Chapter 6
Cook
How many times did I have to fuck up until I figured out what would work? Maddie and Mom and poor Leo, the Army medic turned home health aide. I didn’t know he was coming today, or I would’ve called to reschedule.
Maddie curled into my arms, trembling, and holding me as tightly as I was holding her. She nestled her wet face into my shirt. Her hot tears soaked through the fabric and slicked my skin. Goose bumps rushed across me.
I pulled her closer.
“Vivi, please sit down,” said Leo, shooting me a look.
Sweat beaded on his temples. Leo was trained to deal with Mom’s episodes, and I paid his agency according to his qualifications. But Maddie was an altogether different case, and he wasn’t being paid enough to deal with her.
I hadn’t even considered him when I left this morning. Leo came regularly to make sure Mom took her pills, and he played games with her during the day when I had to be out. Leo took care of her when I had to stay in Park Ridge for long periods on MC business or the times when the club had all ridden up to the warehouse in LA, now home to a second branch of The Ridge MC.
It had taken six months for Mom to get used to Leo, and Maddie... fuck, I didn’t think about her. I hadn’t thought about how she would be around him. She hadn’t reacted this way around me or some of the MC, not around Doc either. What about Leo had set her off? I dragged my gaze over him, scrutinizing every little thing about the beanpole.
While she had gone feral on Doc and Doctor Richardson at the recovery house, that had been lashing out. This collapsing in on herself was something I had never seen in Maddie, even when I’d saved her.
I curled her tighter into my chest, tempted to run her out of the house like I was a firefighter. That would leave Mom behind, but she managed well in her house. She had plenty to clean and satisfy her obsession. She might not ever be what others would consider normal, but she functioned well enough in her own little world.
With Mom and Leo, things worked out like clockwork every day. Mom couldn’t go back to Park Ridge after all that happened there with my daddy, but Maddie couldn’t stay here.
“Vivi, let’s focus on...” began Leo, moving toward Mom, but Maddie jumped in my grasp, like Leo spoke to her.
“Leo,” I called out, and he whirled toward me, his fluster showing in ruddy splotches across his face. He leaned back on his heel, pulling away.
“Sorry,” I muttered. I didn’t mean to bark, but excuse me for losing my shit too. Why shouldn’t I when everyone else had? “Get out,” I ordered.
“But,” said Leo, his mouth dangling open. His body leaned toward the door then away, as if he fought with himself to make the stay-or-go choice. “My job.”
He wasn’t losing that today, but I needed to figure this shit out without him triggering Maddie.
“Go. Now,” I commanded.
Leo Finch scampered out of the house, closing the front door behind him, and leaving his sweater on the chair.
Maddie continued to cry. Her fingers had curled into my shirt, all but digging a hole into the fabric with her fingernails. She had drawn my blood with claw marks on my neck, and it stung. When I touched it gently, the scabbing had already started.
It didn’t matter much to me. She could scratch me and hit me and ruin whatever clothes of mine she wanted if it made her feel better. Somehow, I didn’t believe those actions would help.
Instead, I pulled her tighter to my chest and cooed, “Maddie, look at me. Leo’s gone. You’re safe. You’re okay. I’m here.”
I’m here.If only she understood that.
“I’m going to help you,” I promised, and her tremors slowed. I had been trying to help her since the moment I’d found her at Barton Mill. Since I’d taken her from the hospital, even though I couldn’t explain to myself why I had.! “Come on, Maddie. I have you.”
I stood, cradling her close to my chest.
Mom sat at the coffee table, continuing her tea party alone. She filled her delicate cup from the kettle. She pretended to serve tea to others, too, but no one was there. She was happier when she was alone, falling back into a childlike state.
Play had been how she kept herself safe from my daddy, even when I was a kid. She needed a girl to play with like that. I’d been too into cars and all the wildlife around our house when I was a kid. Sometimes I played her games, considering it just something adults did.
When I got older—and met Celt—I realized how wrong I was.
Mom, while quirky, would be fine though. We managed her condition well enough. Maddie, on the other hand, couldn’t be somewhere like this.
“Mom, I’ll be back later,” I said, but Mom didn’t even look at me. It was like she couldn’t hear me. With the crying Maddie in my arms, I walked her to my bedroom.
Maddie
In Cook’s bedroom, I curled my legs as far as they could go to my chest. My heart pounded, but my leaky eyes dried.
Why the hell had I broken down like that? I had been so strong.
After Cook put me in this bedroom, he walked out. I couldn’t blame him after seeing me freak out like that. Thinking back on it, I knew Leo Finch wasn’t Tommy G. He didn’t even look like Tommy.
I was crazy.
No wonder Cook walked away from me and closed the door behind him.
Scrubbing my hand over my swollen face, I fought off the tears again. I wouldn’t cry again. I wouldn’t be so weak.
Cook’s rumble of voice echoed in the hallway. “Mom . . . the pills . . . Mom . . .”
After what just happened and how Vivi was acting, I didn’t need to be involved. I shook my head, trying to clear her behavior from my mind. I had my own shit to deal with.
