Chapter 5
Chapter Five
MADDOX
"We shouldn't be here, Charlie. Mama made me promise her not to come back over here. She made me pinky promise her!" I hear a small voice in front of my house.
"Just go knock on the door."
"Why me?"
"Because I’m the oldest! Now go knock."
Their banter reminds me so much of Mercy and myself growing up. I almost want to smile at the thought. I shake my head, erasing the memory from my mind. I don’t deserve to think of happy memories anymore. Deciding it best to see what the troublesome two want, I step around the corner of the house, where I find the two still bickering about who'll knock on the door.
"Why are you here?" I ask, brushing the sawdust out of my hair, ending their bickering.
The one with glasses and curly hair, Charlie, looks me up and down, sizing me up just like he did in the grocery store. I hold his stare when I notice he has one blue eye and one brown eye just like his mama's. How the hell have I not noticed that before ?
"We were wondering if Mercy was round?" the other boy asks, ending the weird stare down I was having with his twin brother. They both have their mama's freckles and toffee-colored hair.
"No, this isn't his house," I say, crossing my arms.
"We know that sir. We just needed him for somethin'."
"Well, he's not here," I say, then I remember the short sassy ass woman who brought me fried chicken and has had my head all fucked up since telling me how my anger terrified her.
My anger was all I had left, and if I let it go, I let her go. Looking between their two faces, I notice them share a slight look of panic, and I make split a decision. "Mercy's not here, but I am. What do you need?" I ask, trying not to sound like my usual gruff self.
"Nothing! Come on, Sebastian," Charlie tells his twin while tugging his sleeve. His brother doesn't budge.
"No!" Scared eyes find mine. "She won't wake up."
A knot forms in my stomach. "Who?"
"Mama," he cries. His tears are my undoing. Without a second thought I gather his little frame up in my arms; his arms instantly wrap tightly around my neck. Sobs shake his little body, trying my best to soothe him; I quickly grab Charlie's much smaller hand in mine and take off across the lawn.
"Wait!" Charlie tugs my hand, making me look down. His face may still be set in a severe expression, but his eyes shine brightly with fear. Seeing him fight so fiercely against his fear, just like his mother, makes me feel a slight twinge in my chest.
He looks at me with a slight hesitation and then knocks me on my ass. " If we let you in, you have to promise not to hurt her."
Damn, little man if I still had a heart, you just broke it all over again. Noticing Bash had calmed down long enough to hear my response, I tell them gently, "I won’t."
"Promise us, okay?" Seeing how much he needs this, I nod.
He takes a deep breath and opens their front door. When I walk into the living room, I see Evie lying on the couch with a blanket pressed against her face. She's flushed, blotchy, and sweating. Her hair is coming out of its braid and sticking to her face; her shirt clings to her as if she's been running laps in the rain. I put my hand on her forehead and realize she’s burning up.
"She has a fever, but besides that, she's fine, boys." I stop and think for a second; this is uncharted territory. I know nothing about the three people surrounding me. I feel a small hand on my face.
"Are you sure?" Bash asks me, a look of relief washing over his face. His small hand feels warm on my cheek, and his eyes are hopeful.
"Yes." I set the boy down by his brother, needing to put space between the small boy and myself.
Rubbing the tingling sensation from my chest, I look between the two boys. You can’t help but notice they are identical, minus Charlie's glasses and unique eyes. Realizing I can't leave them alone while their mama is sick, I ask, "Where's Vic?"
The old man is constantly over here doing yard work, playing with the twins, or whatever small chore needs to be done. Not that I pay that much attention to what is going on over here.
"Fishing trip, won't be home until tomorrow," Charlie tells me over his shoulder. He's running a hand over his mama's hair. Anybody with eyes can see how much love is between them. On the random day’s Henry calls me to check on them, I feel as if I'm intruding on their private world. As if by just watching them I am tainting their world with my darkness.
"Okay, what about Lou or Aunt Joe?" I ask, scrambling to think who else I've seen hanging around here.
