Combative by Jay McLean
She looks up; a perfect pout formed on her perfect lips. But she isn’t faking it this time. She nods and picks up her fork.
We spend the rest of her meal in silence.
When she’s done, she stands up and offers me her hand. Then she leads me back to her bathroom.
She tells me all about her diabetes—what type it is and the things she does to keep it under control. She says that she hasn’t had any issues since she’s moved in and that today was the first time anything like that has happened.
She then guides me through her insulin doses and even shows me the tiny dots that cover parts of her stomach and both her thighs from the needles. Marks that, even though I spent a lot of time up close and personal with her body, I’ve never noticed before. She also mentions that she hopes I don’t find those things unattractive. I tell her she’s stupid and that if she thinks that then she doesn’t know me at all. And then I ask her something that’d been bugging me since we left the photo-kiosk. “Why didn’t you want to go to the hospital, Maddy?”
She shrugs and averts her gaze. “I can’t afford it.”
“Bullshit. You know I would’ve covered you.”
“I don’t want your money.”
I pull on her arm until she’s standing in front of me. Then I lift her chin with my finger, giving her no choice but to look at me. “And I don’t want your lies.”
Her throat bobs once, and then her shoulders sag, giving up to the inevitable. “Because I don’t exist, Ky. Not officially. My dad forgot about me when I was twelve and I packed whatever I could and ended up on the streets at fifteen. It’s not like I have a driver’s license or anything.”
“But now. I mean—”
“Ky!” She’s almost begging now. “I’m tired,” she cries. “And I just want to go to sleep. And I want to forget the last part of the day. Please. Can we just talk about this tomorrow?”
“Fine. But we’re—”
“I know!” she shouts. “I get it. You’re mad. You’re disappointed. Just please—not now.” Her voice breaks into a sob, giving me everything I needed to quit being a dick.
“You’re right, babe. I’m sorry.”
“Will you kiss me now?” she asks, her head tilting all the way back. She scrunches her nose and exaggerates the puckering of her lips. I laugh. And then I give in to her.
The second our lips make contact; she circles her arms around me, keeping me in place. Then she pulls back abruptly.
“Another one,” I say.
And it’s her turn to laugh.
We kiss until we fall on her bed, but I stop it before it gets any further. “You need to rest.”
She rolls her eyes but agrees.
She invites me to stay with her so she has access to everything she needs just in case. Of course, I agree. But I don’t sleep. I spend the first couple of hours watching her like a hawk, and when I’m confident enough that she’s fine, I go to my apartment and get my laptop. I return to her bed and quietly press on the keys, researching everything I can about diabetes, specifically type two, and the medication and treatment needed. Turns out there are four different types of insulin. They all take different times to reach the blood stream and have different durations of effect. I don’t recall her telling me what types she uses, so I go to her bathroom to check the label on the bottle.
There’s a label on there, but it isn’t her name on the prescription.
Mr. Mark Wade.
Who the fuck is Mark Wade?
21
KY
I CALL JACKSON and tell him I want to take a few days off training to keep an eye on Madison. He says he understands, but I can hear in his voice that he isn’t happy about it. Then he asks me a question that I knew was coming. “Why didn’t she want an ambulance?”
“It wasn’t that bad,” I lie, moving around Madison’s kitchen to make her breakfast.
“Bullshit, Ky. I know you. I saw your face when you got in my car with her. You were rocked.”
I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “Maybe she doesn’t have insurance and can’t afford it. Who knows?”
“You didn’t question it?”
“No. Why would I?”
He stays silent on the other end.
“Just leave it alone, Jax. I don’t need this shit from you on top of everything else.”
“Fine. Have you heard from DeLuca?”
“Not since the club.”
“And you think you’re ready?”
“I will be.”
The bedroom door opens and Madison steps out, her eyes roaming her apartment.
“Babe,” I call out.
She smiles and makes her way over. “I like you in my kitchen,” she says, rising to her toes and kissing me quickly.
“Give me a call if you hear anything.” Jackson hangs up before I have a chance to respond.
I drop my phone on the counter and lift Madison until her ass is parked next to it. Palms flat on the counter on either side of her; I ask, “How are you feeling?”
She rests her forearms on my shoulders. “Honestly?”
“Yes.”
“I’m still a little weak, but I’ll have my insulin and something to eat and we can go from there.” Even though I know she said it for my benefit, it’s the answer I need.
“So...” I start, apprehensively. “Who’s Mark Wade?”
At first, she’s confused, then her eyes go wide with understanding. She sighs and pushes my arm away, then hops off the counter and walks around me. “You went through my stuff?” she mumbles.
“A; you willingly showed me your stuff and B; should we really be talking about who goes through who’s stuff?”
