Page 10 of Mad for Madison (The Boys of Hudson Burrow #4)

CHAPTER 9

All Mine

Madison

I often wondered what the life I deserved was. If we were simply given what we deserved, did it look exactly like what we already had? “Son, the point of life is to die at the end,” my once-upon-a-time father had told me once. It had been an excuse to carpe diem the fuck out of his existence by drinking every day and fancying himself a philosopher. That I had asked for a Happy Meal made no difference to him because he’d wanted to teach me a lesson about getting the things we wanted.

No wonder my imagination had constantly failed to conjure a future with something like happiness in it.

Few things made me happy anyway. The money in my bank account didn’t—it only made me feel less dread. Painting didn’t exactly make me happy—it only slowed my heartbeat and my spinning mind. I didn’t have friends who made me happy. Not that I didn’t like Tris, Rome, Lane, and Oakley. I liked them a great deal, but I had never let them in. It had never been their failure that we weren’t friends. Only mine.

I never let anyone in.

I gave up my body gladly as a price for my safety. To be seen naked and in the act of most intimate and vulnerable passion—even if my expressions and moans were mostly fake—was to have no secrets at all. It was to have nothing private left to me. But that was a price too high to pay. So I walled off my heart, my hopes, my happiness, and I stored it someplace deep and dark where only I knew it existed. Until the day I forgot.

The brush barely touched the canvas. The lightest moves did it. It was a finished piece and the one I was proud of. Naked, beautiful, melancholic, tranquil. Bradley was all those things and more. There, on my canvas, he was like Caravaggio’s wet dream with perfect proportions, a healthy body, spotless skin, and tender expressions.

It had taken ten nights to do it. Some nights, I simply wanted to throw the thing away and start over. On other nights, nothing could stop me. Like when several neighborhoods lost power, and I worked by the lights of the candle.

The painting was complete. Looking at it, I realized that I really had forgotten when I’d put my heart and hopes. I had forgotten that I had done it at all until Bradley showed me.

He was the reason I caught myself smiling at nothing. He was the reason I spent my time in my little studio instead of meeting with producers. He was the reason I woke up every morning with ideas of the future, not the fears that the past would catch up with me.

I didn’t feel like I was running away from the threat of disaster, poverty, and sadness. I felt like I was running toward something instead.

I washed my hands and fixed my hair after changing my clothes. Low-simmering anxiety hadn’t left me alone all day. I had been nervous to meet Lily, but it had worked out great. I hadn’t been nervous at all to walk through a crowd of adult film stars and directors, donors and fans, knowing that every single one of them had seen what my face looked like at the height of my orgasm. Yet tonight, I was dreading it. I was dreading walking into Neon Nights, where Bradley worked, where my roommates got together, and where strangers might recognize me. Most of all, I was dreading taking Bradley’s hand in mine and kissing it for everyone to see if they cared.

“I don’t want us to hide,” he had told me. He’d assured me that he wasn’t in a hurry, but he couldn’t pretend forever. “You make me too damn happy to keep it all for myself,” he’d told me after I had taken him to an underground cabaret that brought old Berlin back to life.

What are they going to say behind your back? I wanted to ask him. What will they think about you dating a porn actor? Because I could live with people’s split opinions just fine. I knew that every person who praised me for my talent also pitied me for having to make porn to make a living. I didn’t care. I knew where I would tell them to put that pity.

But Bradley wasn’t ready for such exposure. Even if I had been avoiding Jett’s phone calls for the last two weeks, I carried the mark of my career everywhere I went. It was a stain, a taint I didn’t mind on myself when I was alone, but one I detested spreading on those I cared about.

I balled my fists, took a deep breath of air, and walked out of my little heaven.

Neon Nights was lively on Saturdays. When I entered it, the crowd was thick, and the music was low. It was early for the dancing and the big acts. People mingled in small groups and large. Behind the bar, the sexiest man alive. I watched him shake the cocktail he was making, tossing the shaker from one hand to the other, flipping it, turning it this way and that, and chatting in that flirtatious way of his with two girls and two guys at the bar. A little further away, familiar faces lined the bar. Tristan and Cedric wore casual clothes for a night out, so neither one was on duty; Roman and Everett were debating something fiercely; Luke and Rafael looked at each other seductively as if they hadn’t been married for half a year and dating for a decade—I wasn’t sure it counted as a decade or as a week, but they’d been colliding across the world since they were eighteen. Even Zain was there with the Baron of Manhattan, Dominic Blackthorne. To my greatest surprise of all, Lane and Oakley were there, standing next to one another with their heads still on their shoulders.

