Chapter 7
SEVEN
“I don’t see how he can ever finish, if he doesn’t begin.”
— Alice, Alice in Wonderland
I’m going to kill him.
No, seriously. If Maddox drives past this house one more time, I swear to God, I’m going to murder him.
Literally, I will do murder. Okay, maybe I won’t quite do something so dramatic because, given my luck, I’ll probably leave trace evidence behind.
No man is worth spending the rest of my life in prison, not even Maddox Hathorne.
But if that man drives up and down the block blasting his radio one more time…
The audacity.
Sugar.
Sugar in the gas tank of his precious Charger. Now there’s a good plan. Sure, it’ll be a sin to destroy that fancy engine he’s got under the hood, but at least it will get him to stop cruising by my house, making sure I hear the songs he’s playing.
Until this morning, I loved Papa Roach.
I borderline hate them now.
Again, I’m being dramatic, but I don’t care. What’s for damn sure is that thanks to Maddox being a pain in my ass today, I’ll no longer be able to listen to “Leave a Light On” without associating it with him.
With the early afternoon sun spilling in through the open French doors, I do my best to stop stressing about the bane of my existence, who zipped up the block for the billionth time.
Instead, I stand back, one hand nailed to my hip with a nub of charcoal in the other.
Tilting my head, I study the canvas, admiring how my current monster is slowly coming to life.
Right now, it’s nothing more than a vague design of shadows and smudges, but when I’m finished, this piece will be a sinister, grinning cat with razor teeth and yellow eyes.
It’s perched on a tree, with a thick tail curled over its back to rest atop raised hackles.
Stepping forward, I draw another line and smear it to blur it a bit. Make it less… harsh on the canvas as I struggle to turn off my mind, tune out the noise, and listen to the muse. Listen to the distant whisper speak to me. Tell me who this nightmarish cat is…
But Candlebox’s “Far Behind” drowns the whisper out.
“This motherfucker.” I slam the chalk on the easel’s shelf and march from the room.
I stride down to the front door and yank it open, prepared to do violence, but the street is empty, quiet…
…until Maddox comes driving past my house—again.
He has the nerve to wink at me as he passes.
I flip him the finger and keep it up until he makes the turn at the end of the block.
Dropping my arm, I wait. Wait for him to do another pass.
Two minutes turn into three. Three to five.
Five turns to eight, and that’s when resentment sets in because he got exactly what he wanted.
A reaction from me, and I curse myself for playing into his hands.
Yep, he definitely deserves sugar in his gas tank.
The kicker is that Maddox doesn’t even have a valid reason for driving down Liddell Avenue.
Perhaps if it were a weekday, okay, fine.
Carroll Street—his block—lacks a straight shot to Briar Rose.
I expect him to drive by on days when he has class.
But it’s Saturday, and he has absolutely no business being a nuisance.
With my mind racing with inventive ways to eliminate him from this planet, I spin and stride back inside the house. Unfortunately, I stride back to my easel and walk right into more aggravation.
The clack of heels striking marble is the warning that comes right before, “Is he going to be a problem, Alice?”
I stop dead and inhale hard before slowly turning to face my mother. “No.”
“You’d better be right,” Katherine retorts.
She spent the morning at the spa, getting her gray roots touched up with brown dye and the few wrinkles around her eyes and forehead shot with so much Botox, she can’t form a proper frown.
No matter. Her tone speaks volumes. “This is a respectable neighborhood. I will not have us known as a house of controversy again. Am I clear?”
“Crystal,” I drawl, the ‘again’ part of her warning a barb that strikes its target. I jab my thumb over my shoulder. “Done? Because I’m busy.”
Her attempt at a sneer is sad, really. Good thing she puts enough disdain in her voice so that I don’t miss her contempt. “Your monsters. Of course. You’re throwing away your talent.”
“That’s your opinion.”
“It’s a fact,” she spits.
“Fine,” I agree with a sigh. “Whatever. I’m not going to argue with you.”
I can’t summon the energy.
“I expect you at the table for dinner.”
With a shrug, I tell her, “Only if we eat early. I’m going out with Ivory tonight.”
Katherine slaps her hands together in mock prayer. “Thank God. Finally. It’s unhealthy, Alice, how you keep yourself locked away.”
She couldn’t give a shit less about my health. “Totally unhealthy,” I mutter.
