It’s hard to truly know. Col’s arrogance seems to feed on Demi’s fight, so I could be wrong. If she had fought, Col might have pushed back just as firmly. I refuse to consider what the outcome of that tussle could have been. It guts me hearing stories of Demi’s teenage years. I don’t want to throw a heap of ‘what ifs’ into the mix.
After pulling down a very familiar street, I stray my eyes to Demi. “If Landon becomes too much, let me know. I’ll pull him into line.” Even in the dark, I notice how dilated her eyes become when I add, “Or perhaps you can with the pocketknife you snuck into your bra during supper.”
9
Demi
Idrift my eyes to Maddox when he says, “Don’t be nervous.”
He can say that because he’s returning to the land of the living after taking a ‘breather’ for four days.
I’m resurrecting from the dead.
That isn’t the cause of my panic, though. It’s striving to work out how the Walshs will react when they discover Maddox’s disappearance is my fault.
I love the Walshs. I’ve strived to emulate their family dynamic for years in everything I do, but I don’t see them being overly obliging about me intruding on their reunion.
I’m an outsider.
An outcast.
Even more so now since Sloane has decided to study abroad for the last two years of her studies. I understand where her decision stems from, I just wish it could have beenwhollyher choice. No one should be scared out of their home. My family home was bland and uninviting, but if I had the choice, I would have stayed there for a lifetime.
Forever on alert when it comes to my teetering emotions, Maddox curls his hand around mine before giving it a gentle squeeze. “You ready?”
I peer at him, smiling when I notice his eyes. Although swollen and bruised from Dimitri’s beat down, they don’t have the slightest bit of green to them. This is his home, and he’s ecstatic I am here with him. The knowledge settles my nerves in an instant.
“I’m ready,” I reply with a brisk nod.
With his spare hand, he drags his index finger down my nose before he lowers the handle on the front door of his childhood home. It’s almost midnight, however, the late hour doesn’t detract from the familiar sound of a police radio booming into my ears when we enter the elaborate foyer. Just the entrance of the Walsh family residence is bigger than the living room of my childhood home. It’s decorated as if Mrs. Walsh is an interior designer, not an architect for a massive firm that does everything from skyscrapers in New York to environmental landscapes in the Bahamas.
“We’re doing everything we can, Mrs. Walsh, but you must understand, Maddox’s text has officers apprehensive that this is a missing person case,” cautions a female voice that’s laced with apprehension. Her tone alone advises she doesn’t believe Maddox will return anytime soon, and I’m not the only one who notices.
“His bank accounts haven’t been touched in days. His motorbike was last seen in a region of the state no one in our family has heard about. My boy wouldn’t just up and vanish like this.”
Mr. Walsh’s crackling voice breaks my heart. He is the reason the Walsh brethren is so protective of those they love. He is the commander of their realm. He doesn’t rule with cruel, undermining tactics like my tyrant of an uncle does, though. He nurtures his children when needed and wallops them up the back of the head when they step out of line.
“He’s hurting, which means he needs his family more than anything.”
Hearing the fret in his father’s voice as readily as me, Maddox coughs, wordlessly announcing our arrival. His father spins around so quickly, I grow worried he’ll think I’m an illusion. There’s no way he isn’t dizzy.
“Maddox,” his mother mutters on a sob before she leaps up from her chair and races across the room.
Even with it being the weekend, every member of Maddox’s immediate family is in the living room—his parents, brothers, and sister. Even a handful of his aunts I haven’t seen in over a decade have their backsides planted in a chair.
They spill to our side of the room one by one, their joy about Maddox’s return too strong to be dampened by a heap of questions neither Maddox nor I are willing to answer just yet.
They cuddle Maddox, noogie his head, cry into his neck, then move onto me to do the same. My hair doesn’t get messed by their hands, though. They cradle my jaw while endeavoring to wipe away tears that shouldn’t be falling. There are no bullies in this room. I just struggle to understand that sometimes it’s okay to cry. Not all tears are sad ones. Tonight’s are most certainly not.
The room falls into silence when the two people left in the living room remain on their side, guarded by silence. The African American police officer’s apprehension is understandable. To her, Maddox’s ‘disappearance’ was a waste of police resources. He’s a hothead who exploited her time because he wasn’t ‘feeling it,’ but Landon’s withdrawn composure is unexpected. Not for me—it’s clear I’ll never be in his good books—but for Maddox. They left things on bad terms the last time they spoke, but he wouldn’t be here if he weren’t worried about Maddox. Shouldn’t that speak for something?
I smile in gratitude when the officer breaks the intense standoff first. She doesn’t race for Maddox like the rest of the Walsh clan did. She apprehensively makes her way to me, her eyes puzzled and brimming with panic. “You’re…ah. You are—”
“Demi Petretti,” I introduce when she struggles to speak through the fear clutching her throat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I thrust out my hand, aware I tarnished our greeting by using my full name, but I’m at a point in my life where I need to stop being ashamed of who I am.
My family name is dirty.
I am not.
