Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
TEN YEARS AGO
Adam
The sun slants through the canopy of trees overhead, and when the wind blows, a kaleidoscope shifts on the path beneath our feet.
With each step, the leaves crunch, and the air smells more like fall.
This is usually a hard time of year for me.
My mom died nine years ago this October, and then my dad last year.
But somehow, the memories don’t feel as painful in this moment as they usually do.
Madeline glances over her shoulder, a smile teasing her lips.
Fall represents endings, dying, but this year it feels like a new beginning.
A cardinal flies past, its red wings flashing.
My mom always told me that cardinals are good luck.
The bird lands on a tree branch on the path in front of us, and my chest swells with hope and anticipation.
It’s been a hard couple of years. Hell, it’s been a hard life.
I barely remember a time I wasn’t hanging on by a thread.
But for the first time I feel grounded. And it’s all thanks to Madeline.
She’s three steps ahead of me on the path, and I watch her graceful movements as she sidesteps a rock jutting out of the ground and then gives a little hop over a root bisecting the path.
The muscles in her trim calves tighten, and my gaze sweeps upward to the smooth skin of her thighs and the gentle curve of her ass in hip-hugging denim shorts.
Damn. She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
I still can’t believe she’s here with me.
I can’t believe she’s spent every weekend since the first day of school with me .
She could have had anyone at school. I’ve heard other guys talking in the gym class locker room about the red-haired new girl.
Luckily, none of it veered inappropriate or I would have had to start some fights.
But it’s clear she could be with one of the popular athlete-types, or someone in her AP classes who’s as smart as she is.
Or Jason. She could have had a guy like Jason—confident, wealthy, on his way to the Ivy League.
He’s my best friend and I know he’d never, ever make a move on her. But I’m also aware that he was interested in her on that first day, and yet, somehow, inexplicably, she chose me. A homeless guy with no family, no money, and an uncertain future.
I take a deep breath as the path curves upward over the hill.
Madeline deserves everything, and I’m going to make sure I’m worthy.
I’ve been working my ass off at my new job, making deliveries for CyTech Electronics five nights a week, even after my shifts at the autobody shop.
I’ve met the boss a few times, and he seems happy with the work I’m doing, so I’m hopeful that there’s a future for me at the company.
And I’m here today with Madeline because I want to let her know I see a future for us, too.
It’s time for me to open up and be completely honest with her about my past. I hope I’m doing the right thing.
We follow a bend on the path, and about twenty feet ahead, the sun brightens, shining unobstructed through the trees. Madeline comes to a single-lane road that winds up the mountain in one direction and back to town in the other. I follow closely behind.
“This way.” I nod up the hill. Unlike the path, the road is wide enough to walk side by side with plenty of room to spare, but Madeline bumps her shoulder against my arm, taking my hand.
Warmth creeps into my chest. I look down at her with a smile and grip her hand tighter.
I didn’t tell her I’m nervous, but I think she senses it.
She’s only been in my life for a few months, but somehow, it feels like we’ve known each other forever.
I know she doesn’t talk about her sadness over her move from Sandy Harbor Island with anyone besides me.
Her sister is off at school, and her mom changes the subject every time she brings it up.
But Madeline knows that she can trust me, and I’ll always be here to listen.
And lately, she hasn’t mentioned it as much as she did in the beginning.
I can’t help but think it’s because she’s happy in Maple Ridge. She’s happy with me .
We hike the rest of the way up the hill in silence and then down the other side.
It should be close now. Though I haven’t been on this road in over a year, every bend in a tree trunk, every patch of wildflowers is familiar.
I spent my childhood roaming these woods.
And then we come to a clearing, and my heart goes sideways.
I glance down at Madeline, whose gaze is sweeping across the open field.
What will she think? How will she react?
I told her I wanted to show her something, but that’s all I said, and I imagine she wasn’t expecting this.
The clearing hasn’t been mowed in years, and at some point, the wildflowers took over.
