The rough clearing of a throat had me blinking my eyes open sleepily.
"Hi, mom," I yawned.
"Morning, Emmie...Maddox."
"Maddox?" I questioned.
She raised her brows and nodded her head.
I startled. I was still half asleep or I would've noticed sooner that a body was wrapped around me. He had me cocooned to his chest and his head was buried into the crook of my neck. His warm breath blew softly against my skin. He was sound asleep. At least we were both fully clothed so my mom couldn't accuse of us anything.
"Sorry," I mouthed. "We fell asleep."
"Obviously," she grumbled, putting on a motherly face. "I like him, I do," she said in a hushed whisper, "but I'm not okay with this."
I winced. I hated displeasing my mom. "I'm really sorry."
She nodded her head, as if my words somehow made it better. "I'll make breakfast. Wake him up."
I nodded, assuring her that I would.
With one last glance at us she left my room.
I tried to roll over, but Maddox's arm had me pinned to the bed. I tried to shove his arm off, but that didn't work. I finally pinched him and that got him moving.
"What the hell, Emma?" He cried, rolling onto his back and rubbing his eyes.
"My mom." It was only two words but his eyes widened in horror.
"Is she pissed?" He asked, scrubbing his hands through his already sleep mused hair.
I nodded.
"Fuck," he groaned, sitting up. "I'm really sorry. I was planning to leave once you fell asleep, but then I went to sleep too, and—"
"It's okay," I interrupted him. "We just can't let this happen again or she might kill me...and I'd really like to graduate high school."
He snickered. "Okay. No more sleepovers."
Something in his tone told me that there would, indeed, be more sleepovers.
Before I could give that much more thought I let out a squeak and rolled out of bed onto the floor.
"You okay?" Maddox asked.
"Yep," I cried, wanting to hide behind my hands. I'd suddenly realized that I'd just woken up in bed with Maddox and my hair was bound to be a mess and oh my God what if my breath smelled awful? I cupped my hands over my mouth and breathed, inhaling the scent a bit. "Ugh," I groaned. "That's nasty."
"What's nasty?" Maddox asked, striding around the bed and over to me.
"Nothing!" I cried, jumping to my feet. He probably thought I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had. I reached up, trying to tame my wild hair.
"I'm going to go brush my feet."
"Your feet?" Maddox repeated, biting his lip to stifle his laughter.
"I meant my teeth!" I ran past him and out of the room, straight into the bathroom. I slammed the door closed and leaned against it. I let out a pent up breath. Oh my God, that was mortifying. My feet? Seriously? Sometimes my brain and mouth did not communicate.
Even behind the closed door I could still hear him laughing. At least I amused him.
I shook my head and went to brush my teeth and hair, trying to make myself look halfway decent and not like the spawn of Satan...which was what I usually looked like when I just woke up.
When I padded back into my room I found it empty. I changed into a pair of shorts and loose tank top that showed off a bit of my stomach. It wasn't something I'd normally wear, but I was hoping to make Maddox forget about that embarrassing bit about my feet.
I found him sitting at the kitchen table, laughing with my mom. A plate sat waiting for me, along with a cup of tea.
"You look nice," Maddox grinned, surveying my body as I took a seat. "I can't say the same for myself." He winked, plucking at his wrinkled t-shirt.
I wanted to tell him that he always looked good, but I figured his ego didn't need any more inflation.
I took a bite of bacon and said, "Mmm, this is good, mom."
She smiled. "I figure the least I can do is make you a nice breakfast since I'm rarely around for dinner in the evenings...and now your time is...preoccupied." She nodded her head at Maddox and he ducked his head to hide his smile.
When Maddox looked up he grinned at me.
"What?" I asked, lifting the cup of tea to my lips.
He nodded at it. "Tea Rex?"
I let out a soft laugh. "I had to have it."
"I can see why," he chuckled. "It suits you. It's quirky."
My brows rose. "Quirky? I'm not sure most girls would appreciate being called quirky."
He smiled crookedly, his silver eyes flashing. "But you're not like most girls. That's one of the things I like most about you."
"You like that I'm weird?" I suppressed a laugh. "That hardly seems like a winning attribute."
He shrugged, stabbing at his scrambled eggs. "I didn't say you were weird, Emma. I was just trying to say that you're different and I think that's a very good thing. You're not like other people."
We stared at each other, completely oblivious to the fact that my mom was still in the kitchen.
I swore the air began to crackle with electricity between us.
I'd only ever read about this kind of thing in the many books that lined my bedroom walls. Never, in a million years, had I believed it was real.
I broke eye contact first, unable to handle the intensity a moment longer.
We finished eating breakfast in relative silence.
