Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
I almost don’t leave my driveway. There’s a strangulating need to make sure Maddox is okay that makes it hard to breathe and screams at me to go back and hold him until he feels better. Because something is most certainly wrong.
And I would, if I didn’t think he’d run out the back door if I tried.
My stomach twists as I think about the wild look in his green eyes when he shoved me out of the way. It’s like he wasn’t there anymore; it was just a terrified animal. As I drive, I realize I guess I should have been scared for myself. But I wasn’t; I was scared for him.
Then a hot feeling that makes all my muscles shiver settles over me, and my vision goes hazy.
Someone hurt Maddox. Made him terrified to touch me. Terrified to look at me too long. Terrified to do anything at all.
The angry feeling is all-encompassing. It feels like when that douche called Joshua a slur, like my client mocking Logan and his boyfriends, but times a million.
It’s all kinds of coiled energy in my chest that makes me want to scream, punch the wheel, and rip my fingers into someone’s eye sockets.
I want to burn the world down until I can make it better for Maddox.
Because no one deserves to feel that way, unsafe in their own skin.
I’m buzzing when I pull into the shop’s lot.
This is the first time I’ve been back since Logan’s…
incident. I’m finding now that the adrenaline from knowing what Maddox has been through makes me not care what Logan is going to do.
If he were going to do something, he knows where I live.
He would have done it by now. So, I stalk into the store, ripping the door open, ready to either ignore or confront as necessary.
Turns out no one is here.
Fine. Better for me.
With shaking hands, I pull out my phone. I’ve never felt such an electric hatred, and I don’t know what to do with it. It’s coursing through my veins round and round and round, gathering more energy as it goes.
I need to do something. Preferably to the guy who made Maddox afraid.
And so, I type Maddox’s name into the search bar.
All kinds of generic results pop up, including his certifications and graduations. I start searching the websites that have related names. I run into people with the same last name, family, I presume, but no marriages or anything.
So I try something else. I search Maddox’s past addresses in the search bar. My fingers shake as I do it. I can’t help but feel like I’m doing something wrong by digging into information that isn’t mine to have.
But I won’t do anything with it. I’m just…checking.
A name keeps popping up associated with Maddox’s old address: Arthur Jeffries, in his late forties. That’s too old, right? When I search that name, a criminal record pops up.
My stomach twists as I hover over the link. Fuck. This feels so invasive. What if it isn’t even the right guy?
The bell over the door chimes, and my client walks in. I greet her with a nod, then hit the link.
While it loads, I tend to my client and get prepared for her ink. I’m not really sure if she talks to me or not; all I can do is focus on the search. And when results pop up that I have to pay for, I don’t hesitate.
Arthur Jeffries. Domestic violence, dismissed.
Arthur Jeffries. Disorderly conduct, convicted
Arthur Jeffries. OVI, canceled
Arthur Jeffries. Theft, dismissed
Arthur Jeffries. Disorderly conduct, dismissed
Arthur Jeffries. Assault, dismissed
I stare at the list, my mouth going dry. The domestic violence date wasn’t long ago. Is this him?
My tattoo is a blur, the buzzing in my hand doing a line straight to my head. I keep going round and round in my head. I take breaks to search Arthur further. He’s a registered nurse at a local hospital.
Fuck. This has to be him.
Why was the case dismissed? What happened? Did Arthur threaten Maddox? What exactly did he do to him in the first place?
The thought makes that energy return, and I have to pull the tattoo machine away from my client.
I should kill him.
The thought comes out of the depths of my brain, clawing its way to the top. He deserves it. He deserves to die for what he did.
While the thought scares me, it’s a thought I’ve had before.
Suddenly, I’m sixteen again, and Tyler has just shown up to class with a black eye.
I nod at her, but instead of tilting her head up at me like she’s proud of it, she ducks her head to the side.
I frown, but class has started, and I can’t ask her. As soon as class lets out, she tries to slip out without talking to me, which just rings my alarm bells.
