2. Madison
MADISON
T his truck stop diner is a hellhole. I hate it. I hate the stale air, the smell of grease and diesel, and I swear I hear the dull hum of the broken neon lights that flicker overhead in my nightmares. It’s the only place in town that will hire me, and frankly, the pay is the only thing keeping me and my mother afloat. The owner, a gruff bastard named Rick, is a hardass, but at least he makes sure I have enough shifts to pay the rent.
Mom’s never had a job, and when dad was alive, he’d borrow just enough to keep from getting his knees broken. He always had a way with women though, conning them out of money to help pay his way. I’d say it’s hard to believe that Mrs. Lockwood would have wanted anything to do with him, but I’ve seen it before. I’ve heard my mom cry and scream over catching him with other wealthy men’s wives, but he’d always say they meant nothing. He was doing it for our family, after all. I shake my head at the memory. He truly was disgusting.
It’s been exactly one week since the vigil at Castlebrook University, one week since I stood there trying to pretend I was sad when all I felt was relief. I don’t know who’s going to pay for him to be buried, or what will happen to him if no one does. That’s not my problem, because my dad’s dead, and that’s the only thing I’ve ever wished for. So I’ll keep working here, keep dealing with the gross men and their affinity for inappropriate jokes at my expense, because at least now I’m free. I won’t be traded off to some old man for a debt I didn’t incur. Yeah, those were his plans, but fate stepped in and I at least have a future ahead of me now.
Even though I wash them til they turn pink, my hands feel greasy, and my apron is already stained even though my shift just started. I wipe them off quickly and grab the plates of food the line cook just slopped together. He’s new, barely been here a week and I already hate him. He grins at me, a sleazy look in his eyes, but it’s not the first time he’s leered at me, and it probably won’t be the last.
At least he hasn’t tried anything with me, yet. It’ll come. It always does and then I’ll introduce him to my trusty, dusty box cutter that I keep in my apron pocket. I need it just to be able to walk home after my shift without having to worry about getting tossed in a car or pushed into an alley.
I carry the tray to a booth where two burly truck drivers are sitting, talking shop in between shoveling appetizers into their mouths. I plaster on my best waitress smile, the kind I’ve been perfecting since I started working here when I was sixteen. It feels like they’re undressing me with their eyes, making my skin crawl. It’s all part of the job, right? I mentally remind myself as I slide the plates onto their table and ask if they need anything else.
They both look at me like they’re trying to figure out how much I cost, how far I’d be willing to let them go for the promise of a tip. My stomach turns. I slip my hand into the pocket of my apron, fingers brushing against the cold metal of my box cutter. It’s a stupid precaution, but it’s the one thing that makes me feel safer here. I’ve never had to use it, but the moment I flash it at some gross guy who thinks I’m a pushover, he backs off. Every. Single. Time.
Without waiting for an answer, I turn hoping they eat quickly and leave, when something catches my eye through the large front window. A black Mercedes SUV sits in the parking lot, its windows blacked out like it carries someone important. I highly doubt a celebrity would choose to dine here, so it’s gotta be a drug dealer who splurged on a new ride.
The same vehicle has been here every shift I’ve worked this week. I haven’t seen anyone get in or out. It just sits there, and whoever is inside is presumably watching the place. I get a sick feeling in my stomach as a thought runs through my mind. Maybe I’m not as free as I thought I was. What if the man my father promised me to has come to collect what he feels he’s due?
As if summoned by my thoughts, the front door bells chime and in walks a guy who makes my pulse stutter. It’s the guy who threatened to beat the douchebag up at the vigil for thinking he had a right to touch me. The same one I impulsively kissed in the woods that night. My first kiss, and I gave it to him because I wanted to. Not because I felt pressured or like I owed him, but because I genuinely wanted to know what it’d feel like. I’ve been in survival mode for as long as I can remember, with no time for things like dating. I didn’t regret the kiss because I didn’t think I’d ever see him again, but by the way he’s glowering at me, I’d say he has other plans.
There’s a girl with him that I recognize from the vigil. She looks different in the daylight with short chestnut hair, plaid skirt, combat boots, the kind of girl who walks into a room like she owns it. She makes a beeline for me before I can even blink, wrapping me in a hug so tight it knocks the wind out of me.