I grabbed up our plates and proceeded to wash them in the kitchen sink. I heard the door to the garage close and knew my mom had gone into her studio. It had never bothered me how much she worked, I knew that for her it didn't feel like work. It was where her passion lay, just like me with music. Although, I doubted I'd ever pursue music as a career.
A moment later I felt Maddox step up behind me and my rambling thoughts cut off.
"Let me help." He grabbed a clean, but wet, plate from my hands and a towel to dry it with. He wiped it dry and set it aside, bracing his hands on the counter. He tilted his head towards me and I stopped what I was doing. "I want to show you something."
"Uh," I paused. "Okay?"
I didn't know why it came out sounding like a question.
He cracked a smile, his silvery eyes oddly serious.
I thought he was going to say more, but he took another clean plate from my hands and went about like nothing had happened.
Boys.
They were so damn confusing.
I really wondered what he could possibly want to show me. I thought it could be another 'adventure' but the serious look in his eyes had me doubting that. I felt like something important was about to happen, but then again I could've been reading too much into the situation.
We finished with the dishes and Maddox wanted to stop by his house to change before we went wherever it was that we were going.
I waited in the car, because frankly I didn't want to run into Mathias. I still hadn't recovered from his outburst over the girl named Remy.
In under ten minutes I saw Maddox emerge from the guesthouse. He'd changed into a different pair of jeans, a white shirt, with a button down jean shirt on top with the sleeves rolled up. When he turned around to shut the door I laughed at the fact that he had his drumsticks in his back pocket.
He hopped into the car, tossing the drumsticks in the cup holder, and backed out of the driveway, not uttering a word about our destination.
I decided to sit back and enjoy the ride. There was no point in stressing myself.
Twenty minutes later he pulled off the main road and onto a dirt road. I knew this road led to a pretty shitty neighborhood with run down houses—well, they were actually trailers—and scary people...mostly drug addicts.
"Why are we going here?" I asked, whipping my head back and forth.
Maddox winced, scratching at his stubbled jaw. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he thought. "I've been thinking...since you had the breakdown in the bathroom." I winced, remembering how I'd cried on his shoulder like a complete baby while babbling about my asshat of a father. He glanced at me briefly before continuing, "And I realized I haven't been very forth coming about my life before Karen and Paul took us in as foster kids. I want to change that...so, I thought it best to start at the beginning."
I swallowed thickly. I didn't know what to say. This certainly wasn't what I had expected when he told me he wanted to show me something today.
"Maddox—" I started, but he held a hand up to quiet me.
"You don't need to say anything."
He pulled off the road onto a path that definitely wasn't a road and drove a short ways before stopping. Trees closed in around the vehicle, obscuring it and us from the sight of others.
He cut the engine and held the key in his hand. He didn't look at me, and I felt that he was probably giving himself a pep talk.
He took a few deep breaths and undid his seatbelt. He glanced at me with an indeterminable look on his face. "Are you ready?"
"Are you?" I countered. It seemed like the more important question.
He nodded his head, looking out the windshield. "Yeah, I am."
He climbed from the vehicle and I followed.
He slipped a pair of dark sunglasses on and looked over his shoulder where I stood by the car.
"Come on," he nodded.
"This way?" I pointed ahead. "I thought we were going that way?" I then pointed behind us to where the trailer park sat. "I thought you were just trying to hide your car. I'm no expert, but this looks like too nice of a car to have around here," I rambled.
He chuckled and came to my side. "No, we're not going there. Once I left I vowed never to go back."
"But we're here?" I was so confused. I wished he'd just get to the point.
"Even when things were really bad, I had one place to go—one place that didn't hold bad memories, only good ones. That's what I want to share with you today. My sanctuary." He reached for my hand and entwined our fingers together. "I'll tell you the ugly parts of my life too, the parts that are broken and ruined, but I want to show you the beauty first."
Without another word he guided me forward, pushing through the overgrown brush and errant tree limbs.
"It's not far," he told me.
He was right, within a minute we pushed through the last of the brush and a small creek appeared. I stopped and closed my eyes, listening to the sounds of the water flowing.
Opening my eyes, I smiled at him. "So, this is your happy place."
He sat on the ground, resting his arms on his drawn knees. "Yeah." He stared out ahead, his eyes shielded by the sunglasses.
To our left sat a large willow tree. A tire swing was tied to one of the limbs.
Maddox saw where my gaze had landed. "Ezra, Mathias, and I hung that up one year. I think we were ten." With a laugh, he added, "I thought I was such a dare devil climbing up there and tying it on." He shook his head and scrubbed his hands over his face, skewing his sunglasses. "We were so young," he said softly under his breath.