Queen Anne’s lace and black-eyed Susans wave in the breeze that blows in from the river beyond the trees.
I wade into the field and gather a handful of blooms that are still holding on in the warm fall weather.
I used to pick these same flowers and bring them home to my mom.
When she got too sick to get out of bed, I’d fill an old mayonnaise jar with water and set it by her bed so she could see them when she woke up from her increasingly frequent naps.
My eyes prick with unexpected tears.
Madeline turns to me as if she senses my emotion. “Is this where you grew up?”
I nod, too afraid my voice will shake if I try to speak.
“And that was your home?” She gestures toward a trailer situated at one end of the clearing.
The metal siding is dented from falling tree branches and streaked with mildew on the side that doesn’t face the warmth of the afternoon sun.
The front door hangs halfway off the hinges, and through the frame, it looks like several types of wildlife have moved in.
It hurts to see the place like this. I have so many memories of my family, back when my mom was healthy, and my dad was sober, and we were still happy.
“It didn’t always look like this. When I was young, we might have been poor, but my family had pride. My dad took care of the trailer and the yard. And my mom kept it clean inside.”
“And then she got sick?” Madeline’s voice is gentle.
I nod, remembering the low voices after I went to bed in my little alcove. My mom crying, my dad reassuring her. Breast cancer. There were good treatments available. Our healthcare from Dad’s job at the autobody shop didn’t cover much, but he’d get a second job working nights.
“Everything was okay for a while. Sometimes my mom was tired after the treatments, and Dad was at work, so I’d make us sandwiches for dinner and do the dishes after.
But she could still do puzzles with me, still read bedtime stories.
” I take a shaky breath as the memories wash over me.
“Eventually, she started growing paler, thinner. Her hair fell out. She didn’t want to eat, didn’t want to get out of bed.
I cleaned the trailer. Left flowers by the bed.
And then one morning, Dad woke me up and said my mom was gone. ”
Madeline takes an audible breath and reaches out to take my hand. I remember how Dad held me while I cried, his cheek pressed against my hair, his tears leaving wet patches on my temples.
We were going to be okay, he said.
“He loved her so much. We both did. But I believed him that we’d get through it together.
He quit working his second job. I guess he didn’t need to, there were no more treatments to pay for.
But instead of coming home in the evenings, he went to the bar in town.
” He had friends there, people who knew Mom.
People who could console him. So even though I was alone, I understood.
“But the bar bills piled up. He was going into work later and later. Missing shifts and calling in sick with hangovers. They stopped letting him come to the bar, so he started buying the biggest plastic jugs of vodka in the liquor store and bringing them home. He’d fill a pint glass and drink it straight while he stared at the TV.
“Soon, Dad started to look like Mom, but not because he had cancer.” I close my eyes and an image of my dad, the man I’d looked up to for my entire life, comes into focus.
He’d grown thin, gaunt, his once strong muscles could barely hold him up.
“I asked him to stop drinking, but he couldn’t.
When he stopped, he said all he could think of was my mom.
” Sometimes, I eyed that bottle and wondered if I were to drink from it, if I’d stop thinking about her too.
But the vodka tasted like lighter fluid, and I didn’t really want to stop thinking about her.
My memories of Mom were the only thing that could still make me smile.
At least until Jason came along. Jason made me laugh with his jokes and his goofy moves out on the baseball field.
One day he invited me to his house to hang out and play video games, and soon, I was going over after every practice.
His mom always insisted that I stay for dinner and take the leftovers home with me for Dad .
“One evening during the middle of my junior year, I came home from Jason’s house, and Dad was passed out on the couch.
I was pretty used to it—at that point, he’d been drinking for years.
But this time, he looked different. His face was deathly pale, his lips blue.
I ran over and felt his pulse, grabbed the phone to call 911 with one hand while I did chest compressions with the other. But he never started breathing again.”
Both my parents were gone.
