Crazy Thing Called Love (24 page)

It took her a second to unclench her jaw, to relax every muscle in her body. To get her brain to stop freaking out.

“You … you okay?”

Hell no. “Sure.”

“I can’t just let you go.”

She didn’t understand him. She didn’t understand anything anymore. Not since Mom died. Not since she and Charlie had moved into Aunt Janice’s house.

“Why?” she whispered, blinking back the burn behind her eyes.

Uncle Billy swore and looked up at the sky. It had been so hot today, like an oven. Not now. A cold wind blew through the open window and she shivered in her sweatshirt.

“Because it wouldn’t be right,” he finally said.

“Right? What the hell does ‘right’ have to do with anything?”

Man, the guy made no sense. But it was obvious she wasn’t going anywhere tonight. She’d try again when he went back to sleep.

Careful not to touch him, she slid out of the car.

She pulled Charlie from the backseat. His diaper was wet and he was so tired, he put his head down on her shoulder and didn’t say anything. He was getting too big to carry. Too hard to keep safe.

In the dark, she walked back to the house.

Next time she’d find his keys.

Madelyn was putting an outrageous amount of faith in donuts. Stupid, really, chocolate cake donuts with sprinkles were not going to fool Billy. His old favorite, Boston cream, would probably only make him laugh at her. All dozen of them might end up getting thrown at her or her car.

But she didn’t have a whole lot of choices at the moment. So, at dawn, hungover, the scent of fresh hot donuts on her passenger seat slowly making her crazy, she drove out to Billy’s house.

As a peace offering in this particular situation, she knew the donuts were shamefully inadequate, but all they had to do was get her in the door.

After that she would just beg.

It was barely after six-thirty in the morning and there
was a really good chance he was still sleeping, but she knew Billy in the morning. A grump, yes, but sweet. Susceptible to all sorts of suggestions. He was like a little boy waking up happy from a long nap. All he wanted was a treat and a cuddle.

Her best chance at getting through the door was a dawn attack.

In the pearly light before sunrise, Billy’s house—or the lawn in front of it—was a hub of activity. News vans from the local channels and ESPN were parked along the street. Camera crews were set up on the sidewalk, careful not to step foot on private property.

A spark lit in her chest, chasing away some of the indecision and worry. Part one of making things right had just been handed to her.

On a satellite dish.

She parked down the block and checked her face in the passenger-side mirror. Meh. Not nearly camera ready; she slapped on some blush and lip gloss, and things improved slightly. Caught in an upswell of confidence, she grabbed the donuts and walked up to the house—sashayed really. As soon as the camera guys caught a glimpse of her, they swung into action.

“Madelyn!” everyone screamed at once and she turned and smiled at the cameras, making sure she was centered. That they all had a shot of her better side.

She recognized the reporters from her station, and from the competition, but there were also some cable guys she didn’t know. Wild cards, maybe. But she just had to make it work.

“Whoa, everyone slow down.” She smiled, making eye contact, turning on as much charm as she could. The local reporters smiled back at her, but the cable guys didn’t respond at all. And then came the questions.

“What are you doing here?” one called.

“Is Billy suing the show?” another yelled.

And still another. “Are they Billy’s kids?”

“Let me answer that last one first.” She was quick. Decisive. “That is actually a terrible misunderstanding. I think maybe a young girl’s idea of a joke. Billy is not suing the show. Billy’s relationship with
AM Dallas
is the same.”
Please please, let that one be true
. “And I’m simply a donut delivery girl.”

“So who are the kids?” the man with ESPN on his microphone asked.

“Family. And that’s all I’ll say without Billy’s permission. But rest assured, he’s not the—”

“They’re coming out!” a cameraman yelled, pointing to the far side of the house, past the bushes. Everyone ran to get a better angle, and once it was obvious that the only ones emerging were the kids, they lost all sense of private property laws and charged across the lawn.

Becky looked terrified, blinded by white lights. Charlie hid, crying into his sister’s pants. But the journalists were unrelenting. Like piranhas with the scent of fresh blood, they blasted the kids with questions.

“Billy,” Maddy screamed as she ran across the grass, getting in front of the kids, putting her hand out behind her, only to feel the children cowering against the back of her legs.

