15. EIGHT
EIGHT
ALEX
I look down at the address Aspen sent me on my phone then back up at the decrepit, weather-beaten building in front of me.
This can’t be right.
The bottom level is dedicated to an art store, where a broken sign reading SKETCH sags from the splintering wood portico. The windows are boarded on one side, shattered glass littering the brown turf beneath it, and even the drooping clouds above are stained a heavy gray.
To the side of the building, overgrown shrubs line the path toward a red door with peeling paint and an intercom with two apartment numbers. According to Aspen, Eden lives at 1B.
“Hello?” Aspen’s voice crackles through the shitty speaker.
“It’s Alex.”
“Okay, one sec,” she whispers just as someone yells, “Who is it?” from somewhere else in the room. “,” Aspen yells back.
That woman is a menace. In the space of twelve hours, she’s somehow managed to con me out of a sizable sum of money and even has me personally delivering my credit card to her at an address she doesn’t even live at, all while lying to her sister who is now expecting an delivery, not the dashingly handsome soccer player she’s considering faking a relationship with.
She buzzes me in, and I take the flight of stairs up to the apartment door—painted a light shade of pink, with a gold number plaque—and rap my fist against it.
“I’ve got it, Mom!” a new voice yells before the door whips open to reveal a boy with floppy brown hair and a small gap between his front teeth. His inquisitive gaze scans the height of me, his eyes widening when he reaches my face, with a whispered, “Holy shit.”
He has his mother’s dark eyes, and his aunt’s mismatched, extravagant sense of style, donning a baby-pink ball cap and a royal-blue blazer thrown over a t-shirt that reads Levi’s Tacos since 1873.
“Macon!” Eden admonishes from somewhere inside the apartment. “Language.”
He doesn’t even flinch, just gives me a one-shouldered shrug. “Sorry, Mom,” he tosses over his shoulder. “But, err, I don’t think it’s .”
“Who is it, then? Aspen, who did you buzz up?”
Her slender fingers appear around the door before she pulls it wider to reveal herself, gasping at the sight of me before trying to disguise it with a cough. “What are you doing here?”
Dressed in pink-and-cream-striped pajamas with bed hair and what looks to be dried drool on her cheek, she slices me with a withering glare. Adorable. I want to carry her back to bed.
“I assume from the cold welcome that you didn’t know I was coming?”
“For once, you assume correctly.”
“Mom.” Macon tugs on her shirt. “Do you know who that is? He’s Alex Wolfe. He plays for the—”
“The Strikers, honey. Yes, I know who he is.” She gives him a tight smile and ruffles his hair. “I just don’t know why he’s here.”
Parking her confusion to the side for her to deal with in her own time, I bow to Macon. “I’m Alex. Pleased to make your acquaintance, fine gentleman.”
He laughs at my silliness and follows my lead, folding himself at the waist before offering a handshake. Huh. He’s a proper little dude.
“I’m Macon.”
“Macon, you say?”
“Yep.” He rolls his shoulders back. “Macon, like bacon.”
“I happen to love bacon, so I think we should be friends.”
He beams in what I assume is agreement, and I can’t help but smile too. I like this kid. He’s cool, and he looks at me like I hung the fucking moon, which makes him great for my ego. Too bad the same can’t be said for his mother.
“Outta the way, guys. I have an important delivery.” Aspen bounds up behind them, shoving her sister to the side before grabbing my hand and jerking me into the apartment, not at all deterred by the horrified expression on Eden’s face.
I shoot her an apologetic smile as we pass. Shit, I never would have come here if I knew she wasn’t expecting me, especially when her son’s at home. It feels like a gross crossing of boundaries, something that Aspen is clearly aware of, yet couldn’t care less about.
Shaking her off, I linger by the fridge that’s scattered with multicolor magnets and scribbled to-do lists. It’s the closest spot to the front door, tucked behind a corner in the tiny square of kitchen space.
“Tell me you didn’t know he was coming,” Eden demands, still white-knuckling the front door with a thunderous expression that would wither me like dying flora if she directed it at me.
Aspen has the good grace to feign sheepishness, hugging her arms around herself and looking at the floor.
“Would you love me less if I said I did?” Unlike her sister, she’s dressed for the day.
She wears brown gingham flares, a houndstooth beret, and a sage-green knit cardigan hanging around her shoulders.
She looks bizarre, but it somehow works on her, and menace though she may be, she’s clearly comfortable in her own skin.
“Wait.” I frown at her. “Eden didn’t know I was coming?”