Madeline’s hand runs slowly up and down my arm, and I know she’s silently letting me know that she’s here. She’s supporting me.
“Jason arrived just as the ambulance was taking Dad’s body away.
I was fifteen, and the police at the scene said I’d have to go to foster care.
But Jason insisted that I come and stay with him.
” I stare down at my hands, remembering trying to fall asleep on the basement couch that night, the weight of overwhelming grief pressing on my chest. But for the first time, there were other emotions, too.
I felt supported and comforted. I knew I wasn’t alone.
“I don’t know what I would have done without Jason this past year.
Maybe I would have ended up on the same dark path as Dad, drinking myself to death. ”
I turn to look at Madeline. Her eyes are filled with unshed tears.
She squeezes my hand and tugs me away from the trailer, past the waves of wildflowers to a clearing under a tree.
I shrug off my backpack and pull out the small blanket I’d tucked inside, spreading it across the leaves.
We sit facing each other. “You’ll never be alone again,” Madeline says, leaning forward to look me in the eyes.
“You’ll always have Jason, but now you have me, too. Forever.”
“Madeline, you mean everything to me,” I tell her, my voice cracking with emotion. “I love you.”
She presses her hands on the blanket between us to lean in and kiss me.
“I love you, too,” she whispers against my mouth, and my heart explodes in my chest. I pull back, just an inch, because I need to look in her eyes during the most perfect moment of my life.
The breeze picks up and the branches overhead gently sway, shifting the sun across her face.
She practically shimmers in the afternoon light, and I can’t believe she’s here, and she’s mine.
“Every day I wake up and think, This is it . I can’t possibly love her any more than I do in this moment.
And then I only have to see you waiting in the parking lot to know that love is only a whisper of what I’ll feel for you by the end of the day.
” I reach out to tangle my hands in the fiery hair at the nape of her neck, gently brushing my lips against her temple and the freckles scattered across her cheekbone.
And then she turns her head, and our mouths crash together, hot, urgent, perfectly bruising.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, pulling me closer, as I angle my head for better access, sliding my tongue into her mouth.
She shifts her weight toward me, and in the next minute, she’s on her knees, climbing onto my lap, straddling my hips, and pressing me into the blanket.
My hands drift to the small of her back and then lower, over the curve of that ass that’s been torturing me all day in those tiny shorts.
She leans back an inch, leaving just enough space for me to grab the hem of her T-shirt and pull it off.
The blood rushes from my head and straight to my dick as I get my first glimpse of her flushed skin straining against the delicate lace of her cherry-red bra.
We’ve made out in the back of the Bronco before, and on the basement couch when Jason was at swim practice, but I always stopped at my hand under her shirt, not wanting to rush her into something she isn’t ready for.
But she doesn’t seem to have any interest in slowing down as she reaches for the button on her shorts, popping it open and revealing more crimson lace.
“I want you to be my first time,” she says. “I can’t imagine doing this with anyone else.”
I prop myself up on my elbows. “Are you sure? ”
Madeline nods. “I’m so sure.”
“I’ll do my best not to hurt you.”
She leans over to press her body against the full length of mine. “As long as we’re together, you could never hurt me.”
And then she’s kissing me again, and I’m reaching for the clasp of her bra, the waistband of her shorts, savoring every inch of pale skin and perfect curves, every gasp of pleasure and low moan in the back of her throat.
I shift my weight so she’s lying with her back pressed to the blanket, and I slide one finger inside her and then another, making sure she’s ready for me, that she’s hot and wet and right on the edge before I pull off my own T-shirt and jeans, fishing a condom from the pocket before I toss them aside.
I settle between her legs, and she spreads them wide, opening for me.
For me .
I ease in slowly, my eyes trained on her face, ready to stop at any sign of pain.
But she bends her knees, wrapping her legs around me and urging me deeper.
And then I’m moving inside her, and she’s clutching my shoulders, her head thrown back, her fiery hair tangling against the blanket, my name on her lips.