I followed Maddox back to his car—trying my best to forget about basically throwing myself at him. My cheeks were already heating just thinking about it, and I willed the redness to disappear. I needed something—anything—to talk about.
"So, you said Karen and Paul lived here too?" It was the first question that popped into my head.
He nodded, unlocking the car and we both climbed inside.
"How'd they get away?" I winced at my choice of words. It sounded so harsh and callous. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that...I just meant that..." I rambled, unable to form a coherent sentence.
He reached over and squeezed my knee, leaving his hand there in the process. "It's okay. I know what you meant." He paused, appraising his next words. "Paul was able to get a promotion at work and they had to move to be closer—but they didn't move into the house they live in now, if that's what you're thinking." His hands tightened around the steering wheel.
He was obviously tense, and I worried that it came from telling me about his mom and dad—that maybe he'd told me before he was ready.
Maddox interrupted my thoughts with a statement of his own. "Your mom said your birthday is in a few weeks."
I winced. "What else did she tell you?"
He grinned at that—and even though his eyes were concealed behind the dark sunglasses I knew they were lit with laughter.
"She said you used to dress up and sing these little songs you made up."
My face reddened and I struggled to breathe. I could remember being five years old and dressing up in my sparkly red dress, black shoes, and getting into my mother's makeup—which wasn't much since she barely wore any—and singing a song about...cheese. Yes, cheese. Pretty much all the songs I made up related to my love of same random thing. Usually food. What could I say? I was always hungry.
"Hey, my songs were not little," I disagreed, "they were brilliant." The songs I wrote now were only for myself, though, and no one—not even Maddox—was ever going to see them.
"Do you still remember them?" He asked, an eyebrow rose in interest.
I squeaked. I felt like a cornered rabbit, and if we hadn't been in a moving vehicle I would've run away. "Maybe."
He laughed, trying to hide his smile behind his hand as he drove. "That's cute."
I wrinkled my nose with distaste. I wasn't sure I liked my boyfriend calling me cute. It seemed like a putdown, somehow—like something you'd call your little sister. Then again, I was probably being overly defensive due to my non-existent boyfriend experience. In the past I spent more time trying to push guys away than trying to figure them out.
"Mathias wants me to pick up some lunch to bring back with us, and then I was hoping I'd get to see you put those song writing skills to the test."
I blanched, shaking my head back and forth. "I'm hardly a skilled song writer," I defended. "Not like you," I added softly, remembering the day I played the song he wrote on the piano while he sang. The song had been beautiful—something I imagined someone much older than Maddox would've written. The songs I wrote paled in comparison.
"How would you know if you haven't let anyone hear them?" He countered.
Damn him. He had me there.
"What if I'm not good at it?" I asked in a small voice. I hated the thought of failing at something I loved so much.
He pulled into the parking lot of a local restaurant and turned off the car. He took his sunglasses off and leveled me with an indignant look. "How can any of us know if we're good at anything if we never at least try?"
I tried so hard not to smile, but I failed. "Okay, Yoda."
He chuckled. "I'm shocked you know who Yoda is if you didn't know Sonic the Hedgehog."
He was never going to let the hedgehog thing go.
I shrugged. "I watched them with my dad once." I didn't want Maddox to think I was going to burst into tears by talking about my dad again, so I was quick to add, "This is where Mathias wants us to get his lunch?" I pointed at the building.
Wait, lunch? Didn't we just eat breakfast?
My eyes widened when I looked at the time on my phone. It was after twelve—nearing one. Had we really killed that much time at the creek? Apparently so.
"Yep," Maddox nodded, hopping out of the car. He leaned his head through the open door. "Come on."
"Aren't you picking it up?" I asked, perfectly happy to stay behind in the car. You know, to avoid people and all that jazz.
He shook his head. "We're eating here, while Mathias will eat alone and suffer in his self-imposed solitude."
My lips quirked at that, and I exited the car, following him into the building.
Before we entered the building he tugged on a beanie. Seriously, what was it with him and hats?
I followed him into the darkened building. It was relatively empty of a lunchtime crowd, although the bar did hold a few occupants. Maddox led me to a booth in the back and a waiter appeared quickly with menus.
"Have you ever been here before?" Maddox asked, twisting his bottom lip with his fingers as he perused the menu.