She pulls away, grinning like we’re old friends. “We’re going to be sisters!” she exclaims, her voice high-pitched and chipper. It feels like a slap to the face, and I freeze because what in the actual fuck is going on? “I’m Kirsten,” she adds, bouncing on her heels like this is some kind of party and she’s the guest of honor. “I don’t think we formally met at the vigil for our parents. Ignore Hayden. My brother’s rude and that’s probably never going to change.”
Our parents? Hayden and Kirsten Lockwood. It’s all starting to make sense.
I don’t know what to do, so I glance over at Hayden, my eyes searching for some kind of explanation. He’s not giving me anything. He’s just standing there, brooding, eyes locked on the truck drivers I just served who are staring right back at him.
One of the drivers laughs, his voice thick like he’s been drinking something alcoholic. “You got a problem, little buddy?”
Hayden’s grin is sharp, but there’s no humor in it. He has such a pretty face, but he’s also got this dark edge to him. Even if I didn’t witness it the other night, I can tell he’s the kind of guy who’s ready to throw hands at any moment. “You’re going to have a problem if you don’t stop looking at her.”
I can’t help but huff in annoyance. This is exactly what I don’t need, especially not at work. Before I can say anything, tall, miffed and handsome steps closer, fists clenched, looking like he’s about to snap. I rush forward, placing my hands on his chest to push him back. “What are you doing? You’re going to get me fired,” I hiss, feeling my heart race at the closeness.
He looks down at my hands on his chest, his gaze softening just a little. “That’s the plan, if you don’t willingly quit.”
I blink up at him. “Quit? What are you even doing here? I mean, how did you know I work here? Are you insane?”
Kirsten, as if she has no idea that this is completely bizarre, skips over to the table, grabbing a handful of fries from the truck driver’s plate and munching on them like she’s at a carnival. “Not until he met you, apparently,” she says with a grin, eyeing her brother as she talks. “Hayden doesn’t care about anything. Not even hockey. He just does it because he’s good at it. But he’s beaten up like six guys for you?—”
Hayden grabs his sister by the wrist and yanks her away from the table, giving her a death glare that makes my stomach flip. Kirsten laughs like it’s no big deal which tells me that this simmering rage is Hayden’s baseline.
“That’s why you were here all week? Stopping men from approaching me?” I murmur, not really expecting an answer. It makes sense though. I didn’t have one guy so much as heckle me on my walk home in the last few days.
As I shoo them away from the truckers and over to the front counter, Kirsten is kind enough to provide more information despite the fact that Hayden is looking at her like he wants to use a butter knife to slowly remove her head from her body. “He’s whipped,” she says, so casually, as if her brother getting into fights for someone he just met is perfectly normal. “Anyway, you should just come with us. He’s just going to tear shit up if you don’t.”
I glance back at Hayden, confusion still clawing at me. “Have you been following me home?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. I already know the answer, but I need to hear him say it.
He steps closer, his hands finding my face with the same possessive grip he had on me the night of the vigil. “I did what I needed to do to protect you, Princess.” His voice is low, rough, and it sends a shiver down my spine. Normally I find pet names offensive, sleazy even, but the way he says it doesn’t feel condescending. Warmth pools low in my belly, and I suspect that’s exactly what he meant to happen when he dropped his tone an octave to speak only to me.
“Order up!” The cook bellows, but I ignore him. Too much is going on and I can’t focus.
Kirsten pipes up again, looking at me with a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Can we get out of here already? The place smells like shit, and your mom is hosting a celebration dinner at our house tonight.”
I freeze. My heart drops. “What do you mean? My mother is at your house?”
Kirsten nods, so matter-of-factly. “Didn’t you know? She’s marrying our dad. I mean, it’s kinda sad how they met, but like, what a whirlwind. Seven days to fall in love.”
Seven days?
The line cook slams his hand down on the counter, making me flinch. “Get over here and pick up this food, you little bitch, or I’ll?—”
He’s cut off by Hayden storming past me, slamming through the kitchen door so roughly it swings wide behind him. There’s a loud clamoring of what sounds like kitchen equipment being knocked around and then there’s just the dead silence after. When Hayden emerges, the new cook is trailing behind him and he won’t even look at me.
