Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

MADISON

With the start of school only a week away, I finally moved back to my apartment. Amanda will be here soon, and to kill time, I’ve retreated to my desk and started sketching.

Biting my lip, I make swift and precise strokes. Just a little more shading in the corner of his jaw, and it will be perfect. The ink glides smoothly over the textured paper, deepening the shadows and defining the contours of his face. I pause and take a slow breath. Using my thumb, I blend some of the ink beneath the cheekbone to create that perfect blend of sharpness and softness.

I hadn’t meant to draw Ryan initially, but my self-consciousness must have realized he needed to be flushed out of my system. But this isn’t working. Staring at each line, each curve, I’m pulled deeper into his memory instead. Those deep gray eyes stare back with that confident smirk I captured too well. I close my eyes and let the memory of his hands fisting in my hair and his sexy guttural groan wash over me.

A shiver crawls up my spine.

I bite my lip harder in frustration. Why him? Why the one person I can’t have?

Leaning back in my chair, I take in my artwork. The light from the desk lamp casts shadows over the workspace, highlighting the darker shades I filled in around his hair. It’s a nice, rich, deep black.

I like using ink for this reason—its permanence. There is no erasing, no second chances. I have to be sure with every stroke. Kind of like how I have to be with how I live my life, no mistakes and always focused.

And one reckless night has me twisted in knots because there’s one problem.

“Yo, Madds, you home?” the problem yells.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” I look at the silhouette staring back at me, and the guilt deepens. Wincing, I rip the paper off the pad, crinkle it into a tiny ball, and toss it in the trash.

I have so many fake friends from high school, but only one true friend with Amanda.

And I screwed the one guy she talks to.

Even though she insists nothing is happening between them, I can’t help but question if that’s true.

I’m a horrible friend. The best thing to do is come clean, but it’s too risky. If my parents ever found out what we did. I close my eyes as shivers race down my spine. I can’t even imagine what would happen. With the lawsuit from Ryan’s dad hanging over us, I was told under no circumstances to have contact with him. My father was concerned more about his reputation than Mr. Sorenson’s injury. The poor man was temporarily paralyzed due to a job my father forced him to do. Maybe forced isn’t quite right, but what else would you call it when you threaten a guy’s career if he didn’t get on the roof he had no business on?

It took intense physical therapy to get him to walk. And he still isn’t walking without assistance.

But Mr. Sorenson had treated me nicely and greeted me with a smile. He even asked about my artwork and told me I would make a great artist. I guess he saw the ink drawing I made for Ryan, the one where he’s wearing his hockey gear and holding the Stanley Cup overhead.

A smile crosses my mouth at the memory. Ryan was speechless when I handed him the sketch, impressed by the intricate details. He said he’d keep it forever for good luck and would always think about me. I wonder if he still has it.

That would be a negative. I’m sure Ryan tossed it the first chance he got. But it was a rather impressive piece, if I say so myself.

But I love creating artwork.

I just wish my parents appreciated what I wanted to do instead of having my life planned out. I want to create, not work as a dentist. Both of my parents work in the medical field. My mom runs a dialysis center, and my father is a leading surgeon. They had plans for me the moment they realized they were pregnant.

I was to carry on the medical tradition and become a pediatrician. Mom had complications during delivery, leaving her unable to bear children. My father inadvertently uses that as leverage. I cave to his will every time he brings up the fact he’ll never have a son.

I shove those thoughts into a corner and head out to greet my friend.

“Oh my goodness, I’ve missed you.” She tosses her arms around me and squeezes. Amanda’s hugs are the best.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“It looks like you’ve been drawing.” She points to my hands, smeared with ink on the side.

“Uh, yeah. Nothing too elaborate.”

“If you drew it, then it’s good.”

Her confidence in me has always been staggering. If only my parents had the same confidence.

“Have you talked to Ryan yet?” I ask.

“Not yet.” She gives me a strange look as my stomach lurches. “Why?”

“I just…” Wondered if he said anything about me. “Thought that you may have, that’s all.”

That’s what I lead with? I’m not subtle at all!

