Six hours later I was sitting in Tate’s bedroom, my leg slung over the side of her cushioned chair near her French doors, and staring out at the tree outside. All of the fall colors swayed in the breeze, and the soft glow of the day’s last light slowly disappeared from the branches, inch by inch.

I hadn’t talked much since getting there, and she’d been good about not asking questions. I knew she was worried, because she avoided the topic of Madoc so well that he was like a planet sitting in the middle of the room. I wondered if he’d been angry to find me gone this morning.

I rubbed my hand over my eyes. I couldn’t shake him.

And what’s more? I didn’t want to.

“Tate?” I called.

She peeked her head around the door of her closet, pulling out a black hoodie.

“If you . . . betrayed Jared,” I stammered. “Like not cheated, but lost his trust somehow. How would you go about getting him back?”

Her lips flattened into a line as she thought about it. “With Jared? I’d show up naked.” She nodded.

I snorted and shook my head, which was about as much of a laugh as I could summon right now.

“Or just show up,” she continued. “Or talk to him, or touch him. Hell, I could just look at him.” She shrugged, smirking, and threw on her hoodie.

I doubted I had that kind of power over Madoc. Whereas Jared seemed more animalistic, Madoc was a mind-fuck.

She sat down on the edge of her bed, slipping on her black Chucks. “Sorry,” she offered. “I know I’m not much help, but Jared has just as much power over me as I do him. We’ve been through enough. There isn’t much we wouldn’t forgive each other for.”

Half of what she said was true for Madoc and me as well, but I hadn’t earned his forgiveness. What the hell was I supposed to do?

“For Madoc, though?” She smiled, knowing exactly what I’d been getting at. “He appreciates mischief. Maybe some sexy texting would be in order.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sexting? Are you serious?”

“Hey, you asked.”

Yeah, I guess I did. And she was probably right. It sounded like something Madoc would get off on.

But phone sex? Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Totally not my thing.

I looked up, realizing Tate was still staring at me. When I didn’t say anything, she lifted her eyebrows and took a deep breath.

“Okay, well . . . my dad’s gone to the airport, just to remind you, so—”

“Yeah, Tate. I’m not having phone sex tonight. Thanks!”

She held up her hands to fend me off. “Just saying.”

I nodded to the door, giving her the hint to take a hike. “Have fun and good luck at your race.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

I gave her a half-smile. “No, I need to think right now. Don’t worry about me. Go on.”

“All right.” She gave in and stood up. “Jax is having a party next door after the race, so come over if you want.”

Nodding, I grabbed my Kindle off my lap and pretended to start reading as she left. My fingers tapped on my thigh as if I were playing a piano, and I knew I probably wasn’t going to get any reading done tonight.

I didn’t want to read. I wanted to do something. There was a tiny snowball in my stomach that was turning and turning, building to something bigger the longer I sat.

Sexting.

Madoc deserved more than that.

Okay, he deserved that and more.

“Sorry”
just seemed empty. I needed to say more, tell him more, but I didn’t know how to start. How do you tell someone that you stayed away, never giving them closure, had a secret abortion and then in a post-traumatic stress blackout tried to hurt yourself, and then were responsible for them losing their home? What do you say?

What will stop him from running away from a train wreck like me?

Digging my phone out from between the cushion and the chair, I squeezed the shake out of my fingers as I typed.

I don’t know what to say.

I hit Send and immediately shut my eyes, letting out a pathetic sigh.
“I don’t know what to say”? Seriously, Fallon?

Well, at least I said something, I guess. Even if it was moronic. Consider it a warm-up.

Five minutes passed and then ten. Nothing. Maybe he was in the shower. Maybe he left his phone in another room. Maybe he was already in bed. With someone. Ashtyn, maybe.

My stomach hollowed.

An hour passed. Still nothing.

I didn’t read a single line of my book. The sky was black now. No noise from next door. Everyone must still have been at the race. Or did Tate say they were getting something to eat first?

I threw my Kindle down and got out of the chair, pacing the room.

Another twenty minutes passed.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and snatched my phone.

Great.
I was texting him again after not getting a response. I was like those creepy, overbearing girls that scare the shit out of men.

Please, Madoc. Say something . . .

I leaned back against Tate’s wall, bobbing my foot up and down and keeping my phone in my hand. Twenty minutes later and still nothing. I buried my face in my hands and took some deep breaths.

Swallow it down.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

And then I dropped my hands, tired tears rimming my eyes.

He wasn’t listening.

He didn’t want to talk to me.

He’d given up.

I typed in one last message before bed.

I’m a shit.

My chin shook, but I calmly set the phone down on Tate’s nightstand and switched off her lamp.

Crawling under the covers, I looked out her French doors and saw the moon’s light casting a glow on the maple outside. I knew that tree was the inspiration for Jared’s tattoo, but Tate would never really talk about their story. She said it was long and hard, but it was theirs.

I agreed. There were things I don’t think I’d share with anyone that wasn’t Madoc.

My phone chimed, and my heart skipped a beat as I shot up in bed and grabbed it off the nightstand.

I let out a relieved laugh, wiping a tear off my cheek.

I’m listening.