“Do you want an ice pack?” I ask. “I can sneak it out when I grab the batteries from the freezer. You can play video games in my room if you want. You don’t have to wait alone.”
Maddox considers me for a beat, and finally, he nods.
The memory burns my nose. God, that was so long ago.
We’re both still running from our ghosts.
“Maddox, please look at me,” I beg. I reach for his forearms and squeeze. “Please.”
The seconds feel like centuries. Eventually, he shifts. He picks his head up, and my entire body falters when his gaze meets mine.
His eyes are pink and puffy, his skin pale—almost green with anxiety. There’s a tear rolling down his cheek, collecting in his beard as he sniffs.
“Fuck,” he mutters as his knees hit the ground. “Fuckingfuck.” He braces his hands on his knees, and I can see how badly he’s shaking, how much he’s holding back.
Just like on those back steps.
I don’t want to tell him it’s okay because that would be a lie.
Nothing about this is okay.
I can’t promise his team will fix it because I don’t know that they can.
I don’t know how to stop Adam or keep Maddox safe. And Iwantto. I want to shield him from all of this. I want to mend what’s been done.
I don’t mean to fix you.
My jaw clenches as I remember his words.
Maybe I don’t need to fix this. Maybe I can…
I wrap my hands around his cheeks and tug his chin so that he’s looking at me. Our eyes meet. I feel my chest caving with emotion as the silent words press between us. The sorrow and the endless apologies.
And as he wraps his hand around my wrist, I stifle the sob I so desperately need to release.
“Break,” I whisper. “I’ll pick up the pieces.”
Maddox clenches his jaw, his head moving the tiniest bit, and he looks at the sky as if he can’t believe I just said that to him.
“Fuck you, Andi,” he breathes, and I know it’s his attempt at humor. I can see the smile in his eyes, see the tears starting to pour over his cheeks, and I can’t take it anymore.
I rise on my knees and wrap my arms around him. He embraces me with as much strength as he has in him, his strong arms weighted around my body.
And I feel him breaking in my grasp.
It’s so quiet. Even still, I know he is. His tears land in the crook of my neck, his body quaking against mine. I hold him tighter, hoping I’m enough to get him through this fracture.
I want to be.
I want to be everything that he’s ever been for me.
Memories of him coming to the house with new scars from his father’s abuse and the fights with the other kids flash behind my eyes. Every black eye, bloody lip, and broken nose. Every burn and welt from the strike of a belt.
Maddox never stopped fighting back. He never broke, no matter how hard things became. He sat at the dinner table with us almost every night and smiled, conversed, and even laughed with the family that took him in.
And I realize in that instant how much his fight affected me.
There was a time when I gave in to my mother taking me for the weekend, when I would tolerate her drug-addled boyfriends staring at me from the next room with their dicks out because I didn’t know any better. And while none of them ever touched me, I still thought sitting quietly on the couch was what I was supposed to do. I still thought I had to take her neglect because she was my parent, and I should respect her no matter what.