“Enough,” she yelled at the journalists. “They’re children. Back off.”

Only the guy from her network seemed to be fazed—the others just kept yelling.

“Hey!” It was Billy, flying through the open front door. A bare-chested hockey berserker. “What the hell!” he shouted and shoved cameramen and journalists aside. One guy fell down to his knees, knocking another guy back. “Get off my lawn, assholes, or—”

“Or what, Billy?” the ESPN guy asked, looking slick
in a red tie, his white teeth glowing in the dark. “You’ll put on a nice sweater? Get a haircut?”

In the startled silence someone swallowed a laugh, just before Billy spun back around and shoved the reporter onto his ass.

“What the hell, man?” the guy cried.

“Get up,” Billy said. “And get the hell off my lawn.”

Billy stepped in front of Madelyn and the kids, his face a screaming stop sign. And the camera guys and the reporters scattered like cockroaches, running back to the sidewalk, and their vans beyond that.

Billy led her and the kids through the lawn like he was splitting the Red Sea. All faith and fury. Madelyn hurried the kids after him like a band of Canaanites.

The donut box was crumpled in her arms.

Just inside the front door, there was a dining room chair—a blanket tossed over it—pushed against the wall, like a blockade. Beside it was a dirty ice cream bowl and three empty water bottles.

Once the door was shut behind them he turned on the kids.

“What the hell did you do? Sneak out the window?”

Becky was stone-faced, but Charlie nodded.

“We did! I jumped. Becky caught me and we fell down.” He tried to shove his sister around to show the dirt and grass stains smeared across the back of her pants, but Becky wouldn’t budge.

Billy ran a hand through his hair, all of it standing up around his head. Now he looked scary and crazy.

“That’s the third time—” he muttered, and then yelled, “
third time!
I haven’t slept all night, and I know you haven’t either. I’m sitting in a crappy, uncomfortable chair, jumping at every noise, worried that you’ll run away. And now you’re climbing out the window?”

“It was a game.” Charlie looked confused, like he
didn’t understand how something so fun could be wrong.

“A game.” Billy laughed without any joy. He looked right at Becky, both of them so tough. So fierce. So alike. So very alike. “It’s not a game to me, Becky. I can’t spend the rest of the day trying to keep you from running away.”

Becky chewed already raw lips.

“A hundred bucks,” she finally said.

“What?” Maddy asked.

“A hundred a day?” Billy totally ignored Maddy, so did Becky. But Charlie smiled up at her with his little Chiclet teeth, and she awkwardly patted his shoulder.

“A hundred a day and I won’t run,” Becky agreed and Maddy choked back a laugh. Then she suddenly realized that no one was joking. Billy was seriously agreeing to pay Becky to stay.

Oh Lord, Denise
, she thought,
what were you thinking?

Billy mumbled under his breath, opening a drawer in the small hall table with a key he pulled from a pocket in his sweatpants. Inside the drawer were his car keys, his wallet and a stack of cash. He opened the wallet, and took out a bunch of bills and threw them down on top of the small stack.

“Why don’t you just give me the money?” Becky sighed.

“Because the next thing I know you’ll be on a bus to who the hell knows where.” And then he locked it all back up and put the key in his pocket. “I told you, Becky. You can’t just leave.”

“Yeah, and I told you, you can kiss my—”

“Donuts,” Maddy said, lifting the crumpled box in her arms.

“There’s donuts in there?” Charlie asked. Maddy looked down at his small voice, his brown hair, blue
eyes. Pink cheeks. At his collar she could see that he wore a blue shirt, a red one beneath it, a yellow one under that.

All that color was spellbinding.

He stood on tiptoe, trying to look in through the plastic cutout of a donut on top of the box.

“Yeah.” She laughed—who wouldn’t? But then she looked at Becky and Billy, who were staring at her with narrowed, angry eyes. “I brought donuts.”

“Why are you here?” Billy asked, cutting right to the chase.

Because I need to convince you to come back to my show. Because my career rests in your hands and I have no idea how to convince you to trust me again. Because these children are here and I feel like I should be, too
.

“You need to eat, don’t you?” she asked, saying none of what she needed to. She didn’t give him a chance to argue, sweeping them all into action. “Come on, you two, let’s get you some milk and some donuts in the kitchen.” She hoped Billy had milk. Carefully, she ushered the two clearly exhausted children and the donuts away from Billy and the barricade he’d set up.