My brows furrowed. "You're still young."
His eyes narrowed as he righted the sunglasses. "Sometimes I feel so fucking old." He ran his fingers through his hair and it stuck up wildly. "Life was cruel to me early on, and while we lucked out—and things are great now—the past still haunts me."
I sat down beside him and wrapped my arms around his strong bicep. I then rested my head on his shoulder. He stared straight ahead at the creek. I knew he'd continue when he was ready.
"Sometimes I wonder if things were always so fucked up," he started, "if maybe there were some good times with my parents and I was too young to remember, but I tend to think not." His head drooped for a moment before he returned his gaze to the creek. "When we were really little, they used to yell and scream at us. Then once we got to be about five, both my mom and dad started hitting us."
I winced. Five was 'really little,' but the way he said it made it sound as if he was so much older.
"My dad was an alcoholic like yours," he turned to glance down at me. "He was a mean drunk. He'd shove us into walls and scream in our faces. But I'd take that shit any day over my mom..." He trailed off, lost once more in memories of the past.
"My mom was just...cruel," he sneered, glaring at the ground. "She hit us more than my dad did. But...hitting wasn't her first weapon of choice. She liked words and," he looked to me once more, almost as if he was measuring whether or not I could handle what he was about to reveal, "she liked to choke us."
"Choke you?" I gasped. "Why?"
He shrugged. "I don't know...I think maybe she liked the thrill of it, of seeing the light fade in our eyes."
I wanted to throw up. What kind of mother could do that to her children?
"My dad died when we were seven. He crashed his car into a tree, because he was so drunk. She got worse after that. A lot worse," he added. "Paul and Karen lived in the trailer beside us—that's how we became friends with Ezra. They never knew how bad things were for us, or they would've intervened. Sometimes I wish I'd been strong enough to tell them what was happening, but I was terrified of my own mom—of what she might do to me." He swallowed thickly. "Mathias had it worse with her than I did. He was slow in school and had trouble reading, so that made her mad—even though she's to blame, it's not like she ever read to us or helped with homework. Anyway," he shook his head, "Mathias' teacher sent home a note from school one day when we were in sixth grade—something about how he was failing reading and she thought my mom should have him checked out for dyslexia. She was pissed when she read the note..." His teeth ground together and he removed his sunglasses to rub his eyes. "Even though I wasn't the one in trouble I ran away from her—scared she'd hurt me too. I hid underneath my bed and I heard Mathias fighting against her, trying to get away—we were both still really scrawny then," he laughed, but there was no humor in the sound, "I heard her drag him into the bathroom and the door slammed." His eyes pinched shut and his body trembled.
Even before he continued I was certain I knew where this was going.
"She tried to drown him in the bathtub like...like he was fucking animal or something." I expected him to be crying, but he wasn't. Instead anger simmered beneath the surface of his skin. His fists tightened like he wanted to swing out and punch something. "The most ironic part of it all is the fact that she was the animal. She was a drug addict and a whore—that's eventually what got her arrested and led to us being put in the foster care system. She was trying to trade sex for drugs from a cop that was working undercover. We were thirteen then, and even though we were rid of her," he stared straight ahead, his jaw set, "the damage had been done and it was irreversible."
He ripped at the grass, caking dirt beneath his fingernails. "Maybe it's because I didn't get it as bad as Mathias, or maybe I just coped differently, but for whatever reason I haven't stayed angry like him." He turned to glance at me. "My brother isn't an asshole for no reason, it's because she made him that way."
I winced, my heart breaking for Mathias and Maddox. No child should ever go through what they did.
"While we lived here," he waved a hand, "this became our solace. When things got rough we got out of the house and ran here. After all, the Collins' couldn't always let us into their home—and that was the first place my mom looked for us anyway. She never learned about this place. It was all ours."
A look stole over his face, one of peace and maybe even happiness.
"Nothing bad ever happened in this spot, and that made it special—no bad memories could haunt us here. We don't come here very often anymore, at least I don't, but it will always be special."
He trailed off, his eyes growing distant.
"You know, normally," he continued, "we would've ended up in a hellhole when we entered the system, but the Collins' stepped up to the plate. We basically lived at their place anyway—they'd moved out of the trailer park but were still close enough that we all rode the same bus, so we'd go there in the evenings. They saved us," he said with surety, "without them Mathias would be even more fucked up than he is, and me? I know I wouldn't be sitting here with you right now," he cracked a smile, "and I wouldn't feel so happy. I owe them everything. They loved us when no one else did—for years I struggled to find a way to repay them for their kindness, but I finally realized I already had, just by loving them back." He looked out at the creek, watching the way the sun shimmered on the surface. "They're the reason we got into music. They thought music might be a healthy outlet for our anger."