I wondered how many rounds it would be before they ripped them off.

Roman was the first to spot me. He lifted an eyebrow and waved me over. “It’s like sighting a dodo bird,” he told Everett just as I neared the group. My gaze lingered on Bradley, who looked up at me and grinned, his cheeks unmistakably reddening.

“How are you boys?” I asked after winking at Bradley and turning my attention back to Roman.

Roman cocked his head and looked at me as if to make sure I was real. “You know, there are prophecies written about this. ‘And he shall come uninvited, undragged by his peers. And he shall have a drink with friends. And it shall be good.’”

Everett, who had once been a devout Catholic until the mental abuse of it had split his family apart and brought him to the brink of implosion, threw his head back and laughed out loud. He was a big, handsome guy, and seeing him laughing always surprised me. I had seen him before his relationship with Roman had begun, often standing near the door of Neon Nights as if ready to run away if spotted, and I had seen him brooding in his loneliness. This happy Everett was the polar opposite.

Was that what I looked like to the more observant among them?

“Am I really that absent?” I asked.

Tristan spun on his bar stool and supplied the answer. “Yes. But we love you anyway.”

I was lucky that Cedric found Tristan’s comment cute enough to give him a kiss so that nobody’s attention remained on me. Did they love me? They couldn’t. They barely knew me. I’d kept myself distant from them for so long that they couldn’t have seen anything to love in me.

Bradley drew my attention, although it was Roman he was trying to reach. “Would you mind? Just for a minute.” And Roman hopped onto his feet and picked up an apron, swapping places with Bradley without hesitation.

Everett rubbed his hands greedily and announced he was in the mood for the most complicated, most frustrating, and hardest cocktail to make they had on the menu, and Roman threw his hands up in defeat, saying he needed to go back to see if they had any fresh saffron left. Everett’s mischief caused enough uproar at the bar that Bradley and I managed to sneak away from them almost unnoticed.

“Missed you,” I said.

Bradley kept his smile away as much as he could, but those words always made his eyes glimmer.

I cocked a side of my mouth, unable to resist it. “How was your day?”

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Bradley said.

My heart leaped. “Same. I finished it. The painting.”

“Can I see?” Bradley asked, his face lighting up.

“Shit,” I said. “I didn’t take a photo.”

“I guess I’ll just have to swing by after the party,” he said teasingly.

“Swing by? I was hoping you’d come and stay.” My arm found its way around his waist, and I pulled him closer. He didn’t resist. We hadn’t planned to make a formal announcement to the crowd at the bar. We would simply stop pretending and then answer all the questions they had.

My nerves were still restless. I kissed Bradley and heard a distinct sound of a wolf whistle. I’d heard them before, although not like this. These cheered us on, I thought.

Bradley leaned in closer, his lips brushing my ear as he murmured, “You’re making me feel like the luckiest guy in the room.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, one I hoped he couldn’t feel. But if he could, he didn’t call me out on it. Instead, he just looked at me like I’d hung the moon, and for a second, I almost believed it.

I chuckled, shaking my head. “You’re a terrible liar. Half the people here are more interesting than me.”

“None of them painted me naked by candlelight,” he countered, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

That pulled a laugh out of me, one of those real ones that sneak up on you. “Fair point,” I said, grinning. “Although I think I might’ve gotten the better end of that deal.”

His cheeks flushed, but he didn’t look away. Bradley had this way of holding my gaze that made me feel like there was no one else in the world who mattered. Like there wasn’t a whole room of people around us who might be judging him for being with me, who might be wondering how someone like him ended up with someone like me.

But Bradley didn’t care. Not in that moment.

The cheers and wolf whistles from behind us finally registered, and I realized how quiet the bar had gone. When I glanced back, half our friends were grinning like fools, and the other half were looking at Bradley and me like they’d just discovered a new favorite soap opera.

“Way to be subtle,” Tristan called out, raising his glass in a mock toast.

“Subtlety’s overrated,” I shot back, earning a laugh from the group.

Bradley’s fingers laced through mine, his hand warm and steady. I squeezed his fingers, suddenly aware of how much I’d been holding my breath.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice so soft it barely reached me over the noise.

“Yeah,” I said, realizing it wasn’t just a reflex. I meant it. I was okay.

Better than okay.

His smile widened, and he tugged me closer, his free hand brushing against my hip. I didn’t think, didn’t second-guess, just let him lead me back toward the bar where our friends waited with teasing smirks and exaggerated applause.

“Drinks on Madison tonight?” Roman asked, raising an eyebrow.