Note to self, be slicker. Good grief, I’m a disaster. But not telling her I was with Ryan feels like a betrayal. I’m ninety-nine-point ninety-nine-percent sure she’d never tell anyone. It’s that point one percent that holds me back. It’d be disastrous if anyone found out I was with Ryan, and it got back to my father.

Nope! Nobody can know. I’ll take her at word that she’s not into Ryan that way.

“Nah, we’ve been busy. I’m sure we’ll grab our annual welcome-back-to-school coffee date.” She shrugs as if it’s not a big deal. “You know how he is.”

I nod, offering a half-hearted smile. Yeah, I know how he is, all right.

The truth is, I haven’t spoken to him since that night either. It’s not like I’m avoiding him or anything. I mean, maybe a little, but it’s more about giving myself some space to think. To figure out what this … whatever it is … means to me.

Maybe I don’t want to know what it means to him.

Yet, I do, don’t I? To him, I must be like the crumpled art piece in the trash bin beside my desk, a tight ball of regret.

“Let me take this to the room first.” Amanda points to her luggage. “I’ll be right back.”

I go to the kitchen to keep myself busy. “Do you want a smoothie?”

“No! If I wanted to drink grass, I would’ve picked some in the field I passed earlier.”

“Ha, ha,” I laugh. No one, and I mean no one, likes my green smoothies. But I don’t understand why. They’re so healthy.

When Amanda returns from placing her suitcase in her bedroom, she finds me cleaning the blender. She grabs a bottle of water and plops down on the couch.

“I can’t believe we don’t have any classes together this semester.”

“Which sucks.” I go to join her. “We always have a class together.”

She tilts her head, eyes narrowed. “Everything okay?”

I shrug, giving her a non-committal hum. The lie is bitter on my tongue, but I let it linger there.

“You sure?” She presses on, but worry creeps into her eyes.

“I’m good, really. Just glad to be here.”

“Oh, I take it summer with your parents didn’t go well?”

“No,” I groan, glad for the shift in thoughts. “I didn’t tell them about wanting to switch majors.”

“Madds, you can’t go through life trying to please your parents.”

“I know, but when I mention my art, Dad shoots it down. Every. Single. Time.” I toss my hands up in the air. “Why did I have to pretend to be a dentist once when I was young? It’s like a curse I can’t shake.”

“What?”

“Oh, I set up this elaborate dentist’s office and pretended to fix people’s teeth. My parents changed how they envisioned my life, and it’s haunted me ever since.”

“But it isn’t what you want to do now.”

“I know, but Dad’s comeback is always the same—art isn’t sustainable.” I mock his voice. “You need to keep true to yourself.” The man is totally clueless. My true self is being a creator. I’m caving under the pressure to perform.

“We argued the night of one of my friend’s party after he looked up my grade point average.”

“Your average is excellent,” she argues.

“But it dropped half a percentage.” That went over awful. “But he brought it up again that I’m his only hope since they can’t have other children, and I caved. As always. Because how can I argue the fact he’ll never have a son?”

“Madds, you can’t live in the shadow of what might have been.” Amanda’s voice is soft, her hand finding mine on the couch. “Your parents’ lost dreams of having other children … they’re not yours to carry.”

I turn my palm up, lacing our fingers together. The weight of her words settles heavily in my chest. She’s right, but pushing back against a lifetime of expectations is hard.

“Easier said than done,” I mumble. “It feels like I’m betraying them, you know?”

Amanda is quiet for a moment, her eyes thoughtful. “You’re not betraying them, Madds. You’re just being true to yourself.”

“And if being true to myself ends up hurting other people?” I ask, my voice trembling. It’s not just about my parents anymore; it’s about Ryan and Amanda and the tangled mess of feelings I can’t quite sort out.

“Well,” Amanda begins slowly, “sometimes we can’t control who we hurt. But we can control how honest we are with them and ourselves.”

I let out a sigh, leaning into Amanda’s shoulder. Her words make sense; they always do. But knowing what to do and actually doing it are two entirely different things.

As if reading my thoughts, she gives my hand a squeeze. “It’s okay to be scared, Madds. Change is scary. But you’re stronger than you think.”

I offer her a small smile, warmed by her words, even as my heart pounds with uncertainty.