Chapter 2
Chapter Two
EVIE
Even though I love my children, I am drained and have zero energy left after the chaotic afternoon. One child had managed to climb the rickety shed out behind Vic's house and then he brought a lizard as his dinner guest. Imagine my shock when he pulled the damned thing out of his pocket and casually sat him on the table sending the spaghetti in my hand flying onto the wall. Something both boys found hilarious.
After cleaning dinner from the wall, I send the boys off to get a bath needing a second of peace and quiet. Before starting the dishes, I turn on the radio to my favorite rock station. I've gotten into the habit of doing my dishes the moment they hit the sink. For six years, I still feel a sort of panic that hits me like a freight train if I don't get them done quickly. Though some nights, I purposely leave the mess as a 'fuck you' to Trent. But those are the nights he haunts me the most.
Panic is one of those old demons that refuses to leave me. It likes to hang in the background, only surfacing when I've had a good day or feel anything other than self-loathing. It only likes to show up and taunt me that the devil is still out there searching for me. As if I need the damn reminder.
Pitiful, mindless tasks such as dishes can cause me to spiral.
All the books say I'm a survivor, and survivors are supposed to be these strong people, but how I feel about myself is the complete opposite. Lost in thought, I don't even hear someone knocking on the door until Charlie yells, "Door!".
My heart hammering wildly in my chest, I creep slowly to the door. I feel a slight shake in my body as I raise up my toes to look through the peephole. Not seeing anyone, I turn and head back into the kitchen. If it were Vic, he’d open the door and announce his arrival.
Knock. Knock.
Shit, someone is definitely out there. The devil probably heard me talking shit and decided ‘it’s showtime’. Then again, the devil I know wouldn’t knock.
"Open up."
Fuck, I'd know that rough voice anywhere. I open the door and brace myself for the storm standing just inches away from me.
Maddox Wilder towers over me like a fire burning in the night—strong, powerful, and hypnotic. His gaze is intense, and I can feel it burn right through me. He is like a force of nature, and I am powerless to resist. His thick black curls have gotten even more unruly since I last caught a glimpse of him. The porch light glints off his olive skin, and the scar across the corner of his lips only adds to the man's intensity. His bright eyes seem to pierce through the darkness, revealing a strength that is both captivating and intimidating.
In front of those jade eyes, my words fail me. They’re the color of freshly cut grass on a summer day, but when the light catches them, they transform into a mesmerizing, translucent green that captivates me completely.
Being caught in his gaze feels like lightning just before it strikes. The air becomes charged, swirling with unseen tension. My skin is covered in goosebumps, and I feel a deep, tingling sensation vibrating within me. It's like I'm the air in the thunderstorm and he’s the electricity. When we collide, we create a violent thunder.
A cry behind me brings me back to my senses. "Mellon!" I turn and see Bash sprinting towards the mountain standing in our doorway with a tuff of black fur sticking out of his thick arms. Lou had found Mellon Collie behind Bangers as a puppy and insisted I needed him. The dog ate a whole watermelon the summer we got him, so the boys very fittingly named him Mellon. I added Collie, my own little play on words if you will.
Maddox sets the dog down, and Bash happily picks him up. He looks at Maddox and I remind him, "You be sure to thank Maddox for getting him home, seeing as someone left him outside." I bop his nose with my finger.
"Thank you, Mad-dick!"
"Sebastian James!"
"Mama, that's what Lou Lou calls him!" my unruly child tells me, unphased.
"I've asked you twenty times to stop parroting what Lou Lou says," I say, whirling around and slamming my hands on my hips. "Now apologize and go brush your teeth."
"I'm sorry sir." Sebastian tells him before turning towards me. "Mama, the hot water ran out again. Charlie had to take a cold shower like last night." I can feel Maddox’s intense gaze burning a hole in me as I send Bash off to bed with a quick kiss.
"Thank you for bringing Mellon home. Bash sometimes forgets to let him back inside after dinner," I tell him, stepping back to put distance between us.
Maddox is notorious for his short temper, and he rarely says anything to anyone, just grunts or glares. That’s probably why he’s so successful in the ring, and why people give him a wide berth.
Our last encounter was a shit show. Bash had climbed to the top of Maddox's garage, something Bash knew not to do. We talked until I was blue in the face about him climbing things he shouldn't. But in Sebastain fashion, he didn’t listen to a damn word I said.
I was putting away laundry when Charlie came running in to tell me. When I stepped outside to get my little dare devil, I spotted Maddox glaring at Bash on top of his garage. They both seemed to be in a quiet stare-down of sorts. I barely made it to the edge of his lawn before he started spewing shit like a hateful hermit.
“Get the Goddamn kid off my property .”
Then looked down at Charlie and follows up with, “Both of them off my property. Right now.”
No concern whatsoever for my child being that high in the air even if it was his own fault. After getting Bash down, I grabbed both of my boys, stood on my tiptoes, looked Maddox square in his face, and told him to go fuck himself. I may have been shaking like a leaf, but the man just stared at me, a tiny hint of surprise reflecting on his stoic face. Nobody messed with Maddox Wilder, but there I was, screaming for him to go fuck himself like a damn lunatic.
He tilts his head to the side. "So, no hot water?" Maddox asks in an almost curious tone. His voice wraps around me like a warm embrace, rich and steady, pulling me in before I can help myself. It’s the kind of voice that makes you want to let down your guard, even when you know better.
Finally breaking away from his intense gaze, I hold on to the door, gripping the handle tightly. My heart pounds harder the longer he stays.
"M-most days, yes, but lately, the pilot light keeps going out," I say, hoping that is right because I don’t know the first damn thing about the water heater and why it isn’t working.
"Want me to look at it?"
Excuse me, what universe am I in?
"Oh, no, that's okay. Vic’s coming on Saturday to look it over but thank you for bringing Mellon home. The boys would be lost without him," I say, wringing my hands together nervously. It’s a white lie. Lou’s coming, not Vic. Not that I owe him an explanation.
Maddox watches me, his thumb slowly tracing the scar on his full lips. The motion is effortless, almost absent-minded, but there’s something sensual in the way he does it. I’m so captivated that I almost forget to breathe, my chest tight with a mix of anticipation and something I can’t quite name. He holds my gaze for a moment longer, gives me a slight nod, and then turns, vanishing into the night like a shadow slipping through my fingers.
Maddox Wilder's presence is intoxicating, a force that pulls me in even when every instinct screams to keep my distance. The man terrifies me, but it’s not just fear—it’s fascination, an unspoken invitation to step closer, to risk everything just to feel the heat of his dark flames. Something in him calls to me, a low, relentless hum that I can’t ignore. I know, with a chilling certainty, that if I let myself fall, those flames wouldn’t just warm me—they’d devour me whole.
I tuck the boys in for the night and run myself a hot bath, ready to soak my aching feet. Once undressed, I stop and stare at my reflection while I unbraid my hair. One brown and one blue eye stared back at me. It's funny, really, how my appearance has changed since that day. I've gotten older, and my body's undergone many changes. But one thing has stayed the same: these marks on my skin have never faded away, even after all these years.
I sit in the water hugging my knees and fiddling with the scar on my left thigh. The rough texture of the scar feels like an ode to all I've survived and all I know I will never be worthy of.