“Um, hello?” Eden waves her hands over her head. “Is anyone gonna tell me what’s going on?”
This is where Aspen should step the fuck up and admit to stealing her phone last night. I wait for her to do just that.
And then I wait some more.
Macon, oblivious to the tension, skips to my side. “This is so cool. Wanna see my room?”
“Sure, buddy.” I nod. “But I’ve just gotta talk to your mom about something first, okay?”
“Okay.” He shrugs. “I’ll wait in there, then. Grown-up chats are boring.”
The pregnant pause that follows his departure gives me a moment to study the tiny place that Eden calls home.
The entire apartment could fit into the main living area of my own place twice over, but it’s twice as cozy.
White mesh drapes let the natural light spill through, casting it across the pink upholstery of the dining chairs, the lush cream rug beneath the coffee table in the living room, and the multiple decorative knick-knacks lining every shelf—most of which look handmade.
It’s what a home should be, if not for the fact that Eden doesn’t have a proper bed and the building itself seems one gust of wind away from crumbling.
Sick of waiting for someone to explain my presence, she stomps her foot and points at her sister. “You. Spill it.”
Aspen steps into my side and slaps me on the shoulder. “Your boyfriend here is taking us shopping. Well, he’s not taking us, because that implies he’s coming with us. But he is paying for it.”
Eden balks. “What?”
“I told him you need some new clothes if you’re gonna make this”—she flicks her finger between us—“believable. And also, I really want a Valentino Garavani purse, and I was hoping Alex would let me get one as compensation for giving you a glow up.”
Okay, so I wasn’t aware of the purse situation.
Eden pinches the bridge of her nose and groans. “A few things. Number one…if Alex wasn’t okay with the way I dress or look, then maybe he should have asked someone else.”
Hold up.
I’ve never had a problem with the way she looks. I think she’s hot as hell. “Wait, no, that’s not—”
“Secondly, Aspen, when exactly did this conversation take place?”
Aspen’s gaze flicks to her shoes. “I may have taken his number out of your phone after you fell asleep last night.”
Hallelujah. The truth is coming out now.
Eden looks to the sky. “Jesus. So, you, what…texted him and asked him for his credit card? Aspen, you can’t go around asking men for money like that.”
Aspen frowns. “It worked, didn’t it?”
Can’t argue with that.
“I haven’t even said I’ll do it yet!”
Aspen rolls her eyes, tapping her bare feet on the lightwood floor. “We both know you’re going to.”
That’s news to me. I am optimistic by nature, yet self-aware enough to acknowledge when a situation isn’t going my way.
And given Eden’s less-than-hospitable reception to my presence, I was certain I’d be leaving here with a rejection.
The conviction in Aspen’s tone, however, has my antennas piqued.
Eden sighs. “I can’t deal with you.”
“E,” Aspen coaxes, tugging at Eden’s hand.
“This was never about changing you. I just figured you could do with a few new shirts that don’t have holes in, or that aren’t covered in stains.
I thought that you might feel more confident about doing this thing if you felt good in what you were wearing.
I dunno… I just wanted to help you find yourself again, I guess. ”
Eden’s eyes soften, her fingers relaxing in her sister’s hand. “Did you need to pillage Alex out of his credit card to do that, though?”
“That wasn’t my intention. It just kind of happened.” Aspen shrugs. “But can you blame me? Every time I’ve asked if we can go shopping, you always used money as an excuse.”
“It wasn’t an exc—”
“It was,” Aspen cuts her off. “But a legitimate one. I just took the necessary steps to make sure you couldn’t use it this time.”
For all her edges and pandemonium, it’s clear that Aspen operates out of love for her sister. She might go about things in a way that no sane human would, but it comes from a good place. That is, unless she has her eye on a very expensive designer purse, then all bets are off.
But it does make it difficult to begrudge her. A problem that Eden, if the small curve to her lips is anything to go by, has herself too. Aspen might be a rascal, but she’s an endearing one.
“So”—she nudges Eden’s shoulder—“you wanna come shopping with me?”
Eden glances over toward me, chewing a plump lip between her teeth. “Are you seriously okay with this?”
“Sure. Though, we really need to discuss a spending cap.” I say it for Aspen’s benefit more than Eden’s.
“We’ll be sensible,” Eden says with a soft smile. “Nothing crazy.”
Aspen grunts. “Speak for yourself.”
“And as for the purse you mentioned…” I arch my brow.
“I was kidding.” She considers that. “Well, actually, whether or not I was kidding is dependent on your agreement.”
Fuck it.