“I’m sorry,” the cook says, his voice thick and shaky.
Hayden stretches out his hand, a cocky grin on his face. “Looks like you have the afternoon off, Princess.”
“I need this job,” I say, shaking my head. “You can’t just?—”
“You don’t have to work here,” Hayden interrupts, his voice dark with something I can’t quite place. It feels possessive, like he feels like I belong to him.
“Didn’t you know that your mom’s been at our house all week?” Kirsten asks. “She made it seem like you were just tying up some loose ends before you came to stay with us.” That sounds like my mother. Fake it till you make it, am I right? I’ve been picking up as many shifts as I possibly can, so I thought my schedule just wasn’t aligning with Mom’s. I texted her today to let her know I’d earned enough tips to get the rent paid on time, but I didn’t receive a response.
I try to swallow the anger rising in my chest, but it’s hard. It’s too much. Too fast. Too soon. But the confusion in my head gets drowned out when Hayden places a hand on my back, guiding me toward the door.
“I can toss you over my shoulder, if you want,” he says, his voice is deep and somehow I feel like the threat is more for the truck drivers than for me.
I glance at the truck drivers, who are still eyeing me like I’m their next meal, and make up my mind. I untie my apron, grab my box cutter and toss the stained fabric onto the counter.
“I feel like I’m going to regret this,” I say, following Hayden.
He smirks, leaning into me as we pass through the door. “No, you won’t. I’ll make sure of that.”
I let out a shaky laugh, but it’s not from humor. It’s the feeling of being backed into a corner. Hayden opens the front passenger seat of the ritzy SUV and looks at me expectantly. "You're going to kick your sister in the back for me? Someone you don't know?"
He leans closer, his lips brushing against my ear as he murmurs, "You’d be surprised what I know about you.” Hayden pauses, before he breathes out the words with such sincerity that I know he’s not joking, “I'd toss her out on the highway if I thought it would make you happy. Don’t underestimate me, princess."
My breath hitches, because there's something about his words, about the darkness in his voice, that makes my chest tighten. He doesn't just mean it, he feels it. He’s not the type of guy who does anything halfway. The thought of being tangled up in his world, his dangerous, possessive world, sends a rush of heat straight to my core. I need to keep my distance from him because this whole thing is going to get messy and quickly.
Hayden motions for me to get in. His body is in the way, and as I step forward, he leans down to whisper in my ear again, his breath hot against my skin. "I missed you."
I stand my ground, not moving an inch. I reach into my back pocket and grab my phone, finding my mother’s contact and pressing the button to call her. “I’m sure you understand,” I say and he just grins like he knows he’s going to prove me wrong. It’s not that I don’t believe the story about my mother. It sounds exactly like something she’d get herself wrapped up in, but I also don’t need to end up duct taped in someone’s cellar either. She picks up on the first ring.
“Madison! I was just going to call you.” Sure she was. I sigh and before I can ask her anything she’s talking to someone else in the room with her about table linen and china.
“Mom? Where are you?” I ask, but there’s a rustling noise and then muted voices.
“Believe me now?” Hayden asks, leaning his arm casually on the top of the door like he has all the time in the world.
As soon as the driver’s door slams shut, my stomach feels sick. Heavy. It’s not because I really think Hayden is going to wrap me up in a tarp and leave me for dead. For whatever reason, I do trust him. I just feel like Mom is about to drop another bomb on my life, turn it upside down and act like it’s no big deal. Hayden’s hand rests on the gearshift, but I swear it feels like his gaze never leaves me. Kirsten’s already in the back, kicking her feet up on the seat in front of her, completely unfazed by everything that’s happened.
“Come on, pick up,” I breathe out the words after dialing my mother’s number again. She sends it straight to voicemail and texts me.
Very busy. Go with Hayden and Kirsten. I’ll explain later.
Hayden's smirk is sharp, and I can see the glint of amusement in his eyes when he sees my defeat. I shift, patting my pocket, just needing to feel that the box cutter is still quickly within reach.
My mother is impulsive, but this is the most asinine thing she’s pulled since marrying my father. I’m sure of it.