She starts to set the table and speaks to me with her back turned. “Do you know how hard it is to find a doctor when you’re homeless? Or how expensive medication is when you can’t even afford a meal?”
“So it’s not legit?”
“The medication is legit. How it’s obtained isn’t. I don’t know who Mark Wade is—but whoever he is—he helps me get cheap insulin.”
“You need to—”
She turns swiftly, her eyes already narrowed. “No, Ky. I don’t need to do anything! You promised! You said you wouldn’t push me until I was ready, and I’m not!” Her eyes lose focus and she gasps for breath. I get to her quickly and pull out a chair. She practically collapses into it.
I squat in front of her. “I’m sorry.”
“Can you just—I know this is hard—I get that. And I’m sorry that you have to put up with me.”
“Stop it.”
“No, Ky. If this ever gets too much for you—my past, my secrets, and now your need to be overly protective—you know where the door is. You don’t owe me anything.”
“Don’t say that, Maddy, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be—if I didn’t care. I’m just worried—”
“I just feel like you’re interrogating me all the time now. I don’t like it. I just want to go back to—”
“Existing?” I cut in.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
***
When I told Madison I was taking a few days off, she said I was overreacting, but she was happy she’d have me all to herself for a while. We take it easy, only leaving the apartment for a couple of hours at a time. We cook meals together instead of eating out every night, which I’m sure didn’t help with her diet.
It was a give and take. A push and pull. I wanted to take care of her—she wanted the freedom to take care of herself.
But the truth? I loved being the one to look after her—and I think she knew that, which is why she seemed to take a lot more than she gave.
“You take good care of me, Kyler,” she says, stroking my hair as I rest my head on her stomach. She’s watching TV. I’m discreetly on my phone, looking up how to obtain an ID for someone that has no prior proof of identity. It’s important she get the right treatment—regardless of what she says.
“I like taking car
“Is Christine like that? The nursing type?”
“Yeah.” I wasn’t getting anywhere with my online search. I know I have the best resource at my fingertips, but Jackson’s my last resort. It’s bad enough I’m missing training—he doesn’t need to know how truly distracted I’ve become.
“Do you miss her?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I answer, my mind elsewhere.
After a few minutes of silence, and me reading the same websites over and over—I finally cave.
Ky: Hey. I need a favor.
Jackson: Anything.
***
Madison: I need a favor.
Jackson: Who is this?
Madison: Madison.
Jackson: What do you need?
22
KY
DOCTOR AROMA STARES at me.
I stare back.
Her eyes narrow a little.
I squirm under her gaze.
“What?” she asks.
I look around the room, wondering if she’s speaking to me because I haven’t said a word. There’s no one else here. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Oh.”
“Are you okay, Doc?”
“I’m fine.” She pours a glass of water, then downs the entire thing in one swig. Her eyes stay on me.
I wait until she’s set the glass back down and ask, “Do you think relationships can work if there are secrets involved?”
“Ah ha!” she almost shouts, pointing her finger at me.
I rear back in surprise and stupidly look around the room again.
She clears her throat. “Carry on.”
“Okay...” I eye her sideways before continuing. “I guess I’m just wondering how important it is to share absolutely everything. And if the feeling of suspicion will always linger because you know the person is holding back.”
Doctor Aroma sits forward a little, her gaze penetrating mine even more. “I don’t know, Ky,” she says, her eyes thinning to slits. “Depends on what the secret is and if it involves the skanky whore that runs the impound lot at the police station.”
I stifle my laugh and trap my lips between my teeth, watching her eyes widen with her sudden admission. She looks at the clock. “Time’s up,” she says.
“I just sat down.”
“You’re excused.”
“No.” I shake my head and cross my arms, loving the switch in power. “I think I’m going to sit here and talk. You can stay silent if you want. Or you can talk.”
She matches my stance. “Fine.”
“So today I think I’m going take a page from your book and talk about all of my best friend’s crushes when he was in high school. You may know him as Detective Davis...”
***
I wake up the next morning in an empty bed.
Quickly, I get up and search my apartment for Madison, but she isn’t there. Neither is her bag. I check my phone. There are no missed calls. No messages. My heart stops. I dial her number. She picks up on the fourth ring. “Hey babe!”
“Jesus Christ, Maddy where the hell are you?”
“I just checked in on Debbie.”
“You should have sent a text—”
She laughs. “I left you a note.”
“Who the hell leaves notes these days!”
She laughs harder. “I’ll be back soon. You better have calmed down by then because I’m not putting up with Grumpy Ky all day.”
Just as I’m about to respond, there’s a knock on the door. Figuring it was Madison, I open the door in my boxers—half-mast.
