Round Twenty-Four
BILLY
“I’m sorry I shouted that about you and Maggie in front of everyone.” Jeremy wrings his hands, ashamed and staring down at the ground, so all I get is a view of the top of his head. “Ramone tried to make Hudson and Maggie like each other, and I didn’t want him to take her away.”
“You’ve taken this a little too far, buddy.
” I ignore Ramone and Maggie laughing by the barbecue.
I ignore his hands—the way he touches her arm, her wrist, her elbows…
her fucking collarbone. Instead, I lower onto a camp chair and rest my elbows on my knees.
Folding my neck, I get low enough to peek up at my son’s ashen face.
“Maggie is a grown woman. She has the right to talk to whoever she wants, whenever she wants, about anything she wants. If she’s interested in dating Hudson, or Ramone, or anyone else—” Fuckkkk.
Just saying those words tastes like lemon on my tongue. “—she can.”
“But—”
“But nothing. She’s our neighbor, Jeremy.
She’s not our possession to boss around.
I get that you like her, and I get that you think she might go away if she dates someone else, but she’ll always be the Maggie she is, which means she’ll always find time for you, no matter what else is happening in her life. ”
“But what about you?”
My breath comes to an aching stop as I search my brain for an answer. “W-what about me?”
“She’ll always be my friend, cos I’m cute, and she’s nice to me.” For a single beat of my heart, his lips curl into a smug grin. Because he knows he’s cute. “If she dates someone else, I can still hang out in the garden and call her over to play with me. But you can’t.”
“Why can’t I?”
“Because her new boyfriend won’t like it.”
“Says who?”
“Did you know Molly’s sister in the ninth grade has a boyfriend now?
She used to have lots of friends, even boys, but now she has only one friend who is a boy.
Molly said it’s cos her boyfriend gets jealous if she’s talking to other boys, but also, Molly’s sister gets jealous if her boyfriend talks to other girls. So now they just talk to each other.”
“You’re talking about high school relationships, buddy.
Grown-up relationships are different.” I tilt my chin toward Alana and Fox.
“They both have husbands, but they’re still allowed to talk to me.
If Maggie gets a husband, she could still talk to us.
” I force a grin and lean a little closer.
“And if it’s been too long since we last talked, you could just toss your football into her backyard again.
That’s called massaging a situation in your favor. ”
He smiles, revealing multiple gaps in his teeth. “Massaging?”
“Mm. You’re still young, so you don’t know these things yet, but massaging a situation is much better than announcing sleeping arrangements to the whole freakin’ town. Especially,” I inch lower as he drops his eyes, “especially when you knowingly misrepresented those facts.”
“I was just trying to help.” His voice trembles with emotion.
“Mrs. Sava used to tell me about how her granddaughter moved away and just never came back anymore. She said it was like she died, which is a bit like how Mom died. ‘Cept, Mom didn’t die on purpose.” He brings teary eyes up to mine. “Maggie stayed away on purpose.”
“She was a child,” I groan. “She was your age when she left. She didn’t have a choice.”
“But she still stayed away, even when she wasn’t a kid anymore. So maybe if you keep being mean to her, and maybe if she gets a boyfriend who isn’t Ramone, she might not talk to us anymore.”
“Buddy—”
“Or worse, she might miss her mom like we miss my mom, and so she might move back to her other town and stay gone forever.” His cheeks turn splotchy as unshed tears sit in his eyes.
“It makes me so mad when you’re mean to her, cos I know it makes her sad.
And if she’s sad too much, she might leave. I would.”
“You would, what?”
“I would leave a place if the people kept making me sad on purpose. I wanted to leave school yesterday when everybody laughed at me. I didn’t even care if I never saw my friends again, cos the amount I like my friends wasn’t the same amount I was sad for being laughed at.
So maybe Maggie likes me, but if she doesn’t like me more than you make her sad, she might go.
If that happens, then I would be sad. Maybe even more sad than how much I love you. ”
I jerk back in my seat, breathless like his words are a sucker punch to my solar plexus. “You don’t love me very much?”
“I love you a lot.” He sniffles. “But I would be really sad if Maggie left, and I don’t even know which one is more, since she hasn’t left yet and I didn’t have to feel those feelings yet. I don’t want to be so sad that my sad is more than my love.”