She can have the damn purse.
There’s nothing left for me to do here, so I leave the sisters to it. I made a promise to a brown-eyed, tousle-haired ten-year-old, and I plan to keep it before I have to go.
“Eden?” I twitch my head in the direction of Macon’s bedroom door. “Macon wanted to show me his room. Is that okay with you?”
She nods. “He’ll only challenge you to a duel if you don’t.”
“Well, I better not tarnish my honor, then.” I pretend to tip my cap to her. “I’ll leave the door open.”
Macon is wearing a pair of dark shades and a fedora when I step inside. His face lights up when he sees me, an enormous grin overtaking his little face.
His bedspread is dark blue and printed with planets, stars, and spaceships.
His walls are a similar shade, adorned with an enormous Hamilton poster hung above his headboard.
In one corner stands what can only be described as a fedora display case and, in another, a life-size cardboard cutout of Bruno Mars.
At the sight of me, he shoves something under his comforter.
“Cool room,” I tell him, looking around at the clashing themes that I’m assuming illustrates different facets of his personality. “I’d have loved this when I was a kid.”
He straightens. “Really? What was your room like?”
It strikes me then how Macon is the age I was when Brynn’s and my parents died.
I’d been real big into superhero comics until then, and my room was a shrine to them.
Where Macon’s bedspread is space-themed, mine had been covered with every character in the Marvel Universe.
If you’d asked me then what I wanted to be when I grew up, I’d have said Captain America.
My room was just another of the things I lost when we found ourselves on the front steps of the Poppy Fields Children’s Home.
At the time, I hadn’t really thought about it at all.
I had a devastated six-year-old little sister counting on me to look out for her, and I’d thrown myself into the role of her protector without question.
Everything else, my room, the comics, the skateboard I used to ride up and down our street, I left behind.
And now, looking down at Macon, whose excitement is so innocent and untarnished by grief, it makes me realize how young I was to shoulder such responsibility.
No kid should have to go through what I did at that age.
And I don’t resent it, the role I took on, but deep down in the pit of everything I’ve suppressed over the years, there’s a flicker of something that still mourns for Little Alex and the childhood he gave up.
God, Dr. Sharma would have a field day if I admitted this to her.
Remembering that Macon just asked me a question, I shoot him a bright smile. “Nothing as cool as yours.”
He beams under the praise, lifting a gaming console from his nightstand, and pats the space next to him on the bed. “Wanna play on the Switch with me?”
I shake my head. “Don’t you have to leave for school in a minute? But we could totally do it another time.”
His face falls, and a mist of dejection has his shoulders wilting. “Oh, yeah, okay.”
“What’s with the long face, kiddo?”
He shrugs and picks at the thread of his comforter.
I cross the room toward him and kneel to bring us eye level. “You don’t believe me that we’ll play another time?”
His head twitches in something that barely resembles a nod. “When my dad says ‘another time,’ he doesn’t really mean it.”
Fucking Sebastian.
“Well, I do, okay? Wanna pinky swear?”
He grins, holding out his pinky finger for me.
“I, Alex Wolfe, hereby promise thee, Macon…” Shit, I don’t know his last name.
Thankfully, he giggles and gives it to me. “Miller.”
“Hereby promise thee, Macon Miller, to a Switch battle on a date not yet disclosed. And any failure in keeping said promise will be punishable by death, at the discretion of aforementioned Macon Miller.”
His eyes widen to an extraordinary size. “Death?”
Ah, fuck, did I take it too far?
“You can’t die! Who will be the captain of the Strikers if I kill you?”
According to my team investors, Leo is already lined up to take my place, the stand-up family man that he is. It isn’t like he’s already taken my little sister away from me. Why not toss in my career as well?
“Okay, how about we amend that bit, then? If I break my promise, you can pick the punishment yourself.”
He agrees, and the deal is struck. A bond that shall never be broken. For, if I’ve learned anything in this lifetime, it’s that nothing is more powerful than the mighty pinky swear.
But whether I’m able to keep it is down to his mother. And though I’m taking her acquiescence to go shopping on my dime as a sign that she’s leaning toward taking the deal, it’s not as if she offered me her own pinky to swear by.
I can’t blame her for it, though.
There’s a lot to consider.
Until today, all I’ve thought about is what’s on the line for me. Sure, I’ve had an abstract idea of what’s at stake for Eden, but it wasn’t until I met Macon that I realized how crucial it is that this plan of mine works out.
Because if it doesn’t, I might lose my place on the team…but this kid will lose his mom.