“Dude!” Jackson yells, shielding his eyes from my dick. “Put that thing away.”
“I’ll call you back,” I tell Madison, and hang up.
With a laugh, I leave the door open for Jackson and go to the bedroom to put on some clothes. “What are you doing here?” I yell out.
I hear the front door close and then the TV switch on. “I have no idea,” he shouts back.
Once my pants are on and I’ve shrugged on a shirt, I join him on the couch. “What the hell do you mean you have no idea?”
“Your girl messaged me—asked me to meet her here.” He looks around the apartment. “Where is she, anyway?”
“Out.”
He mutes the TV. “She’s not here?”
“Nope.”
He taps my chest with the back of his hand. I face him. “So I have that info you asked for, but I don’t know how you’re going to react to it.”
“Hit me.”
“She doesn’t exist—Madison Haynes—at least not anyone that matches her description.”
I rub my jaw and puff out a breath. “I kind of knew that already.”
“You knew?”
“Well yeah, that’s why I asked you. But I thought you’d be able to find a birth certificate...something.”
“Ky, I searched. I can’t find shit about anyone with that name. What the hell do you mean—”
“I can’t tell you,” I cut in. “It’s not my story to tell, Jax.”
“Fine. But there’s more.”
My attention spikes. “More?”
“So I looked into the lease on her apartment...”
“And?”
“It was paid three months in advance—cash. And the name on the lease? Cash.”
I shrug. “That’s not a big deal. I mean, maybe that’s all she could afford. It’s not like she has a credit history or social security.”
“What are you not telling me, Ky?”
“Like I said, not my story.”
“But it could be dangerous—”
The front door opens and Madison steps in, grinning like the damn Cheshire cat when she sees both of us on the couch. “Good. You’re both here.”
I would respond, if not for the fact that I can’t comprehend why the hell she’s holding a bouquet of white lilies.
She stands in front of the TV, placing a plastic bag and the lilies on the coffee table. And then...nothing. She just stands there smiling at the both of us.
I look over at Jax but he’s focused on her.
Sighing, I stand up and take the steps to get to Madison. I grip her arm and turn my back on Jax so he can’t hear me whisper, “What the hell are the white lilies for? And why did you ask Jackson to come here?”
She pulls back a little so she can look up at me. “Well...” she sings, “the white lilies go with this.”
She reaches over to the bag on the table and pulls out a wooden picture frame—the word ‘MOM’ etched on the top. “Look,” she says, her grin still displayed. She points to the picture of an older woman with two young men standing on either side. “It could be you and Jax.”
Jax chuckles.
I glare at him, then give my attention back to Madison. “And what’s he here for?”
“He’s my back up.”
“Your back up?” I ask incredulously.
“Yes, Ky, we’re going to visit Christine today—”
“No, we’re not!”
She flinches slightly. “And Jackson is here to help me convince you.”
I direct my gaze at Jackson. He holds his hands up in surrender, leans back into the couch, stretches his arms on the back of it, and kicks his feet up on the table. Then he shakes his head and waves a hand at us. “Carry on,” he states.
I drag Madison by her arm into the bedroom and shut the door. “What the hell are you doing?”
She sits on the edge of the bed, a perfect frown on her face. “It’s time, Ky.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“Maybe not,” she says quietly, fear in her eyes for the first time since she walked in. “I’m sorry if I’m overstepping.” She hugs her waist. “I just know that I’d give anything to see my mother—or even have one that would want to see me.”
My words catch in my throat. She just stares at me with pity in her eyes. Like I—out of the two of us—is deserving of pity. I sit next to her. “Are you doing thi
“Neither,” she says. “I’m doing it for Christine and Jackson.”
Her hand moves slowly down my arm, capturing my hand in hers. “We don’t have to go. I just thought...” she trails off.
“You thought what?” I ask, turning back to her.
“Wouldn’t it be nice, Ky? To be able to see them, mend some bridges or whatever. Christmas is coming up. We could spend it with them. You know...as a family.”
“You’re still going to want me in a few months when Christmas rolls around?”
“I’m always going to want you, Kyler Parker.”
***
I push Jackson’s feet off the coffee table. “You’re driving.”
“Like I had a choice.”
23
KY
IT TAKES US a half hour to drive to my childhood home.
Jackson starts to slow when we pass my old house, and then stops in front of Christine’s.
By now, my thoughts are in overdrive. My palms have formed a sheen of sweat. My heart is racing. “It’ll be okay,” Madison assures me from the back seat.
“There she is,” Jackson says, jerking his head out the window.
And there she is in the front yard, on her knees attending to the garden. It’s like time hadn’t changed her at all. I sniff the air—which seems stupid at the time—but doing so brought back all the memories I’ve tried hard to suppress.