Masquerade

Distance. We definitely need distance.

“It looks good. Make sure you keep taking care of it, okay? They’re not the easiest piercings to have. I’d hate it if it got infected or you regretted it… What?” I ask. He’s cocking his head at me, studying me in this way I don’t understand.

“You.” He turns his back to me, walks to the supply cabinet, and looks inside, moving stuff around.

“Me, what?”

He doesn’t answer right away and I can’t help but wonder if he’s trying to figure out what to say. He’s mentioned he’s not a fan of words, and I can see that. He doesn’t talk a lot, but the words he does say usually really mean something. They’re not emotional or in depth, yet when he says them, you know they’re important.

“The caretaker bit. It shocked me.” He still has his back to me. His voice is tight, though not like anger… confusion maybe.

“I don’t try to take care of people. I’m doing my job.”

“Are you?” he asks, and I suddenly want to tell him to shut up. He’s always so quiet—words never coming easy for him. It’s strange that suddenly he wants to use them.

“What about you? You’re cracking jokes. Like that’s not different for you?”

“I know.” There’s the anger. It’s found its way to his voice, only it doesn’t feel like it’s directed at me.

Turn around. At least look at me if we’re doing this.

I wait for him to say more. He doesn’t. Nothing comes out of my mouth either, so I sit back at my desk and look at some of the tattoo blogs I visit. I get two more people who come in for piercings, which Maddox watches. It’s obvious he’s not nearly as into those as he is tattooing.

We’re still not talking. Honestly I’m not sure what’s going on or why it’s on my mind. Unfortunately it is. We had this easy conversation this morning, and now it’s as though we took ten steps backward. The space between us isn’t anger, but there’s definitely space.

I like space. He likes space. What’s the big deal?

The longer it goes on, the more it upsets me. The more I upset me. “If you’re going to pout all day, you might as well go home.”

Maddox crosses his arms and stares at me. “I didn’t know I was pouting. I’m taking care of shit, Bee.”

The way my name rolls off his tongue unexpectedly makes me shiver.

“You’re pouting.”

“Why do you care?”

I shake my head, knowing I’m being a bitch. He’s not i

“I’ll be right back.” I’m the one pouting now as I head to the back office. I hear Maddox sigh and then the creak of the chair at my computer desk. I can’t help but glance over my shoulder. He’s leaned back enough that I can see him down the hall. Quickly I turn away.

The sound of the glass door opening drifts through the shop.

“Can I help you?” Maddox asks. The chair moves and I watch him as he pushes to his feet.

“Hello.”

Everything inside me freezes at the voice. Yep, that’s right. I’m a bitch.

“I’m looking for L—Bee. I’m looking for Bee.”

I close my eyes, feeling myself shrink until I’m about two inches high. Before I open them, I know Maddox is looking down the hall at me. I give a small shake of my head, open my eyes, and plead with them.

“Um… no. She’s not in today. I’m Maddox. I help her out.”

“Oh,” my mother says. “It’s very nice to meet you. I didn’t know Bee had anyone working with her. I have to admit, I’m glad to hear it.”

Smaller. I’m getting smaller and smaller as I stand hidden.

“I’ve always worried about her being alone all day and night in the shop. It’s a scary world out there.” There’s nothing but sincerity in her voice.

“She’s strong. I think people know not to mess with her. I’m here a lot, though. I mean, not that I think it’s my job to protect her or anything,” Maddox backpedals.

“Yes. She is strong, isn’t she?” I can practically see my mom through the walls. Her perfectly styled blond hair. She’s probably wearing some sort of diamond earrings that most likely came from my father. Flowers I bet and a dress. The opposite of me.

Instead of replying to her question, Maddox asks, “Can I tell her who came by?”

He knows. With one look it’s obvious.

“I’m her mom, Katherine. It’s nice to… what did you say your name is again?”

“Maddox.”

I watch him lean forward and know they’re shaking hands.

“I’m passing through on business. I wanted to stop by and see her. I’ve been trying to call, but I can’t get a hold of her. I know it sounds silly to worry…”

Don’t tell him why. Don’t say anything that will make him question my past.

“I know her phone has been acting up. I think she’s pla

And like when I was taken, she’s still not giving up on me.

Mom laughs. “See? Perfectly logical explanation. It’s like a mother to worry. I’m sure yours is the same way.”

There’s no reply from Maddox at that.

“Okay. I guess I better head out, then. Can you tell her I stopped by?” she asks.

Go out there. Go out there and say hi.

“Yeah, I’ll tell her.”

Footsteps. Then the door opens. I exhale, thinking I’m in the clear, when she speaks again. “She’s okay? She’s happy?”

I can see Maddox tense from down the hall. The thoughts that must be going through his head right now scare me.

“She’s good. She’s real good at what she does. I’m honored to learn from her.”

I imagine Mom’s smile—part proud, part confusion.

“Thank you. I hope to see you again sometime, Maddox. Tell her I love her.”

And then she’s gone.

Maddox doesn’t come back to me, and I don’t go to him right away either. I give it time—time for Mom to be gone. As I wait, I feel itchy, my feet wanting to run, my brain already checked out. The only thing left is the guilt eating me alive.

Another little flash of a memory flitters through my head. I’m young; I’m crying. Why am I crying?

“She’s gone,” Maddox calls out.

I grab my sweatshirt off the couch and turn off my thoughts.

“Can you take me for a ride on your bike?”

He doesn’t ask where, which is a good thing since I don’t know. Instead he grabs his keys off the desk. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Sixteen ~Maddox~

When I bought my bike, the first thing I did was get an extra helmet for my sister. If shit went down and I had to pick her up, I wanted to make sure she had something to wear. She’s never ridden the fucking thing once, but if she has to, I want to be prepared. It’s probably one of my shitty ways of trying to make up for the past, for not being there. I don’t usually keep it with me all the time, but for whatever reason, after I drove Bee home the other night in her car, I started keeping the helmet with me.

I’ve never had a woman on my bike with me. That’s not something I do. It’s mine and I like to keep the things that are mine away from other people.

Still, when we step outside, I automatically hand Bee my extra helmet. She slips it on her head, and I ease her hands out of the way to latch it.

Neither of us speak, which is a goddamned blessing because words would ruin it. If we just go through the motions, we can both pretend this isn’t a big deal.