Leaning forward, I grabbed the photo albums, sketches, and the camera off the bed. I shuffled through the photos and compared it to Cook’s sketches. How young he must have been when he drew them. I found his fingertips darkened constantly, like he never stopped drawing, yet I hadn’t seen him draw anything yet. And his fingers weren’t covered in charcoal now.
So why did he stop drawing? What happened? The pictures in the album came to a screeching halt when Cook was around fifteen or sixteen.
The floorboards outside the bedroom door creaked, and I picked up the camera quickly. Vivi wasn’t heavy enough to move the floorboards. I pressed the window of the camera to my eye and waited, hiding a half smile. A thrill of unfamiliar excitement oozed through me.
Seconds later, Cook opened the bedroom door, and I clicked the button. He stumbled back, raising his hand against the strobe-like flash.
Cook dropped his hand. “What are you doing?”
“Taking a picture of you,” I said.
“I get that.” He walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. His boots caked with dirt, left globs across the carpet. “But why?”
I flipped to the last page of the photo album. “There’s nothing after this. Why?”
Cook frowned. His eyes were narrowed but glassy with distance. A vein in his neck, under where his beard stopped, fluttered. What did he not want to say? I wanted to lean in and ask and help him like he was helping me, but that was problematic.
I couldn’t even help myself. Back in the living room with Leo proved that. I was a mess and currently Cook’s problem. I didn’t need to make it any worse.
Finally, he leaned away from the photo album. “I see you’re feeling better.”
“Yeah.” I braced myself against the wall.
He leaned toward me. In the small bedroom on the full-sized bed, we were close. Our legs almost touched. He had his fingers interlaced, his knuckles a stark white. He wore my scratches up his wrists and on his neck, but the blood had dried.
I did that. I checked under my fingernails and flicked away his skin that was still caught under them. I could’ve done worse, but I hadn’t meant to hurt him. I only wanted to escape Tommy G.
Not here, Maddie. Tommy G. isn’t here.
Yet I thought he was. I thought he had come back to find me, to rape me. I thought he would hurt me. I had confused Leo with Tommy. How could I be trusted to know who was who after that kind of mistake?
Cook pressed his hand to my knee. The weight grounded me in the moment.
“You’re shaking,” he said in a low voice.
“Do you think it’s possible for me not to?” I asked, trying to joke. It fell flat.
“Yes,” he said in his deadly serious tone. “I’ve seen you stop shaking. Felt your body relax against me.”
“Like when I hurt you?” An apology bubbled up on my tongue.
“I’ll heal.” Cook sighed. “I can take the pain.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want that.”
“I do,” said Cook. “If it will take away your pain, I’ll do it. You can give it all to me, and I’ll shoulder it.”
With his broad shoulders and muscular body, yes, he could shoulder my pain. He could hold me too. I remembered how he had wrapped me in his arms. I had been like a feather against his stone. He’d been my rock, and his voice had been like a rumble of thunder that pulled me from my delusion.
But there was more than that. I felt better around him. Stronger. And at my best, most peaceful self when I was in his arms.
He squeezed my knee, and I closed my eyes. Perhaps his hand was a little too tight, cutting straight to the bone, but I leaned into the touch. And the small bit of pain. Was it mine? Yes, but it now belonged to him. He took it away from me. It seeped out of my body, shooting up his skin where we were connected.
“I’m guessing Mom gave you these,” said Cook, pointing to the notebooks.
“I found the photo album in your closet,” I said. “I was looking through it. Is that okay?”
His face was twisted, as if I had overstepped. I braced for a blow, but he only said, “Yeah. I just haven’t seen it in a long time.”
He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and he looked over the photos and then the sketches. A frown pulled at his lips, like he was displeased with himself. I couldn’t understand why, because these were some of the best black and white drawings I had ever seen. Not that I could be called an expert by any means. But in that club, there had been quite a few black and whites lining the walls.
I traced my finger over Cook’s teenage face in a photo and then one of doodles in his notebook. “I’m trying to figure out when you drew these. Like, what was going on that day and what you were thinking?”
Cook let out a small, wheezing laugh. “I don’t remember.”
“How about the photos?” I asked, pushing the album forward. “Do you remember how you spent those days with this guy that’s in most of the photos with you?”
“We were probably just shooting shit,” muttered Cook with a small shrug. “There wasn’t much for Celt and I to do in Park Ridge. We used to ride our bikes around and try to get into stupid trouble, but teenage pranks were small in the way of damage. Hell, we only had two TV channels, and all they played was news and shitty shows like Dallas and fucking Falcon Crest. Didn’t matter though, ’cause neither of us liked staying inside.”
I pointed to the house behind Cook and Celt in a picture. “Is this your old house?”
He frowned, but something sad shadowed his eyes. “No. That’s Celt’s house. Or was... I spent a lot of time at his place or in his dad’s shop with him and Bou.”
“Was?” I asked.
A small huff escaped through his nose as he clapped a hand on my knee. “It’s not standing anymore. But that’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“Bou? Is that your friend’s brother or sister?”
“Sister. She runs the body shop in the tiny town now.”
