She never deserved my compliance.
She never deserved my hope that one day, things might change. Especially as I grew older, on the days when she came begging my father for another chance, claiming she was clean and just wanted to spend time with her daughter.
Maddox always reminded me that I didn’t have to take it sitting down, even if he never knew that his mere presence was enough. That the look in his determined eyes was enough.
I clench Maddox harder as the realization pours through me.
It’s a few more minutes before I feel him steadily breathing. He hesitantly pulls away, our hands lingering together as if we don’t want to part.
And as we gaze at one another with swollen eyes, I only want to kiss him.
I want to promise him that we’ll be okay, no matter what.
Maddox swallows. “I don’t know how much longer I can go on pretending that you’re notmy fucking world,” he says breathlessly. “I need you,” he whispers.
I draw a sharp breath, jaw tight at his words. “I need you, too,” I manage.
The sliding door opens behind us before either of us can move.
Reed bolts out in nothing more than his sweatpants.
“Hey—Hey, Mom just woke me up. What’s going on?” he asks, eyes darting between us. “Why do you two look like someone died? Did someone fucking die?”
Maddox and I rise to our feet, the thought of revealing what we are now amiss.
“It’s Adam,” I say as I wipe my face.
A muscle feathers in Reed’s jaw. “What about him?”
“He’s been talking shit about Maddox all night,” I say. “Posting his dad’s mugshots to Young Decay boards. Slandering his name—”
“I thought they were taking care of this,” Reed interjects.
“My boss says they’re working on it,” I reply. “They have legal down here now. We just…” I turn to Maddox, our little breakdown still in the back of my mind as I try to be professional.
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” I say, and it feels forced.
It feels like a lie that you tell to children.
“You keep playing,” I go on. “Don’t worry about it. They’ll fix it. I swear, Mads.”
I want to hold him again.
Reed presses his hands to his hips. “We could get rid of him,” he suggests. “They’d help cover that up, too.”
The notion makes Maddox smile the tiniest bit. “Yeah, they’d cover it up for you. Their golden boy.”
“Damn right,” Reed says. “Come on. Don’t let this shit get in your head. Friday night show. We can’t have the middle slump.”
“We might have the middle night fuck up,” Maddox mutters.
“Yeah? So fucking what,” Reed says. “What—he’s going to tell people your dad was a piece of shit rapist who died from the cancer he deserved? Let him. You’re nothing like him.”
“People don’t know that,” Maddox argues.
“Butweknow that,” Reed says, nodding to me. “And I’ll stand on that fucking stage and tell anyone who defines a person by their parents to fuck off and get the hell out of my church. I don’t want those kinds of close-minded people hearing our music. They don’t deserve to listen to the chords and lyrics you’ve busted your ass creating all these years.”
Maddox cracks his knuckles and stares at the ground as Reed talks. I can see the anguish swimming in his eyes, the want to let it go.