“Jesus.” I rub a hand over my aching heart, winded and wounded. “You sunk my battleship, buddy.” What the fuck?
Daytime makes way for evening, sunlight sinks below the horizon, to be replaced by the twinkle of stars in the sky and fairy lights bursting from Ramone’s garden.
And all the while, I watch her. I stare.
Each time she glances my way, I make a concerted effort to soften my angry glare—angry, because Ramone has monopolized her time, and when he’s not with her, Hudson is.
Or any number of the other dudes Ramone thought to invite today.
When she stands up from her chair, tugging her skirt down and walking her third—I’ve been counting them—empty beer up the porch steps, I bound up and take my chance.
Mid-conversation, I’m pretty sure Tommy was talking to me. Mid-breath, I haven’t gotten my breath back since my son’s sneak attack anyway.
I charge across the yard and up the porch steps in her wake, and the instant she drops her empty bottle in a tub set aside for recycling, I grab her hand and yank her straight through the back door.
A goofy yelp bursts along her throat, her feet tangle, and as I bring her to a stop in the kitchen, unsure where we should go, she crashes into my back, her entire sinful body pressed to mine for one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, three.
“This way.” At the flush of a toilet, then the splash of water hitting the basin, I drag her along the hall and time my steps so when the door opens and Franky exits, I blow past him and toss Maggie in.
“What the hell are you—”
“Hold on.” I slam the door shut and flip the lock until the snick echoes from tile to tile. Then I turn and plant myself exactly where I am. Unmoving. Undemanding.
Because the alternative is that I go straight to her. Grab her. Kiss her again, when she so clearly didn’t want the last one.
“Billy! What are you doing?”
“We’ve got a problem.” I press my back to the door and eat her up with my eyes. She’s so devastatingly beautiful. So fucking pretty, and kind, and selfless in the way she makes my son feel loved when she owes him nothing at all.
I close my eyes and attempt to break the circuit in my mind focused solely on wanting her. Tipping my head back against the door, I relish the waft of her perfume filling the small room.
“Billy?” she whispers. Closer. Too fucking close. “What’s the matter?”
“We have a really big problem,” I groan, just loud enough to compete with the music playing in the yard. “And I’m fully aware I was the one who created the problem.” Bravely, stupidly, I open my eyes and lock onto hers. “It’s all my fault. That’s on me.”
“W-what problem?” She inches closer. God, save me. “What happened?”
“My son fell in love.”
Stunned, she stops in her tracks and blinks. Blinks. Blinks. “What?”
“My son. He fell in love, Maggie. With you.”
“He—”
“He hasn’t latched onto a woman the way he’s latched onto you in…
ever. And I get that it’s not your responsibility.
I get that none of this is your problem, but I also know you’re so fucking perfect and sweet and kind, your heart would shatter if you hurt his feelings and didn’t even know it.
So this is me telling you.” I search her beautiful eyes, the golden orbs with flecks as pretty as a rainbow in the summer.
“He wakes up every single day begging me to let him run next door. He goes to sleep every single night, but not before asking if you’d think he was weird for opening his window and shouting goodnight. ”
She chokes out a soft, silly laugh.
“He brags to all his friends about the pretty lady next door, and he selfishly eats his lunch treats without a single care for his friends who just want a taste. My son loves you, Maggie. And he’s old enough to read a room, which means he sees how often you and I bicker.
He’s terrified I’m gonna piss you off so much that, eventually, you’ll pack your bags and leave.
” I press a hand to my heart. Right where it fucking hurts.
“He doesn’t give a damn about me. He loves you. ”
“That’s not true.” She closes the space between us and lays her hand on top of mine. She stares up at me with eyes of empathy. Sweetness. Kindness. None of which I’ve shown her in return. “Why on earth would you say he doesn’t care about you? You’re his father. You’re his everything.”
“Why would I say it?” I scoff. “Babe, he told me! He looked me in the eye and threw down: if it’s between you or me, I’m on my ass. There’s no question about it.”
“No, that’s—”
“He talks to Aria about you.”
Her breath catches in her throat. I hate myself for the tears that make her eyes shine. But it’s true. All of it. Every single word.