My gaze twitched to the bedroom door. I didn’t hear Vivi anymore. “Is your mom still here?”
“Oh, I’m sure.” He glanced over his shoulder at the door. “She gets off into her own little world every now and then.”
Pursing my lips, I returned my attention to the notebook and paged to a sketch I’d seen earlier. A body lay on the floor with another body hovering over them, both faceless.
Now that I looked again, I thought how the image was too gruesome for a child.
My eyes flitted between him and the page. Neither Cook nor I were children any longer, so I pointed at the artwork and opened my mouth to ask about it. But Cook snatched my hand before I could say anything, slammed the book closed, and threw it across the room.
I jumped.
His eyes had that glossy distant look again. His throat bobbed, and his heartbeat had quickened. But he inhaled, closing his eyes, then blew out a slow stream of air. “Sorry.”
I clamped my teeth shut. He grabbed another notebook and flipped it open. While the artwork no longer showed what appeared to be a cowering woman and a man looming over her, it wasn’t any less dark or gruesome.
Cook stared at it with a distant look on his face, as if he were staring straight into the past. I recognized that look. I’d worn it many times, and I’d seen the other captives lost in time as well.
I touched Cook’s hand, and he jumped back, pulling away from me and his memories. I close the notebook.
With his shoulders slumped, Cook scrubbed his face with his hands. “Maddie, you can’t stay here.”
My heart plummeted into my stomach. I tried not to make any moves. “What do you mean?” I had nowhere to go. I couldn’t go back to Signora’s. And I didn’t mind Vivi. Something about her was like me.
“Please don’t make me go back to the hospital,” I pleaded. “And I’m not ready to see... my sister.”
I couldn’t bring myself to say her name aloud. I dropped to my knees before Cook, my body shaking. Grabbing his hands, I bent my head and begged, “Please. I can’t. Don’t take me back to Doctor Richardson. I want to stay with you.”
“Maddie.” His voice was low and warning, like a rumble of thunder ushering in the storm.
“Please.” I pressed my fingers into his palms. I almost dug my nails in, but I held them back. “Please.”
“Maddie, look at me,” he ordered, but I sat back on my heels, casting my gaze downward.
I feared what I might find if I looked in his eyes.
“Maddie,” he repeated and hooked his fingers under my chin, forcing my head up.
I kept my eyes squarely on his feet. His boots left indents in the old, ragged carpet. Tendrils of carpet zigzagged out. Dirt was embedded between the quills of the carpet digging into my knees. My head swam, but I stared at the shiny toes of his boots, taking the discomfort.
“Maddie,” said Cook again, his voice louder and heavier now. Almost out of breath.
I flipped my gaze up to him. His eyes burned like hot embers, flashes of light dancing in his pupils. It almost made me sway. His fingers tightened on my chin, almost hurting me. His eyes dragged down my body, resting on my posture.
Loosening his grip on my chin, he brushed his thumb over my lips, and then he shoved his finger into my mouth. I pressed my teeth down on his fingernail. I didn’t know why I did that, but it felt right. I exerted this tiny act of control, not scared that I might hurt him or that he might punish me.
Though the latter thought didn’t bother me as much as it probably should. If it was, in fact, Cook teaching me how to behave. He smirked and then slowly withdrew his finger, and I hated how much I missed it.
“You’re coming with me, wherever I go,” promised Cook. With a huff, he reached for the camera and sketches. “But those can stay here. They’re all in the past.”
“No.” I ripped them from his hands and hugged them to my body.
These were pieces of him, and I didn’t want to leave them behind. They were pieces of a puzzle that made Morris Cook a man I could trust, even if I couldn’t voice why.
He pursed his lips, and my eyes lowered to the pink skin between his mustache and beard. What would they feel like against mine? How would his beard tickle me if we kissed?
He dropped his hand from my chin and lips, and I wanted it back. We were caught in a stare-down, and while he didn’t seem like a man to give in, he did.
He blinked first. “Fine, but it’s not what you think. You don’t understand.”
“I know.” That was what happened when I had been held captive for so long. I came to terms with not knowing or seeing the full picture, but Cook was my biggest mystery.
Cook was someone I wanted to know everything about.
He flicked his gaze up at me, and a flare opened in my chest. Those burning eyes felt like they would sear me alive. When he breathed again, his shoulders rose and fell, like he was thinking hard again or making some final decision.
“This will be dangerous,” he said, like that would scare me off.
“Danger’s old hat, right?” I countered.
Cook crooked a half smile. “Yeah. But it won’t get better this way.”
“I can’t get worse.”
Could I?
“That won’t happen.” He took my hands. “I promise, Maddie. I’m going to help you. Whatever’s necessary, I’ll do it.” He raised my hands and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. “I’ve seen your strength, and I’m sure you can overcome this. If anyone can, you will.”
I didn’t understand his confidence. But that trust I had in him—as strong and as quick as it was—seemed like a two-way street. As incomprehensible as this situation was, we were linked.
Cook dropped his hands from mine. “There’s a backpack in the closet. Grab whatever you want. We’re getting out of here.” Then he walked out of his bedroom, leaving me on my knees and wanting more.