"We don't know." Fuck, Lou usually spends every spare minute she has over here.
"Where's your mama's phone?"
"She dropped it in the tub while washing puke out my hair," Bash tells me.
Well, shit! I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I can do this. Think Maddox, fucking think. All I need is a strategy, just like in the ring. "Charlie, you and Bash go get dressed for the day, and I'll call Mercy to come visit for a bit."
They both just stare at me like I grew a second head. I may be an asshole, but I refuse to leave them like this. I'm an asshole, not fucking cruel. Beginning to feel irritated, I run a hand over my face and muster a tiny shred of patience. I can't blame them. I've been anything but friendly to all three of them, and yet here I am, trying to be helpful. If I was there only hope… these poor fucking kids.
"Sound good?"
Bash nods slightly before heading off. Looking at Evie, I can feel my anger simmering at the surface. How dare she scare these damn kids like this? I know she didn't choose to get sick, but still. Why didn't she ask someone for help? Stubborn ass woman just has to prove how independent she is.
I send Mercy a quick text and push my glasses back up on my face, taking a moment to absorb my surroundings. The house is cozy, and as I look around, I feel as though I’ve just stepped onto the set of that home renovation show with the couple from Texas. The living room welcomes me with its soft, neutral color palette—shades of creamy whites and muted grays warmed by the natural light streaming through the large windows. A plush, oversized sectional sofa, adorned with a mix of patterned and solid throw pillows, invites me to sink in and relax.
Some artwork is framed on the wall along with pictures of the boys at various ages, toy trucks are scattered on the rug in the living room, and a few plants hang from the ceiling on either side of the TV.
Their house is cozy and full of so much love it bleeds from the walls.
My throat tightens with emotion. Emotions I don't want to fucking feel.
I don't deserve to feel.
"Hey, wake up," I say, choosing not to touch her .
The woman is already jumpy and half-scared of everyone, especially me, even though she tries to hide it, but I notice the things she tries to hide in plain sight. Checking her locks three times every time she leaves the house, always looking over her shoulder, and how she eyes every car that comes down our street.
If she'd just come to the gym, Mercy instructs the self-defense classes and could teach her to protect herself. She reminds me so much of Mom the first few years after we finally got rid of Harold. Constantly on high alert, a skeptic of everyone, and always a bundle of nerves. That shit makes my blood boil, and that’s why I think every woman should learn to defend themselves.
She doesn't move an inch. I try again, "Evie, wake up." Nothing. Fuck it. "Evie, it's Maddox. I’m going to take you to bed." I pull the cover off her and gulp.
The woman wears well-worn sleep shorts that showcase two thick, milky thighs. Evie Taylor is not a slim woman. She has more curves than a roadmap and silky, creamy skin a man wants to run his hands all over.
The woman isn’t sculpted from God. No, only the devil could conjure up something as sinfully irresistible as Evie Taylor. One taste of her would never be enough; it’d turn the best of us deranged, leaving nothing but raw need in its wake. The way she moved, her scent, the warmth of her skin—it was all an invitation, a slow, torturous unraveling of reason. Her lips, soft and maddeningly close, held the promise of something forbidden, something that could never satisfy but only deepen the hunger. One taste would mark you, brand you, until you craved her with an ache so visceral it would haunt you in every waking moment and every restless dream.
To damn bad that man isn't me, I tell myself foolishly as I wipe my itchy palms on my shorts.
Being attracted to the little vixen isn’t the issue.
Make no mistake, Evie Taylor is probably the prettiest thing I had ever seen. She possessed a beauty that compels passersby to pause in awe. Her hair cascades like rich, dark chocolate, flowing in soft, lustrous waves that danced with the light at every turn. Her unique, soulful eyes sparkle with depth and emotion, framed by long, delicate lashes that accentuate their allure. A pert nose complements her radiant features, while her full, pink lips beckon with an irresistible charm.
In short, fuck yeah, she’s pretty.
No, it’s the way she has the audacity to challenge me, even while her body trembles with fear. There’s a fire in her eyes that ignites something deep within me—something I thought I had buried long ago.
