Chapter 19
CALLIE
As the crackling fireplace warmed my feet, I pulled the fleece blanket tighter around me. I had thought chilly nights were long over for the year, but tonight’s weather proved that mistaken.
Just hours ago, I’d gotten back from what had turned into a two-day jaunt to Nightshade Cove, during which I had taken great pleasure in knowing Maddox was painstakingly preparing multiple meals for me that I wasn’t bothering to show up for.
The sound of kitchen cabinets closing bounced into the living room as Maddox finished his evening cleanup. Dinner had been a little off tonight, but I was satisfied by how deeply sad he still looked about the car, a full forty-eight hours later.
As I sipped my tea in front of the fire, he approached me cautiously. “Anything else tonight?”
“No. But I will need you to put in for some vacation days next week. There’s a job fair in Nightshade Cove, and you’re coming along as my attendant.”
His jaw tightened. “I’m not sure they’ll let me take any more last-minute vacation days—”
“Well, if you get fired over it, best of luck with your job search. But obviously, it’s my job hunt that takes priority now. If you want to stay living here, you’ll be traveling with me next week, and that’s the end of it.”
I could see the gears grinding in that big dumb head of his, and at last he nodded in submission.
“That’s all. You may go to the basement now,” I instructed. There was no need to put him through any more paces tonight. After running around with Brie and some other friends the last two nights, I was happy to spend a quiet evening reading my book without having to look at him.
Maddox didn’t move, though. He swallowed and took a deep breath, building his nerve. Oh gods, what next?
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said. About how my apology was only about me, and how I never asked about what you were feeling… and you were right.”
“Congratulations. You listened one time. I’m sure it feels like a big accomplishment.”
“I want to do better. So… can I ask you now?” he continued cautiously.
“Ask me what?” I snapped.
“Just… is there anything it would make you feel better to tell me? And I mean anything. Scream at me, tell me what a piece of shit I am, really let me have it.”
“So you’d like me to perform for you?”
“No, no, I’m sorry, that’s not what I want at all. But it’s true that I didn’t ask you how you felt before, because I was afraid to hear what you had to say. You’re right. I didn’t want to face the consequences. But if you want to tell me now, I want to listen.”
I felt conflicted. On one level, I did like the idea of really cutting loose and letting him have it.
But to do it on his terms? Fuck no. I had no interest in being vulnerable with him in that way, of actually explaining what I felt in that horrible moment. He didn’t deserve it.
“Maybe I would want to tell you how I felt if I thought there was any chance you’d actually get it. But I know you won’t. There’s nothing I want to tell you.” I spat the words with disgust.
He looked even sadder at my refusal. “I understand. Let me know if you ever change your mind...”
Oh, fuck him. I had been feeling nice and cozy and relaxed in front of the fire, and he needs to break my calm and bring this up? I quickly reversed my earlier decision. I no longer wanted to let him go for the night.
As he stepped toward the basement stairs, I spoke up. “Actually, there is one more thing. The fire is getting low.”
Maddox regarded the still-roaring fire with confusion. “Umm…”
With a magical snap of my fingers, the flames instantly shrunk down to a low flicker.
Maddox only nodded. He had largely acclimated to the magic, and my regular use of it to create more work for him. “Okay. I’ll get some kindling.”
“No need. I already have some right here.” I leaned forward and pulled a cardboard box out from under the coffee table.
He was bracing himself as I tipped it over, sending all the treasured keepsakes of his childhood basketball fandom spilling out onto the floor.
As with all of Maddox’s other possessions, now legally mine from the divorce.
“Oh no,” he murmured.
“I can’t say I ever understood why this stuff mattered so much to you. Since you’d like us to be vulnerable tonight, why don’t you tell me a little about each item before it goes in the fire?”
Maddox seemed frozen as he took in his painstakingly preserved collection of ticket stubs, signed game programs, team photos and pennants, and other useless basketball trash. His mouth hung open stupidly.
I quickly tired of waiting. I plucked an autographed program from the pile and handed it to Maddox, who received it grimly, taking one stiff step closer to the fire.
“Are you sure you don’t want to at least sell this?” he asked hopefully, before continuing into a dull explanation of how famous the player who signed it was, and how many people would pay significant money for it.