"Mathias plays too?" I had no idea that his twin had any kind of musical talent.
"Well," he chuckled, "he sings. He can play the piano too, and a little guitar, but he prefers singing."
"I would've never guessed," I said honestly.
"Mathias keeps to himself, don't take it personally."
"Why'd you choose the drums?" I asked curiously.
"I don't know," his lips turned down, "it just felt right."
We grew quiet—the only sounds around us were the creek, the rustling of leaves, and the caw of birds.
I let go of his arm and he stretched his legs out, coaxing me to lie down and put my head on his leg. He looked down at me, his face oddly serious. "You know," he started, reaching down to brush an errant blonde curl off my cheek, "I thought it would more difficult to tell you, but it was surprisingly easy." His fingers moved from my cheeks to outline my lips.
"Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me," I whispered.
His eyes zeroed in on my lips, following the path his fingers burned as he traced their contour. "You're too good for me."
"That isn't true," I grabbed his hand, wrapping my fingers around his and laying our joined hands on my chest. "I'm not too good for you. I'm average, Maddox. I'm just a girl and you're just a boy. But together," I reached up with my free hand, clasping his jaw so he was forced to look down at me, "we're more. Maybe not perfect, but we're something pretty extraordinary."
He grinned at that. "You could be a poet, Emma." He'd removed his sunglasses and they sat on the collar of his shirt, so I didn't miss his wink.
I laughed. "Maybe if you're nice to me I'll let you use it in a song."
"Or maybe you could write one with me?" He was still smiling, but his eyes shimmered with seriousness. "You told me you write."
"Me? Write a song with you?" I laughed. "Yeah, right. I can barely write a paper for English class." I did write songs though—at home, where no one would ever see them. I began to pale, recalling a long ago conversation where I'd told him I wrote songs. Jesus. Why couldn't I keep my mouth shut around him?
He bit down on his delectable bottom lip to stifle his laughter. "Writing a song is nothing like writing an essay. An essay comes from here," he tapped my forehead, "and a song," his voice lowered to a husky whisper and his darkened, "comes from here." He laid his hand on my chest, right over my heart. It started beating wildly at his touch, and with the way he grinned I knew he noticed.
"What are you doing to me?" The words tumbled out of my mouth, reminding me of a set of Jenga blocks falling to a table.
"Falling in love with you," was his quick reply.
I didn't know who made the first move, I guessed it didn't really matter, but suddenly I was in his lap with my legs wrapped around his waist as he kissed me passionately.
It was the kind of kiss that scorched your soul.
He nipped at my bottom lip and I wrapped my arms around his neck.
My chest pressed against his and I had the sudden urge to feel his bare skin against the palms of my hands. Almost as if he sensed what I wanted he stripped off both of the shirts he wore.
His bare skin scorched my palms.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered in between kisses. His hand found the nape of my neck, drawing me closer as his tongue brushed against the seam of my lips.
I opened for him, begging, wanting all he could give me.
My heart raced and my blood rushed through my veins.
I wanted him.
All of him.
Here.
Now.
I rocked my hips against him, needing to ease the ache I felt, and he grasped my thighs.
"Em," he whispered, "Emma, you have to stop."
He rolled over, pinning me to the ground and my hands above my head.
"Stop," he panted, his eyes so dark that there was only a thin ring of silver left. My lips ached from the loss of his. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips. "I want you, Em, God I want you so fucking bad. But not here, not like this."
I closed my eyes, realizing what I'd done.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Don't be sorry," he shook his head. "Not for that, please."
My lower lip trembled and I was seconds away from tears—I felt like I'd basically thrown myself at him and been shot down. I knew realistically that wasn't what happened, and I'd gotten caught up in the moment, but it still hurt.
"Emma," he frowned, "don't cry. I'm trying to do the noble thing here, and your sad face is making it very difficult."
I managed a small laugh.
He smiled. "And can you honestly say you'd want our first time to be here?" He smoothed his fingers across my cheekbone.
"No," I replied. "I'm sorry," I repeated. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
He chuckled and ducked his head against my neck before rising to his feet. "There's nothing wrong with you, Em," he reached out a hand to help me up, "it's called hormones."
I still felt embarrassed and flustered as he grabbed his shirts, putting them back on.
He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and drew me against his body, kissing the top of my head. "Stop thinking about it, Em."
I let out a soft laugh. He could read me so well—too well sometimes.
Before he could guide me away, I asked, "What is this place, exactly?"
He looked out towards the water, his face darkening with...was that regret? "It's Willow Creek."