I gently pick her up and cradle her close to my chest. The woman needs a shower, but I sure as hell am not about to give her one. I may be angry at the world, but I still have morals, even if they are slightly skewed.
I open two doors before finding her room. It’s covered in soft pastels and white, accurately representing the woman in my arms, and in every fucking way opposite of me. The well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice beside her bed doesn’t surprise me at all.
No matter how she tries to hide it, the woman brings sunshine everywhere she goes. Even assholes like me can’t help but be drawn to her. From the moment she screamed fuck you in my face, I was mesmerized by her. Her hair fluttered around her face, and with a fierce look in her eyes, I couldn't speak. That single encounter has flashed a bright light in my dark world, and I don’t like it. Not one fucking bit.
Gently laying her on her bed, I run a finger down the side of her face. In another life, I would act on this attraction I have to her, but then again, in another life... I close my eyes, welcoming the familiar feeling of anger, letting it flood my senses like a thunderstorm.
Anger is familiar, it’s something I can navigate with ease. Call me a chicken shit, but anger is easier to face .
I open my eyes to find two staring back at me. "Where are my boys?" she demands, panic lacing her words.
I cross my arms over my chest. "Getting dressed."
"Why are you here?"
"Your children came looking for my brother, scared half to death because you wouldn't wake up. He wasn't around, but I was," I told her, not masking my irritation.
She attempts to get up, but I take a hand and gently push her back. "You aren't going anywhere, you’re sick woman. Mercy is on his way to sit with the boys while I call Lou."
Evie waves a hand weakly in the air. "No, no. I'm fine. I got this,” she barely manages to get out before her eyes close from exhaustion.
I chose to ignore her weak reply. "Do you have any ibuprofen?"
She slightly nods her head and points to the bathroom. After finding it and a water bottle on her nightstand, I make sure she takes medicine before heading out to call Lou.
Thirty minutes later, I'm sitting on the steps watching the boys chase the dog around the yard when my brother pulls up. He quietly assesses me before coming to sit beside me.
He watches the boys chase the dog around the yard. "No, Louisiana?" Mercy and my mother were the only two who got away with calling Lou by her full name. Ever since Mercy was little, he found Lou’s name fascinating. He was convinced for the longest time that the state was named after her. We let him believe it, right up until he argued with his first-grade teacher about where the name really came from. Mama didn’t find it as funny as Henry and I did.
"Nope. Had something come up with her sister, and Aunt Joe hasn't picked up."
"So, you sat here with them?" he asked, pointing between the house and the boys.
"Yep." I can feel his gaze on my face. Knowing where this is headed, I put a hand up. "Don't. "
Mercy says nothing, long enough for me to believe he'd drop it, but I should have known better. "I'm proud of you. I can't imagine how hard this is for you.” He sits and looks longingly at the boys before continuing, “She'd be proud of you."
"Well, she's not here to fucking say it, now, is she?" Every time someone brings her up, the hole in me gets bigger and bigger. As if pieces of me are chipped away to fuel the anger and hatred that runs rampant in my life like a blazing fire. As I watch the boys, that fire burns hotter; she’d be about their age now. She should be here, running and playing. Chasing her own dog in her own yard. Bitterly I push that thought aside.
"Some days I'm glad she's not. You forget losing her affected us all, but I didn't just lose my niece that day. I also lost my brother and best friend." Mercy pauses, taking a deep breath. "I'm just saying that Livvy would be proud of you for being a decent human being. Like you once were, to Evie and those boys today and not being the cold closed off asshole they’ve grown to know."
“Merc.”
“Why are you back here?”
Was he serious?
“You almost died Merc.” We nearly lost him on his last tour, blown up in a distant desert with no family by his side. So, why the hell wouldn’t I move back home for him? He’s my brother.
He scoffs like my answer offends him, “I don’t need you, just like you didn’t need any of us when Livvy died.”
With that, he stands and heads for the boys. I say nothing because what the fuck could I say to that.