I cut him off. “I don’t need to sell it. I’m feeling comfortable financially.” I wiggled my toes. “But my feet are so cold…”
“All right,” he groaned as he dropped the program onto the flames, averting his gaze as it ignited.
And so it went with one item after another.
I couldn’t believe how emotional he was getting about the dumb sports trivia of all of this.
This was the ticket from some famous playoff, here was the pennant signed by some guy, this was the hat from a star player’s final game…
the details couldn’t have been more boring, but I appreciated how deeply he grimaced and how painfully his face contorted as he spoke.
His inability to look at any of these items as they burned also struck me.
I knew he was still only feeling a fraction of the hurt he had inflicted on me, but it was something.
As he held a pair of ticket stubs over the fire, the emotion in his voice suddenly became noticeably rougher.
“These were from… the actual game wasn’t anything special.
This was the first game my dad took me to, after my mom died.
I was seven.” He swallowed, his voice drier with each word.
“My mom’s death was when my dad got really bad.
That’s when he got angry and started taking it out on me.
Yelling at me every day, roughing me up when I got out of line... ”
Roughing him up? Maddox’s dad hit him? When he was seven and grieving a dead mother? He had never shared that with me before—and I didn’t like that he had chosen this moment to do so.
If it was even true.
I wished I could break eye contact, but that felt like an admission he was getting to me, and that wasn’t an admission I was going to make.
“Every few weeks, he’d take me to a game, and it was like having my real dad back.
The one from before. He’d buy me a hot dog, explain the plays, put his arm around me when our team scored.
” His hands trembled as he held the tickets.
“These games were the only time I felt like I still had a parent. Like someone actually gave a shit whether I existed.” His voice caught.
“These tickets are from the very first game.”
His eyes were tearing up, the moisture reflecting the flickering light of the fire.
Ugh. I liked the idea of seeing him cry, but I wanted to see him cry over what a trash man he was! Or how badly he’d fucked up his life! Or how completely he’d betrayed me!
The tears of a little boy crying over his dead mom and abusive dad… that wasn’t what I was looking for.
I also felt a creeping discomfort at what a surprise this was…
why hadn’t I known this already? And why hadn’t I known how raw this remained for him?
I had been aware of the basic facts of his biography.
A mom who died when he was young, leaving him to be raised by an awful father.
But Maddox had always presented as so powerful, strong, and solid.
I had believed the pain from his upbringing had long since been processed and put away. That clearly wasn’t the case.
But Maddox’s emotional problems were not my concern any longer. I shouldn’t be thinking about them. What did I care about this lying scumbag’s trauma?
With a sharp intake of breath, Maddox released the tickets.
As they fluttered toward the flames, I snapped my fingers again, magically extinguishing the fire. The tickets landed intact on cool ash.
“Well, you took the fun out of that one,” I said with a put-upon sigh.
Maddox knelt to pick up the tickets. “Thank you, Callie.”
I flinched at the genuine appreciation in his tone. I didn’t enjoy giving him cause to feel anything positive. “Don’t thank me yet. We’ll flush them down the toilet another night.”
He didn’t stand, remaining on his knees in front of me, his hands still clutching those saved ticket stubs.
“I see why you didn’t want to tell me about how you felt when you found out about Gwen and the others. I understand it must hurt too much to talk about.” He swallowed. “Maybe… maybe it would be easier for you to share with magic instead of talking?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The magic you used to experience my memory of our third date… does that work both ways?”
I pulled back. “It does.”
“So don’t put it into words.” He straightened his shoulders, steeling himself. “Can you just put me in your memory? Can I experience that night directly like you did?”
I studied his face. This could be another manipulation, but something in his eyes looked genuine.
Of course, one thing I knew for sure was that I couldn’t trust my conclusions here. He looked as genuine now as he had all those other times he had lied to me over the years. I hated this feeling, having my faith in my own instincts ripped away by his lies.
But I couldn’t deny that his idea appealed to me.
To make him feel, directly and viscerally, the exact pain he’d caused, without having to explain a single thing?
To have him experience the full weight of his betrayal, without having to do the emotional work of putting it into words and talking it out?
“All right. Let’s do it,” I said, surprising myself. I leaned forward, my hand already beginning to glow with magical energy. “Just remember, you asked for this.”