I groaned. “Only if you’re fine with tap water and regret.”

The group erupted in laughter, and for once, I didn’t feel like the odd man out. I didn’t feel like the guy who didn’t belong.

I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Bradley

I had spent so long hoping to find a rhythm in my life, but what happened was the opposite. The rhythm had found me. Things fell into place in a way I had never expected. My time no longer ran away from me. My hours no longer drained like grains of sand in a glass clock.

I worked. I took care of my little girl. I helped Gran. And I saw Madison. These four pillars of my life existed in a balance that was impossible to explain or describe. The only thing I knew for sure was that they provided the basis for what I called my life.

“Lily won’t stop talking about you,” I told Madison after he had planned a Sunday for the three of us, visiting an observatory at the end of it and having the luck of a clear sky to see the stars. Lily had a new obsession. “She told Gran everything about you.”

Madison laughed. “Really?”

I nodded. Lily could recite the conversations she had with Madison pretty faithfully. It was uncanny. “Gran wants to meet you.”

“Does she know?” Madison asked conversationally.

I shook my head. We were in his studio, where Madison spent all his free hours these days. It was warm and cozy and full of new works. “I’m inspired,” he’d told me last week. The painting of me had opened something in him that he hadn’t thought was there anymore, apparently, and he shed the influences of old masters in order to find his own way.

The painting of me was prominent on the bare brick wall above the futon, visible from the entrance and every other angle of the studio. It was expressively painted but held on to a note of realism that was threaded through all his works. It was bold, precise, and more than a little flattering.

“She’d like to meet you,” I said. The dusk glow faded away outside, giving in to the night. The winter was still deep and cold, but days were starting to stretch a little longer, and I looked forward to March in a few short weeks. “Actually, she’s hoping to cook us all something.”

“Grandmas are awesome,” Madison said, his arm around my shoulders. The couch we sat on was old and worn, springs poking my ass uncomfortably, but Madison’s arm around me made everything else so unimportant. Nothing could ruin this. “You don’t have to tell her.”

“Huh?”

“Your gran,” he said. “You don’t have to tell her who I am. It’s not like she’ll stumble on it.”

I cringed. “That’d be awkward.”

Madison laughed, the low rumble spreading, vibrating into me.

“It’ll come up eventually,” I said. “She’ll want to know what you do.”

“Well, that’s just it,” Madison said. “It’s been almost two months since I shot my last scene. Jett calls, but he stopped asking. I think he expects me to tell him when I’m ready to go back to business as usual. I’ll have to tell him.”

“Tell him what?” I asked.

“Bradley,” Madison said quietly, as if shaking me awake. “I don’t want to make porn anymore.”

I looked up at him.

“Did you really think I would continue?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I didn’t really think about it.”

Madison’s arm tightened around me, grounding me in the moment. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, something vulnerable. “I don’t want to be doing something that makes you hesitate, even in the smallest way,” Madison said. I opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head. “Don’t deny it. I see the way your face changes sometimes, like you’re trying to convince yourself it doesn’t matter.”

That hit harder than I wanted to admit. It wasn’t that I thought less of him for his career—it was just…complicated. And maybe I hadn’t been as good at hiding that as I thought.

“It’s not about me,” I said quietly. “It’s about what makes you happy. If painting does that, or whatever else, then great. But don’t make decisions because you think it’s what I want.”

Madison leaned his head back against the worn couch, staring at the ceiling. The warm light from a single lamp cast shadows on his face, softening the sharp edges that made him look more guarded than he was with me.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he admitted. “Long before we met. I just didn’t know how to stop. Or if I even could. It pays ridiculously well, and I had so little to lose that I…well, that I just went on with it.”

“And now?” I asked, my voice steady.

“Now I want more,” he said, looking at me. His expression was open, unguarded, the way it was when he painted. “I want a life that feels like it’s mine, not something I’m borrowing for a paycheck or pretending to enjoy because it’s expected of me.”

The words hit me harder than I expected. I didn’t know what to say at first, so I just nodded.

Madison smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn’t fully reach his eyes but tried. “I know it’s not going to be easy. People will still see me as the guy from the videos. Even if I’m not doing it anymore.”

“I don’t,” I said, my voice firmer than I intended. “You know that, right?”

His gaze softened. “Yeah. I know.”

I reached out and took his hand, threading my fingers through his. “You’re more than that. Way more. And if painting’s what you want to focus on, then do it. But you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Not me, not Gran, not anyone.”

Madison exhaled, his shoulders relaxing a little. “It’s not about proving anything. It’s about…finally figuring out what I want. And I think I’m starting to get it.”