“Always with the sarcasm,” she shoots back. “You know, one day, I’ll be gone, too, and you’ll regret these little spats of ours.”
“Will you regret treating me like a burden instead of a daughter?” Shit. I didn’t mean for that to fly out of my mouth, and now that it’s hanging between us like a brewing storm, I shake my head, wishing I could pull that thunder back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did,” Katherine counters.
I sigh long and loudly. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
Katherine’s crisp and critical blue gaze travels over me, and I feel…small…and I hate it. “Just because your father left most of the money to you doesn’t mean you have the upper hand. Remember that.”
I snort out a laugh. “It always rounds right back to that with you. You want the money? Fine. I swear to God, I’ll give you it all. Every last penny.” When she goes to speak, I cut her off with, “But only if you can look me in the face and tell me one thing—one—you love about me.”
Her silence roars.
“That’s what I thought,” I sneer with a bitter nod.
I spin on the heel of my Doc Martens, and as I stride away without a backward glance, not even when she calls my name.
Nor do I cry, because, honestly, my tears aren’t for her.
They never were, because I learned too young that I only had one actual parent.
The other was just a placeholder for the word ‘mother.’
When I return to my room, I beeline right for the easel, but it’s too late. The creative spell is broken—and not because of Katherine. Nope, it’s Maddox’s fault because all I want to do is strike back at him. Knock him off his axis the way he topples me off mine.
Every part of me wishes I could hate Maddox Hathorne.
Life would be simpler if I despised him.
The problem is—my problem has always been—I can’t hate him.
We’ve been friends since second grade, and even after…
everything…he never did a thing to hurt me other than be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
And yes, occasionally, push my buttons. But if I’m being honest, life is lonely without him.
I was lonely in Riverton, and I'm still lonely now without him. Some days, it takes every drop of willpower not to call him or text him because I know if I did, it would open a floodgate, and I’m not ready to drown in him.
And yet my charcoal-coated fingers reach for my phone. “Fuck it.”
Because I’m damned either way.
Might as well tumble into perdition swinging.
I text Ivory.
Me: What time are you picking me up tonight?
I hadn’t told Ivory I intended to go with her to Folly House in case I changed my mind. Rather, I chickened out. But if Maddox won’t leave me alone, it’s time I stepped up and fought fire with fire.
Right?
That is why I’m going.
It has nothing to do with me wanting to see him.
Nothing at all.
Ivory’s reply comes within seconds.
Ivory: Omg! I’m so glad ur coming
Ivory: We’ll have a blast.
That’s debatable.
Ivory: Wear something cute
Me: I was going to wear a brown burlap sack
Ivory: Ha. Ha.
Ivory: I’ll be there at 9
Me: I’ll be the chick in black
Ivory: F U
Me: Not tonight, babe, I have a headache
Ivory: a-hole
It’s adorable how Ivory, a whole grown-ass woman, does her level best not to swear. A few curses sneak out now and then, but mostly, she keeps it clean.
For the thousandth time, I’m tempted to call her and tell her everything that happened while I was in Riverton, but as usual, my fingers don’t dial because I don’t want to upset her. She has enough of Scarlett’s bullshit to deal with without adding my problem to her burden.
To hell with Rook Knavish.
I ran from him once and have been hiding ever since I came home.
No more running, and no more hiding. Not from him, or Scarlett, and not from Maddox.
My dad once called me a phoenix. I tumbled into Jabberwocky Bay.
Nearly drowned that day. Rather than fear water after that, I set my mind on becoming a strong swimmer because if I ever fell into the water again, I was determined not to sink.
I’ll be damned if anyone will ever keep my head below the waves.
Worn-down charcoal in hand, I examine the sinister cat, aware that I have plenty of time before I need to shower and get ready. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s see how far we can get before I have to leave.”
I block out the world to concentrate on the vaguely grinning feline on the canvas, my hand moving almost with a life of its own. It glides the charcoal across the stretched cloth, streak after streak and smudge after smudge, giving the creature its shape. Slowly bringing it to life…
…but I cringe, gnashing my teeth, when the rev of that fucking engine roars down the street. Again. This time, with “Weirdo” by K.Flay ripping through the air—a blatant reminder of when Maddox and I took a joyride to Callay.
The day I bought him the top hat.
It’s among my favorite memories—and he damn well knows this. What an asshole.
Goddamn you, Maddox.