Page 17

Chapter

Sixteen

MAD SANTA

Willow

“You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch.” – M

T he warm steam wraps around me like a second skin as I step out of the shower while singing my favorite Christmas song. “ Feliz Navidad. Feliz Navidad. ?Feliz Navidad, próspero a?o y felicidad! ” My voice echoes off the tiled walls as I sing cheerfully.

I grab a towel, rubbing it over my hair and watch the steam swirl around me. As I finish drying off, I glance at the foggy mirror, my reflection barely visible through the mist. I smile, feeling a rush of warmth not just from the shower, but from the memories that flash through me from the day I spent at the Amazon with Madden.

Once I'm completely dry, I grab the pajamas I brought with me to the shower and slip them on before heading out of the room. Looking around, I notice Uncle Cianne is nowhere to be found. He’s most likely down at the bar or the buffet restaurant. He left his gun sitting on the bar, most likely for my protection.

My father, grandfather, and uncles have always kept me safe, but they taught me how to handle knives and guns just in case I ever found myself in a dangerous situation without them. I don't like guns or knives, but I agreed to learn because of Mom.

I love my mother. She’s too good for this world, and I know she would never resort to violence. As much as I hate it, I would do whatever it takes to keep her from harm.

I make my way to the comfy sofa next to the Christmas tree, where my laptop waits, its screen glowing softly. With a content sigh, I sink into the cushions and flip the laptop open, the click of the keys the only sound in the quiet suite.

The first thing I do is type up the notes I took while observing the fungi in the forest today. Each observation brings back the magic and wonder of the day, and I lose myself in the details while trying hard not to get distracted by flashbacks of Madden’s closeness.

My heart flips as I think back of how close he was to my face. I not only felt his hot breath on my skin but his intoxicating scent. He smelled of Old Spice and mahogany. All man… Even after my shower, I can still smell him all over me.

“ Do you believe in magic ?” His question and the vulnerability in his tone melts me.

Of course, I believe in magic. I’ve always believed, but after meeting him as a kid, I knew that magic was real. How could it not be when someone like him exists?

Once I’m done with work, I set the laptop aside and grab my phone. My social media app pops up, and I swipe through my posts, pausing when I see the photos of the cute and colorful ceramic pots I made with Mom. Aside from gardening and baking, Mom and I love to spend Sunday afternoons making and hand painting ceramic pots for our plants to later give to my aunts and cousins.

A smile spreads across my face as I recall those afternoons spent with Mom, brushes in hand, designing pots to fit my aunt Kadra and aunt Arianna’s home aesthetics. Mom crafted a beautiful pot with a moon design for Aunt Arianna in pearl white, while I painted a sleek, black-themed pot for Aunt Kadra, whose style has a modern Addams Family vibe.

I keep scrolling with a smile on my face when a new notification pops up— a new follower. I click on the profile. The username is unfamiliar, but what catches my eye is the fact that they’ve liked every single one of my posts. Every. Single. One.

Curiosity piqued, I scroll through their profile, but there’s not much to see. The account has zero followers, and I’m the only one they follow. That’s strange. Before I can think much about it, a fresh wave of notifications trickles in. I tap on them, wanting to see who’s been interacting with my latest post. The photo of me, drenched in sunlight and surrounded by all the green of the Amazon forest.

I noticed first that my cousin Aza liked the photo, and I can’t help but smile when he comments with three fire emojis and a blue heart. My cousin’s favorite ones.

Ella and Raiza have both commented, their emojis popping up like little bursts of color. Ella’s comment is a series of pink heart emojis and a clapping hands emoji, while Raiza’s is a mix of fire and mushroom emojis.

A few of my other cousins have chimed in too, with heart hands and smiling faces.

I react to every comment with a heart and a kiss emoji and hit send then I put the phone down and think of going to bed. Rising from the sofa, I move towards the balcony to say goodnight to the moon and stars and everyone who is far. I slide open the glass door and step outside, the cool evening breeze greeting me.I squint against the dying light when I see Madden—dressed in all white, like he’s stepped out of a dream—walking toward the beach with a guitar in one hand and his bodyguard not far behind.

A guitar?

Does he play?

With my eyes on him, my mind drifts back to how he looked surrounded by the green and purple light of the fungi. He looked like a fairy prince, even with his usual scowl on his handsome face. Fireflies danced around us, their tiny bodies flickering like stars forming constellations.

In that sweet, and magical moment, as we stood so close, the air between us felt electric, and I could feel the magnetic pull. I remember how Madden’s dark eyes lingered on mine, our breaths syncing, the tension thick. We almost kissed—just a heartbeat away—but we were interrupted by Ethan.

Now, watching him from my balcony, I wonder what he’s thinking. Why is he alone? My heart squeezes painfully in my chest at how lonely he looks even when surrounded by people.

What burdens does your heart carry, sweet grinch?

I take one last look at Madden, the silhouette of his guitar casting long shadows as he walks away. Then, with a soft sigh, I retreat inside, closing the door behind me.

Madden

Magic.

Fucking magic.

That word has been stuck in my mind all evening. For so long the word was meaning king but in a matter of days it became a constant reminder of all I don’t have.

Ironic. I’m a fucking millionaire and a world champion of F1 with so many things at my disposal yet when around Willow I feel like the poorest man.

All the money and fame in the world hasn’t healed my soul and I doubt it ever will and I was okay with that. I could live like a hollowed man if it meant I didn’t have to deal with emotions.

Emotions bring back shit I rather forget.

But that’s just it… lately it’s becoming too fucking hard to forget especially with the silent beauty near.

I should stay away from her and everything she represents— joy, sweetness and love. She’s love.

“Fuck,” I whisper to the lonely night as I step onto the beach, the moonlight shimmering across the waves making it look like diamonds dancing in the water. The sight reminds me of beautiful blue eyes that shine brighter than every damn star in the sky.