His thumb brushed over the back of my hand, and I let myself lean into the moment.

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” I said. “No rush. No pressure. Just…one step at a time.”

Madison looked at me like I’d said something profound. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to mine, his voice barely a whisper.

“Thank you.”

I didn’t say anything. I just held on to his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I invited Austin and Luca over to see some of my new work,” Madison said.

“That sounds great,” I said. “Luca probably knows people who would gladly give you a shot if only you let them see your works.”

Madison scoffed lovingly. I was used to that sound by now. He didn’t take compliments easily. “Step by step,” he said.

“I mean it,” I insisted. “You have to start letting people in, Madison. They’ll surprise you.”

“You never lose hope,” Madison said as if wondering how that could be.

I shook my head. “Never.” I could read the question in his eyes. “I hoped for this,” I said before he needed to ask. “And here you are.”

The smile that touched his lips was happy and sad simultaneously.

The words hung between us, fragile and weighty all at once. Madison’s fingers tightened around mine, and for a long moment, neither of us spoke. Outside, the city hummed faintly, the distant sound of tires on wet pavement threading through the quiet studio.

Madison finally let out a soft laugh, a huff of breath that was almost self-conscious. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of miracle.”

“You are,” I said, not bothering to sugarcoat it.

He shook his head, his free hand running through his hair. “I don’t know if I’ll ever believe that.”

“You don’t have to believe it,” I replied. “I’ll believe it enough for both of us.”

His gaze softened, a flicker of emotion crossing his face before he looked away. “You’ve no idea what you’re doing to me,” he said.

“What am I doing to you?” I asked, entertained and a little turned on. The things I did to him…

“You’re making me nice. Hopeful, even,” he said. His eyes drifted to the painting of me on the wall—the one he’d poured weeks into, agonizing over every brushstroke. “I see you like this,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but steady.

“Like what?”

“Like that,” Madison said, nodding toward the painting. “Strong, steady, yet never sure of yourself. But also open. Believing in people.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Words felt inadequate, so I let the moment stretch between us, unbroken and whole.

“You scare me sometimes,” Madison admitted, breaking the silence.

“Scare you?” I asked, surprised.

He nodded. “Not in a bad way. Just…the way you make me want to try to do better. It’s terrifying to want something that much. I spent my life expecting way less than this.”

I reached up, brushing his hair away from his face. His eyes closed briefly at the touch, and when he opened them again, I could see the vulnerability he rarely let surface.

“You don’t have to do it all at once,” I said softly. “You don’t have to have everything figured out. I’m here, Madison. We’ll figure it out together.”

Madison’s lips curved into a faint smile, the kind that made my chest ache in the best way. “How do you always know what to say?”

“Because I know you,” I said simply. “And because I’ve been where you are. Maybe not the same way, but close enough to understand.” I’d been lost at the sea, too. I’d lived without ever expecting to be loved.

He exhaled, his breath shuddering just slightly. “You’re too good to me.”

“Someone’s gotta be,” I teased gently, trying to lighten the mood.

Madison chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s not how it works,” I said, shifting so I could face him fully. “We don’t get what we ‘deserve.’ We get what we fight for.”

His eyes searched mine, something unspoken passing between us. He leaned forward, his forehead resting against mine again.

For a moment, we just sat there, the studio quiet except for the faint hum of the world outside. The warmth of his body pressed against mine was all I needed, his hand still clasped in mine like it never belonged anywhere else.

“You’re right, you know,” Madison said after a while, his voice breaking the silence.

“About what?”

“About letting people in. It’s hard, but…I should do it.”

I smiled faintly. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me now.”

Madison’s laughter was soft, but it filled the space like sunlight. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He shifted, pulling me closer until I was half leaning against him, my head resting on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around me, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt utterly and completely at peace.

The bell rang loudly in the apartment, startling me. But when I looked at Madison, he grinned. “That’ll be them.”

I felt giddy for a brief moment. I’d been face-to-face with foreign royals, furious land owners, formidable drag queens, and a grouchy billionaire, all in the last five or six months, but Luca DiMarco still managed to make me feel nervous.

Madison buzzed them in, and I was thankful to see Austin James with Luca. They were together, of course, but Austin had been an escort before his life as the champion of sex workers’ protections, and I felt much more comfortable around him than only his man. For one thing, the only crime Austin was guilty of was a harmless one. Luca, on the other hand, was a mystery to me.