"No," I answered shortly.
He set the menu down, looking like I had offended him. "This place only has the best food ever. 'Tis a shame."
"I guess it's another first I'll experience with you," I said, and then immediately hid behind the menu because I started thinking about the naked kind of firsts. Seriously, my brain was all kinds of fucked up lately.
Maddox laughed at me, like a full belly laugh, which only served to leave me even more embarrassed.
He finally managed to compose himself and picked up the menu once more.
The waiter returned and we both ordered iced tea. I got a sandwich and Maddox ordered half the menu. I wished I was joking and I hoped that some of that food was going to be boxed up for Mathias.
Since my thoughts had already headed in that direction I thought now might be a good time to ask about the mysterious Remy.
"I've been wondering..."
"Yeah?" He prompted, his eyes skimming the restaurant like he was searching for something or someone.
"What's up with Remy?" I finally asked. "Who is she to Mathias? I mean, I assumed it was his girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend more likely, but then that night at dinner your dad said he knew you'd be the first to have a girlfriend." I knew I was rambling so I quickly shut my mouth. I hated to pry, but after Mathias went all Godzilla and threw a glass at us I thought I deserved to know—especially if I was about to willingly subject myself to his obnoxious presence.
The waiter sat down our drinks and Maddox nodded in thanks, waiting for him to walk off before he continued.
"Remy and Mathias..." He winced. "They dated briefly when they were sixteen."
"And that's it?" I asked. There had to be more to the story than he was letting on.
"Mathias is private—there are lots of things he doesn't even share with me—so I honestly don't know that much. She never really came over to our house, but we'd all hang out. They were always all over each other, and they argued a lot. They've both got a temper and Remy didn't back down from his shit. She moved before our senior year of high school and they broke up. Mathias has been an even bigger asshole then usual since then, but I honestly don't know what transpired there. I have a feeling we may never know." He sat back and draped his arm across the top of the booth.
I frowned, suddenly gaining even more sympathy towards his moody and arrogant twin.
"Did he love her?" I didn't know why, but the question felt important to me.
He shrugged, taking a sip of his iced tea. "I guess in the only way Mathias Wade knows how to love—and that's to destroy." Maddox didn't seem bothered by his own harsh words about his brother. I think it bothered him that Mathias was so...broken...but he'd come to accept his twin as he was. Maddox straightened and I heard his boots stomp against the concrete floor. "Forget about my brother, let's talk about what we're going to do for your eighteenth birthday."
I squeezed my eyes shut. "No."
"No?" He chuckled. "I thought most girls loved talking about their birthdays and all the expensive shit they wanted."
"Not me," I shook my head. I used to love my birthday, until one year my father destroyed it in a drunken rage. It never felt the same after that—like it was tarnished somehow.
Maddox seemed to pick up on my feelings. He leaned forward, his hands crossing with interest. "Why?"
It was only one word, but it still made me squirm.
"Why do you think?" I countered with a question of my own, buying more time.
He quirked a single dark brow. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess your dad."
"Ding, ding, ding we have a winner."
His face wrinkled with disgust. "What did he do to ruin your birthday?"
I couldn't believe I was actually about to recount this story. I was eight years old and my mom had made me invite the entire third grade class, and not just Sadie. I'd been so embarrassed when my dad stumbled into the backyard drunk, muttering random nonsense under his breath. I was used to seeing him like this, but the other kids had no idea what was going on and had begun whispering amongst themselves.
"He showed up to my birthday party drunk," I mumbled. Closing my eyes I remembered the way the breeze had blown against my face—the orange balloons swaying. "Then proceeded to smash my cake and throw up in my lap."
Maddox snorted.
"It's not funny!" I cried.
"Sorry," he sobered, hiding his mouth behind his hand.
"I was traumatized," I defended. "Now whenever my birthday rolls around that's all I remember."
His eyes flashed with a silvery fire. "We're going to change that this year."
I shivered at the promising tone in his voice.
"What do you have in mind?" I asked, trying to pretend I wasn't all that interested in what he might come up with.
"I don't know yet," he rubbed his stubbled jaw in thought, "but I'll think of something."
I didn't doubt him.
***
"Here's your food asshole." Maddox tossed the bag of food at Mathias' chest.