The cool sand feels soothing beneath my bare feet, a welcome contrast to the day's warmth. I hate the warm and sunny days. I find comfort in dark and cold nights.

“You’re not going to skinny dip are you, boss? Cause I’m telling you now, I’m flattered but not into that shit.” The pest, Lincoln, shouts while he remains a few steps behind, his presence obnoxious.

“Fuck off,” I grit out as I walk toward the water, the rhythm of the waves a comforting tempo that sooth the chaos in my head.

“I love you too, man. I’ll be here entertaining your lovely fans.” The idiot replies back.

Tuning him out, I focus on the sight before me. The private beach is serene, a sanctuary of quiet and calm away from all the noise and the intrusive eyes.

I prefer it this way. I’ve always preferred the quiet over the noise of crowds yet with her it is different. She’s the only sound I ever want to hear for hours straight and never get tired of it.

I loved listening to her talk just like when we were kids spending nights inside her mother’s greenhouse.

Finding a spot near the water, where the sand is cool and smooth, I sit down, resting my guitar on my knee. Once settled, I touch the strings while looking at the dark ocean that mirrors the night sky.

Is that how my soul would look if it were possible to bare it for eyes to see?

But then I look at the stars twinkling as if dancing in the sky and I’m reminded of her again. Dammit. Why is she always on my mind now?

Magic is everywhere…

She’s wrong. Magic is not everywhere but there is magic in her. Just her.

Beautiful Willow.

What is it about you? Why is it that I can feel nothing when around everyone else but with her I feel every emotion? Good. Bad. Every single one.

While I was walking towards the beach, I felt eyes on me and when I looked up there she was dressed in yellow pajamas with her hair loose and closing in the wind looking down at me from the balcony of her suite.

I saw her even from a distance. I knew it was her.

Then I remembered how she looked while surrounded by the bioluminescent fungi glowing in hues of blue and purple and the fireflies dancing around her like tiny sparks of magic.

If I close my eyes, I can see her. Her wide eyes take in everything with childlike innocence and excitement. So pure and so sweet. So, her.

I can even feel her lips on mine even if we didn’t kiss. Her breath on my skin and her lovely scent. I feel her everywhere.

The image of her beautiful face close to mine lingers in my thoughts as I strum the strings of my guitar. The notes rise and fall, a melancholic melody that mirrors what I feel right now.

Too fucking much.

Sometimes we get so caught up in our pain and fears that we forget how much wonder and magic there is in the world— in us. Magic is everywhere, waiting to be seen, felt, and embraced by you.

I close my eyes for a moment, letting the music flow through me. The gentle breeze carries the sound of the guitar out over the water, mingling with the waves.

I get lost in the melody until the peace I found is shattered by the insistent buzzing of my phone.

Annoyed, I open my eyes and look down at the screen to find a flood of notifications. I should throw the damn thing in the ocean and forget the shit outside my resort.

But I can’t I won’t.

He won’t break me. Not more than he already did. No one ever will.

I scroll through the notifications to see news media and social media platforms overflowing with more bullshit headlines and fabricated stories about Milton’s death.

Each notification is a reminder of the shit that has erupted in the wake of his death. The man was a nobody and yet the media is portraying him like a saint and me a villain only because they can. Only because they need me to be the villain so they can make money off of it.

I’m starting to wonder if what Remi and Perry said it’s true. If it’ll really blow over and the media will find another poor bastard to vilify so they remain relevant.

I clench my jaw, trying to steady my breathing as I swipe through the endless stream headlines. The distorted stories paint a picture of scandal that is far from the reality of what happened. They exploit his suicide for clicks and views, turning my personal life into public spectacle.

Motherfucker.

I hope you’re burning in hell. You abusive piece of shit.

Placing the guitar on the sand, I read through the comments—so many people speculating on shit they have no way of knowing. They construct wild theories and pass judgment from the comfort of their screens as if they knew my brother. They know nothing. They don’t even know me.

I try to act like shit doesn’t bother me and at one point it didn’t but lately the weight of it all is starting to become suffocating, and the lies make my blood boil.

Taking a deep breath, I try to push aside the rising anger. Don’t give in, Madden. They’re no one. Nothing. You’re Madden Hunt.

I need to ignore the useless drama and focus on the things I can control. Just that. Fuck everything and everyone else.

Tired of it all, I silence the notifications, putting the phone aside. Just as quick the buzz of the media frenzy is forgotten and replaced by the calming sound of the ocean reminding me of what truly matters.

And the media doesn’t matter.

The fake fans don’t matter.

Milton doesn’t matter.

Thought even in death the motherfucker is fucking with me.

I pull out from my pants pocket the bottle of whiskey I brought along. The amber liquid swirls as I take a deep, and long pull.

The warmth of the alcohol spreads through me, dulling the edges of my anger and frustration. As the drink takes effect, my thoughts drift away from my bastard brother and the trash headlines. Instead, her image comes to the forefront of my mind —her blue eyes, so expressive and full of light, and the way her soft, melodious voice seemed to quiet the noise in my head.

Her sweet and soft voice washes over me and I still hear her laughing as her eyes shone so brightly while she followed the path of glowing mushrooms.

The almost kiss flashes through my mind and the way she looked up at me as if she felt the same magnetic pull I did and as if she wanted me to kiss her lips.

Shit, how I wanted to taste her lips but that fucker appeared and ruined the moment. But maybe it was for the best. A man like me has no business tasting the lips of someone so sweet and so kind.

Picking up the guitar again, I rest it on my knee, the music fading into the background as I take another sip of the bottle.

I was being truthful when I told her I wanted to believe in magic. I wanted to feel something else aside from anger and hate.

I wanted to feel… her.