“Wait!” I grab her sleeve to slow her down.
Tyler doesn’t slow down. “Not in the mood today.”
“What happened?” I hiss, catching up to her.
“Nothing. Just lost a fight.” But she still won’t look at me, and it makes the skin on the back of my neck prickle.
“With who?” I hiss. I don’t remember hearing anyone talk about Tyler at school today. Usually, she brags about her fights anyway.
She just shrugs me off. “Mind your business, Micah.”
Who could it be? If no one at school…Tyler’s family isn’t exactly nice. I’ve met them once, when her dad picked her up from school early. Usually, he’s late. I wait with her, but she always dismisses me as he rolls up.
Is it her dad? Did he hit her?
Uncontained rage rolls through my body. How dare he? How dare he go after someone smaller than him?
Is this why Tyler’s always getting into fights? Because she’s being beaten at home?
I wait until after school, telling Tyler I’ve gone home early. The rage is simmering in my bones, and I can’t take it any longer. I watch from inside the school, then when he pulls up, I’m sprinting out the door, holding onto my backpack.
Tyler turns around in surprise, and I grab her, pulling her back. “Was it him?”
“What?” she hisses, trying to pull away from me.
I jab a finger at the car. “Was it him?”
“Micah.” She twists away from me, but she doesn’t say no.
Immediately, I let her go and stalk to the car.
“Wait!” There’s panic in her voice.
“No. He needs to know it’s not okay to hit people.” What exactly am I going to do against a grown man? I’m not sure, but I’ll find out. All I care about is that my best friend is getting hurt.
“Micah! No!”
But the driver’s door is opening, and I’m stepping up into his face. “Are you Mr. Clark?”
I don’t need to ask though; he has the same strong features as Tyler.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“You think it’s okay to hit women?” Then, I swing. I land one solid punch in his face before there’s a return fist in my own face. It snaps my head back hard, much harder than I’ve been hit before, and I spin on my feet trying to catch my balance.
There’s screaming; I think Tyler is screaming. She’s getting hurt! I snap out of the dizziness and launch myself back. I land on top of Tyler and her dad. Tyler is pulling him back, screaming at me to stop.
I don’t stop. I want to hurt him.
I want to kill him.
Then there’s a solid shove to my shoulders so hard it knocks the wind out of me. It’s Tyler, then she’s shoving her dad toward the car. I stagger back to catch my balance, and the look Tyler turns on me makes me stop in my tracks.
It’s hatred. Pure hatred.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I can’t answer; all I can do is look at that look in her eyes.
“Fuck you, Micah! Fuck you! You didn’t listen to me.”
I open my mouth, then close it again, my heart racing. What is she talking about?
Tyler whirls, shoving her dad back in the car, then gets in the seat behind him. There’s yelling from inside the car, threats to call the cops, and then they’re pulling away.
I stare after them, body still humming. I didn’t finish it. Didn’t finish the job. Why did she get back in the car with him? Why did she defend him? Why didn’t she tell me? Fudge, tell anyone?
I go home, and I sob. I call Tyler to apologize, but she never picks up. The next day, she isn’t at school, which freaks me out more. I want to go to her house, and I almost do, but now that I’ve had time to consider it, I’m afraid of what her dad will do to her if I do.
I never found the answers to my questions.
When Tyler did come back to school, she didn’t talk about it.
In fact, she didn’t talk about anything, and slowly she iced me out and stopped talking to me altogether.
It took me a bit to realize I screwed up.
What was I doing? I probably made it a hundred times worse for her.
Because I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t help her.
I never stopped wanting to kill Tyler’s dad.
My client comes back to the seat.
Fudge. My chest feels like an elephant is sitting on it. Maddox has gotten hurt, and his abuser got away with it. Just like Tyler’s. That makes me want to kill him. But what if Maddox hates me for it like Tyler did?
My chest rips with agony. Maddox is hurt, and just like before, there’s nothing I can do about it.