What has been gnawing at me is the fact that Madeline didn’t believe me. She was sure I was fucking with her. I don’t know why that messed with my head. I wanted her to believe and trust me. Of course she shouldn’t. I’m blackmailing her, but can we even call it that anymore?
I’ve never done anything with the information. She doesn’t know about the other things I’ve done that concern her, so she doesn’t get to have that in her anti-trust bank against me. I turned on the tracking on her phone when I connected her phone to mine to get her number. Also, unbeknownst to her, I might have changed a few classes to keep an eye on her.
I know all of these thoughts are me trying to rationalize what I’m doing. My head is fucked, and I know it. I need to give in to the reality of what is happening here. I want Madeline, and likely beyond fucking her out of my system.
Which I always knew was a bullshit thought. The idea of using people for sex doesn’t settle well inside my gut. My mother did that shit. Even at a very young age, I knew she was in it for the money. Everyone was always using each other; nothing was real.
I head off the ice and back to the locker room to change. The first thing I do, however, is check Madeline’s location. I should check social media for any buzz about a missing girl, even though it’s not my thing. But if Madeline has it, I should download the app.
When I see she’s at Joe’s Mechanic Shop, I go ahead and change. Her sister must be having problems with her vehicle. I don’t believe Madeline has one, but it could be Paislee’s.
After an hour of eating, downloading a few social media apps, and making a fake account, I see Madeline is still there. I don’t have shit going on. I could take a walk by to see what she’s up to. She doesn’t know I’m tracking her even if she keeps calling me a stalker. I brush it off as though that were the stupidest shit anyone has ever said about me. It’s kind of tame.
I walk the short distance to the center of town while scrolling through Madeline’s social media. She’s always smiling in her pictures, but as I scroll back to the start again, you can see those smiles aren’t lighting up her face the same as they did a year ago. Madeline is adept at masking how she feels. I suppose we have that in common.
My face goes slack—muscle memory from years of practice—while she displays a fake smile. I have already discerned the difference between her genuine smiles and laughter and the forced ones. Which is absolutely insane because never in my life have I paid such close attention to someone before. Especially not a female.
Then I find that Nick guy she went on a date with in the past, the fucker. She may have said it was nothing to her, but it stillpiqued my curiosity. He’s posted a ton of pictures of Madeline on his social media. He’s even got a pet name for her. Are they still dating? She’s the only girl he features on his social media. I don’t take Madeline as a cheater, but I didn’t think I’d do a lot of shit that I have in the past week.
I pause across the street from the garage. I can see through the glass into the office waiting room. Madeline is sitting behind the desk. Does she work there? Why didn’t she take the money I tried to give her? Then she could be tucked away and still sleeping.
I squeeze the bridge of my nose, not understanding my own thoughts or, at the very least, finding a rationalization for them, but there isn’t one. I don’t want her working there. She’s already in school and on the Ice Crew, which is more than she needs to be handling. Madeline only lost her father a short time ago. A thing I should keep more in mind. I celebrated my father’s death. I know Madeline didn’t do the same. Though she might celebrate if it were mine.
I pull out my phone and send a text wanting to see how she responds. I debate what to say like a teenage girl before I fire it off.
Me:Sleep tight?
I instantly regret what I chose to say, but fuck it. I can’t linger out here all day. At least without her noticing. That would only make her hold tighter to her stalker remarks, which are true.
I watch her pick up her phone off the desk, looking at the screen, but she puts it down when Joey walks in from the garage side. A bright smile that does meet her eyes lights up her face when she sees him.
I grip my phone in my hand, hearing a small crack. He puts a hand on the desk, leaning over to talk to her. Madeline laughs at whatever he says, and white-hot anger floods me worse thananything I have felt before. That includes all those brawls on the ice.
I cross the street before I can make myself stop and be rational. I push open the door harder than I mean to. The bell clangs loudly as the door hits the wall at the same time, making both Joey and Madeline jump. That’s exactly the entrance I was trying to make. Of course I didn’t want to frighten Madeline, but that jerkoff Joey is another story.
Both their eyes go wide, and Joey stands fully. Madeline is quick to drop the surprised expression on her face. How is she always so beautiful without trying?
“Hey, Luke.” Joey clears his throat. “Are you having issues? Is it with your Audi, or is it time for an oil change?”
“Yeah,” I respond. “I’ve got issues, but it’s not with my car.” It’s with him.
“That’s putting it mildly,” Madeline says with a small laugh.
“Lucky,” Joey says to Madeline. The fuck is Lucky?
“Sorry, right. Paying customer.” Madeline puts on her best fake smile. “Welcome to Joe’s Mechanic Shop.” Her tone is filled with sugary sweetness. I know she’s putting it on, but I still enjoy the hell out of it. The same way I do whenever her attention is fully on me.
“You work here?” I ask, keeping all my attention on her.
“No, I come here for fun.” She glances over to Joey. “No offense.”
“Buttercup.” My tone is somewhat harsh, more forceful than I intend, as I attempt to redirect her deep green eyes back to me. If she has a sliver of hope for Joey to make it out of this ordeal without any broken bones, she’ll swing them back my way.
“Stop calling me that.” She lets out a little growl. Joey flicks his eyes between us. I’m sure he’s trying to figure out what is going on here. That makes two of us.
“Are you two together?”
“No.”