When the footsteps sounded through the open door where Madison stood nervously, I crossed the studio and put my arms around him to steady him a little. He was okay. He’d never invited anyone here. Only me. This was a big deal, I wasn’t fooling myself, so I moved aside but kept holding his hand.

The footsteps were many, in fact, and there were four people filing into the studio instead of two.

Austin wore a big, hearty smile you couldn’t help but like. Behind him, coolly composed and spotlessly perfect, Luca followed. The next person who entered the studio was a young, innocent-looking guy with golden-blond hair arching above his face and a taper fade on the sides. He had impossibly green eyes and a dimpled smile. The man whose arm was around the younger one’s shoulders was a dark-haired, bronze-skinned guy in his thirties. Once they took off their coats, I noticed tattoos covering their arms, snaking up under the rolled sleeves of their shirts.

“I hope you don’t mind me bringing a couple of friends,” Luca said after a round of greetings. “I’m sure you know Levi Bartlet.”

“Only by name and works,” Madison said. He had told me about Levi, a well-established New York artist whose career really took off, thanks to Luca’s interest. “And you must be Parrish, then,” Madison said just as I made the connection too. Parrish, Austin’s old friend and Levi’s partner. Austin had been Levi’s model on many occasions, which put him on Luca’s radar. Now, Levi’s works adorned the DiMarco Gallery in SoHo. “Honestly, it’s such a pleasure to have you all here.”

I showed them all in so that Madison could collect himself. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other constantly. And as the crowd made themselves comfortable on chairs and the couch, I pulled Madison aside and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’re going to do great.”

“You really think so?” he asked.

I chuckled. I had total faith in Madison’s talent and his skill. “Absolutely,” I said, my voice steady and reassuring. “And if you don’t, I’ll just have to distract everyone with cocktails.”

Madison smiled, though his fingers still fidgeted with the hem of his sweater. “Okay. But if I start rambling, stop me.”

I gave him a quick kiss. “You’ll be fine.”

I turned my attention to the group settling in the studio. Levi and Parrish were flipping through one of Madison’s portfolios, Luca leaned casually against the couch, and Austin was already halfway through a warm conversation with Madison about the studio’s layout.

“Cocktails, anyone?” I asked, clapping my hands together. “I can whip something up with whatever’s hiding in the kitchen.”

Austin perked up immediately. “Absolutely. Surprise us.”

“Dangerous request,” I teased, heading toward Madison’s kitchenette. I rummaged through the cupboards, finding some mismatched glasses, a bottle of vodka, a half-empty gin, and a small assortment of mixers. “Looks like we’re working with the classics tonight.”

As I prepped, their voices floated through the space. Levi was marveling at one of Madison’s works. “The energy in this piece is incredible. It’s like the subject’s alive.”

“It’s Bradley,” Madison said softly, almost shyly.

“Oh?” Levi said, turning to look at me with a knowing smile. “A muse in the room. That explains a lot.”

“Don’t give him a big head,” Madison muttered, but the warmth in his voice was undeniable.

“I’m right here, you know,” I called over my shoulder. “And I don’t need a big head. I’ve already got charm.”

“Charm and vodka,” Luca quipped, raising an eyebrow as he watched me slice a lemon. “That’s a dangerous combination.”

“Better than charm and no vodka,” I shot back, earning a ripple of laughter.

The ease in the room was contagious, and even Madison seemed to relax as the conversation turned light. Parrish leaned back, his arm draped casually over Levi’s shoulders. “Madison, your work is stunning. I mean, we didn’t know what to expect, but this… It’s raw and powerful.”

Madison’s cheeks flushed a little, but he nodded. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Levi said with a grin. “Parrish is the world’s toughest critic. If he says it’s good, it’s really good. He once called my first draft of a book cover ‘a tragedy in four colors.’”

Parrish shrugged, unbothered. “It was.”

The room erupted in laughter, and I shook my head as I finished garnishing the drinks. “Alright, enough roasting each other. Drinks are up.”

I handed out the glasses, getting nods of approval as each person sipped. Luca raised his glass in a small toast. “To Madison’s talent.”

“Hear, hear,” Austin said, clinking glasses with him.

Madison glanced at me, his expression softer than I’d seen all night. “Thanks for this,” he murmured.

“Anytime,” I replied.

Madison’s hand brushed mine briefly, a silent acknowledgment of what had just happened. There was a future for Madison in this world, even if he’d spent all this time thinking he would never be good enough. Then he turned back to the group, his voice steady as he began to talk about the inspiration behind his latest works. The nervousness that had been there earlier was gone, replaced by something much more powerful—confidence.

This was Madison’s moment, and he was finally letting himself shine.