Mathias fumbled to catch it. He'd been sitting on one of the barstools in the guesthouse's kitchen and hadn't been expecting us.
"Fuck, Maddox." Mathias managed to grab the bag before it fell to the floor. "I'm going to stick my cigarettes on your stupid hedgehog's fucking quills."
Maddox laughed, completely unaffected by his twin's words. "We both know you'd never waste your precious cigarettes to do that."
Maddox headed to the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of blue Gatorade. While he spoke to his brother I headed to the side of the guesthouse that housed the instruments and simple couch.
Papers still sat scattered across the desk, and I wondered just how many songs he was working on. Skimming the papers, I guessed a lot.
I had a journal at home filled with songs—all written neatly and kept in some sort of order. This was a mess. Although, as I peered closer, I had to admit that he had ridiculously good handwriting. Couldn't he suck at something?
Another pair of drumsticks sat on the desk. I couldn't resist picking them up and tapping them against the top.
"Don't do that." A hand shot out, grabbing the sticks from my hands.
I pouted. "That wasn't nice." I wrestled them away from him and laughed in triumph, waving them in the air. "They're. Mine. Now." I accentuated each word by tapping the drumsticks against his chest.
He leveled me with a glare. "Don't do that."
"Do what, play with your sticks?" I grinned evilly.
"That sounded dirty." He fought a smile.
"You have a very dirty mind then," I told him, putting the drumsticks back on the desk.
I looked around, surprised Mathias hadn't interrupted us with a smartass comment, but he was gone.
Noticing my puzzled look Maddox said, "Mathias went to the main house to eat."
"Oh."
He grinned. "What? Are you suddenly afraid to be alone with me?"
"No," I scoffed.
"You should be."
His lips descended on mine, his hands on my hips. He lifted me onto the table, stepping between my legs.
He nipped lightly at my bottom lip and I'm pretty sure a moan escaped my throat. I really hoped he didn't hear it.
His fingers delved into my hair, musing it even more.
When I lost all ability to breathe he stepped back. He breathed heavily, looking down at me with a searing gaze.
"Afraid now?"
"Hardly," I panted.
He grinned at that. "Then I'll have to try harder." His eyes dipped to the swell of my breasts. Normally I would've covered my chest in mortification, but his kiss had killed a few of my brain cells and I couldn't move if I tried.
He dipped his head once more and I closed my eyes in anticipation, but his lips didn't touch mine. Instead he kissed my cheek, leaving me desperate for more. Jerkface.
"Think you can get off the table so we can write a song?" His hands landed on the table beside my thighs so he was now eyelevel with me.
He knew that there was no way I was peeling my body off this table. "You put me here."
He chuckled. "Oh, Emma." He helped me off the table and I stumbled against his side. "Go sit over there." He pointed and I saw that there were pillows, blankets, and beanbags sitting on the floor. They weren't normally there and I couldn't help wondering if he'd had this planned.
He carried over the papers where he'd already started songs, as well as blank sheets, and pencils. He sat them on the floor in front of me and went back, opening Sonic's cage.
I didn't even blink when he sat down with the hedgehog on his shoulder. At this point it was commonplace. I wouldn't have even been surprised if Sonic was wearing his knitted cape—he wasn't, though.
I stared at the spread out papers, grabbing a random one and starting to read.
Finished with that one I skimmed another.
I peeked at him, trying not to laugh at how adorable he looked with his hair ruffled and Sonic on his shoulder.
"These are really good, amazing actually," I waved the papers in my hands, "remind me again why you need my help?"
"Because I want it," he whispered.
I swallowed thickly, the look in his eyes was indescribable.
"I guess we better get started then," I smiled. I grabbed a piece of paper and one of the pencils. "Do you have anything specific in mind for this song?"
His eyes flashed a stormy gray. "Yeah, I want it to start with the piano and slowly build to the crescendo. As for lyrics...I hadn't gotten that far."
"It looks like we have our work cut out for us then," I laughed. My brows furrowing, I asked, "Do you mind me asking what you do with these songs?"
"I record them," he responded.
"Are you trying to get a record deal?" It was an honest question. Maddox never talked about his lack of a job or spoke of what he wanted to do in the future.
He looked away from me and mumbled, "Something like that."