“Remember, Becky,” he called after them. “I have the key to the sliding glass door.”

Becky muttered something under her breath.

“That’s a bad word,” Charlie whispered up at his sister; Becky didn’t respond, weariness obviously dogging her steps as she crossed the living room into the kitchen. Madelyn turned to follow them but Billy stopped her.

In the pre-dawn it was glaring how tired he was. Ravaged. As if he’d aged ten years since she last saw him.

“Did you know? About them? Did you plan to bring them on your show?” he asked, seeming somehow smaller. His bare chest and shoulders were caved in, all those smooth muscles collapsing in on one another.

“No, Billy. I swear. I was just as surprised as you. And
I’m sorry …”
Sorry for being a part of the show that did this to you. Sorry that I’m here to try and convince you to go back. Sorry that all I have are donuts
. “So sorry.”

His face relaxed. It wasn’t a smile, not quite, but the room got a little brighter and it didn’t feel like she was about to be thrown out on her butt.

“Thanks for the donuts.”

“Do you … believe me?”

“Are you telling me I shouldn’t?”

“No, I’m not—”

“I believe you,” he said.

He believed her, just like that.

Guilt churned in her stomach.

She escaped into the kitchen, where Becky had gotten Charlie a glass of milk before sitting down and resting her head on the table.

Madelyn slipped the box onto the counter and pulled out two chocolate cake donuts with sprinkles. They’d gotten banged up some in the run across the yard, but she doubted Charlie would care. The boy was practically bouncing in his seat.

She found some plates and put them down in front of the kids.

Charlie clapped, grabbed his donut, and dug right in. Becky didn’t lift her head.

“Becky?” She put her hand on the girl’s back, feeling every thin and fragile bone under the tight pull of her skin. Becky sat bolt upright, throwing aside Madelyn’s hand.

Madelyn held it up. “Sorry.”

“Whatever.” The girl sighed and reached for her donut, plucking one pink sprinkle from the frosting and putting it in her mouth.

“Char, you’re a mess,” Becky said to her brother, who
had a ring of chocolate frosting around his nose and mouth.

Maddy dug through some cupboards until she found paper towels and she tore off two pieces to give to the kids.

“You guys okay?” Madelyn asked.

“No. We’re prisoners.” Despite being tired, Becky still had the energy to keep up the attitude.

Bravo
, Maddy thought. Sometimes a little attitude is all a girl had to make it through.

“What’s a prisoner?” Charlie asked.

“We are. Uncle Billy won’t let us leave.”

“I don’t want to leave!” Charlie cried and Becky put her head down on the table.

Madelyn was so far out of her depth, she couldn’t even see shore. She could handle kids on the show, when they’d been coached and their parents were around to keep them in line with snacks or threats.

Real kids? In real time? Particularly ones with the eyes of her childhood best friend? She was totally clueless.

“This place isn’t so bad, is it?” she asked and Becky shot her a look of such scorching disdain that Madelyn felt like she had glasses and buck teeth again.

That kid’s got powers, she thought, and then, because she was a coward, she grabbed a Boston cream, wrapped it in paper towel, and headed out to find Billy.

Billy, a lit bomb who could blow up in her face, was a safer bet than this angry, scared little girl.

She paused beside the table, thinking about due diligence and the barricade in front of the door. “You’re not going to run away, are you?”

Becky didn’t look up from the donut she was slowly de-sprinkling. “We won’t run.”

Relieved, Madelyn stepped into the living room. Billy was watching the big screen TV on the far wall—his back, muscled and smooth, was to her.

An ESPN anchor was talking while the picture of Billy after that fight in the play-offs loomed large over his shoulder.

“Things have not improved for Billy Wilkins since the Mavericks lost their chance to get in the play-offs,” the anchor said. “The enforcer has tried to show his softer side by taking part in what has to be one of the most ridiculous makeover shows ever concocted.”

There was a video clip of Tam measuring Billy’s inseam.

With his eyes glued to the screen, all the muscles in Billy’s back pulsed and flexed. His fists dug into his hips, like he was bracing himself to take a punch. Or forcing himself to stand still.