I ignored him and tapped the pencil against the paper as I thought.
The words came to me easily and I scribbled them across the paper.
Maddox watched with rapt attention as I worked. I purposely sat with my shoulders angled in a way that he wouldn't be able to see the words on the paper.
Minutes passed before he couldn't take it anymore. "Can I see it?"
"No," I scolded, "not yet."
True, he'd asked for my help so we were supposed to be writing it together, but I wanted to get all my thoughts out on paper before he saw it.
By the time I finished an hour had gone by.
I looked over, laughing when I saw Maddox had dozed off. He lay in one of the beanbags with Sonic sleeping on his chest. They were quite the pair.
I almost hated to wake him—almost being the key word there.
I found a drumstick lying on the floor—seriously, he had them everywhere—and reached over to give his knee a tap. Okay, so I basically hit him with it, but whatever.
He sputtered awake, grabbing his knee. Sonic was knocked off his chest and into his lap with the motion.
"What was that for?" He groaned, rubbing the spot. "I think you gave me a bruise."
"Aw, poor baby." I pouted. "Here." I shoved the papers at him and scooted as far away as I could manage. No one—and I mean no one—had ever read one of my songs. I'd stopped singing them around the house about the time I stopped writing about cheese.
I honestly couldn't believe I'd let him talk me into this. He was such a charmer.
His mouth fell open the further he read and I resisted the urge to cringe. My songs were always so personal—like a diary entry—and it felt very much like I was baring my soul by letting him read one.
He picked up the pencil, crossing a few things out and adding his own lyrics.
Oh my God! He hated it! He totally hated it and he was trying to fix it.
I hid my face behind my fingers.
I couldn't stand the silence so I blurted, "It's okay if you hate it."
He was still quiet.
And then his hands were on mine, prying them away from my face.
His soft gray eyes met my blue ones. "Emma," he said my name slowly, "the song is amazing, truly. It...it blew my mind."
"But...but you were scribbling on it," I stuttered.
He grinned. "I'll admit to tweaking it a bit, but not much. Do you want to see what I changed?"
I nodded and he handed me the papers. He was right, he didn't change much, and what he did was for the better. It made it a stronger song.
"Normally I go through at least ten drafts before I get the lyrics right, and you just...did that in no time." He shook his head, running his fingers through his dark hair. "You're really kind of amazing."
I grinned. "Are you just now figuring that out?"
"No," he laughed, "I knew it the moment I saw you. It's why I talked to you in the first place."
His words warmed my body with a pleased flush.
"Now, the really hard part," he held out a hand to help me up. "Piano time."
Once again I found myself seated on the bench in front of the piano with him. The bench was so small that it left no room between us.
"I was thinking something like this..." He started to play, and I closed my eyes.
The notes drifted off and I opened my eyes in time to see him shrug. "Something like that. You're better at this than I am."
"Hardly," I snorted.
I'd heard enough to pick up on the sound he wanted, so I played while he wrote everything down.
Music was second nature to me—as easy as breathing.
I loved that it was the same way for Maddox. It allowed us to connect in a way many other people couldn't. It was a special bond we could share.
"I want you to start from the beginning," he said, standing up. "Just give me a minute."
He headed over to his drum set and pulled the drumsticks out of his back pocket. "Now you can start."
I laughed, shaking my head at his bossiness, but did as he asked.
I'd played a quarter of the way through the song when he started in on the drums. Just a rumble at first before it built—just like he said he wanted it to do.
We finished the song and he jumped up with the drumsticks clutched in his hands. He pointed the drumsticks at me, biting his lip excitedly. "That, Em, is what you call a hit song."
"You think so?" I asked, still doubtful about my lyrics.
"I know so," he chimed. He moved from behind his drum set and over to me. He bent down and pressed his forehead against mine. "You remember how you told me you didn't know what you wanted to do after high school?"
I nodded.
"I think you just figured it out."
"What?" I asked, confused.
"You're a song writer, Em. Plain and simple."
I gaped at him and then started laughing. "No, I'm definitely not."
"You are and I'm going to make you believe me when that song is a hit."
I snorted. "In case you're forgetting, we're two teenagers writing songs in your guesthouse. It's not going to be a hit."
"You'll see," he grinned.
And something told me I would.