Page 23

Chapter

Twenty-Two

A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE

Madden

Past

“The ugliest time of the year.” – M

I sit at the small kitchen table, my stomach twisted in knots. It’s been forever since I ate—maybe since yesterday morning when I had a bowl of stale cereal? The air in our small apartment is thick with the smell of something burnt from last night, and I can’t stop thinking about how hungry I am. My cold fingers trace the purple bruises on my arms from the last time I asked for food, and a heaviness settles in my chest. The excruciating pain from yesterday’s beating is still fresh and I still have dry blood on my busted lip.

Looking around the room, I try to distract myself from the pain in my belly. Dad’s slumped on the ratty couch, looking worn out from his extra shift at the factory. In a couple hours, he’ll have to drag himself up to get to his second job at a meat deli. But no matter how many shifts he works, we never make ends meet.

Maybe it’s because Dad blows half his paycheck on booze and card games.

After life shattered his spirit, the man gave up on everything— even his own sons.

The door creaks open, and my brother, Milton, storms in, his dark brow furrowed like always. He’s got a beer in one hand, exhaustion in his eyes, and I can almost feel the anger radiating off him. He glances at me, his eyes narrowing like I’m something dirty on his shoe. I shrink back in my chair, wishing I could disappear so it doesn't hurt this much.

“Don’t make fucking noise, or else,” he snaps, marching toward his room without a second glance, leaving me alone with the weight of his threat.

I know that look. It’s a look that promises ugly words and a whole lot of pain.

Because to Milton, I’m the reason everything’s gone wrong. I’m the reason he had to drop out of school and get a job to help Dad.

He’s a high school dropout who works at the corner store with no future and a drinking problem—everything Dad never wanted for his firstborn son.

And Milton blames me for Mom leaving us.

I blame myself too.

I stare at the peeling of the dirty wall, the peach-colored paint crumbling like the remnants of my father’s broken dreams. I want to cry, but the tears won’t come—maybe because I’m just too tired, or maybe because I’ve cried all the tears I have left. All I can think about is the rumble in my belly, and how I wish I could disappear to somewhere where there was no pain. I just want to disappear. I want the world to forget I exist.

When the pain in my stomach becomes unbearable, I quietly slip out of the apartment, in search of something that can ease the pain.

The cold winter air bites at my skin as I step outside, the chill seeping through my thin green shirt, making me shiver. My stomach feels like it’s eating itself, gnawing from the inside out, reminding me of my misery. The hallway smells musty, but I don’t care. The only thing I care about is getting away from this emptiness inside that no one and nothing in this shit world can fill.

I push the door open and step into the cold winter night. Snowflakes fall around me like tiny beacons of hope, and for a second, I almost forget how much everything hurts. Almost.

The world is quiet except for the soft crunch of snow under my dirty and old boots. I head toward the lonely back alley, where I know the trash cans wait with someone else's leftovers. As I walk, I take in the twinkling Christmas lights in the distance, colorful and bright against the dark sky. They make the night feel magical, even if my heart feels anything but.

I hear the soft hum of chorus Christmas carols floating through the cold air, cheerful and bright, a total contrast to how I feel inside. I stop, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to imagine what it would be like to have a real Christmas. A tree. Presents. A hot meal. A family that actually cares.

I open my eyes and look up at the stars peeking through the clouds, wondering how they can shine so bright in the dark sky. Are they even real, or if they’re just another thing I’ll never touch? I feel so small, so insignificant, like I’m nothing and no one.

“Please,” I whisper to the stars, my voice barely a breath. “Make the pain stop. Please, I just want to be happy.”

I wish for food, for warmth, for something that feels like hope. But all I have is the cold, biting air and empty ache in my belly, gnawing at me like an ugly monster that can’t be stopped. The distant glow of the Christmas lights is the only thing that feels, but even they can’t fill the hole inside me.

But my wish didn’t come true and I knew only hunger, pain and anger until one fateful day… the day my life changed when I laid eyes on her.

Because I didn’t know it then, but my happiness had a name.

Willow.

Willow

I lean against the balcony railing, the ocean’s breeze wrapping around me like a soft blanket. The stars glitter above, each one a tiny reminder of how endless the universe feels.

My mother’s sweet and gentle voice crackles through the video call, her face glowing warmly on the screen. “And how’s the research going, Angel Girl?” she asks, her tone bright and cheerful, filled with that same excitement she’s always had for everything I do, no matter how small.

“It’s going awesome, Mom. I have so many samples to study. I can’t wait to show you and dad what we’ve been working on.” I reply, keeping my gaze on the sea in the distance.

Suddenly, movement catches my eye. I look down, and there he is—Madden. He strides through the resort’s garden below, the crowd parting for him like he’s royalty. He moves with such effortless swagger and confidence, the way a Formula 1 champion walks— head high, shoulders squared— but there’s something about him tonight that feels… lost.

I can’t look away.

Whispers ripple through the guests, and I can almost hear the collective intake of breath as they watch him pass in awe. Some take photos and some just stop and stare.

Ignoring the guests, I keep my eyes solely on him. On one hand, Madden cradles a guitar, the other gripping a bottle of something amber— whiskey, maybe. My heart skips. Where is his bodyguard? Shouldn’t he have someone watching his back?

“Mom, hold on a second,” I say as I turn my focus back to Madden. He pauses for a moment, tilting his head up toward the sky, and I catch a glimpse of something in his eyes— a kind of hollow emptiness I can’t place. For a moment, I’m caught in his spell.

What’s wrong, sweet man?

“Is everything okay?” my mother’s voice pulls me back, sounding concerned.

I blink, disoriented, realizing I let my mother on hold. I glance back at Madden, who’s disappearing into the shadows of the garden.

“Yeah, just... something caught my eye,” I mutter, my eyes glued to Madden until I lose sight of him.

“Are you sure? You sound distracted,” she presses.

Where is he going? And why is he drinking?

My stomach tightens. Something isn’t right.

“I’ll call you back, Mom. I love you,” I say, my voice trembling slightly, as I end the call. The second the call ends, I set my phone down, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest. I look out the garden, but he’s gone. He was just there. I can’t shake the urge to follow him to make sure he’s okay. Is he?

Without thinking, my feet move before my mind can stop them. I push away from the railing, step out of my suite, and slip into the quiet night air. The night feels heavier now, colder. I make my way down the path that leads to the garden, the soft glow of the Christmas lights and the stars above guiding me.

As I near the garden entrance, I see a flicker of movement—a shadow beneath the palm trees. My breath catches in my throat. I bite my lip, feeling nervous not wanting to bother him but the need to make sure Madden is okay is stronger.

I step into the garden, the scent of night-blooming flowers envelopes me, their fragrance both sweet and comforting. My eyes scan the area, searching for him, and I spot him leaning against a palm tree, strumming a few gentle chords on his guitar. The soft notes float through the air, and I can’t help but stand back and watch him.

My heart races as I watch him, the way his thick and tattooed fingers dance over the strings, completely lost in his music. The world around me fades, leaving just him and the stars.

What is he doing out here, alone?

My heart stutters in my chest as I watch him. I can’t help but notice the sadness etched on his face as he plays. There’s so much sadness in his eyes, a deep loneliness that wasn't there this morning.

Crack.

I feel my heart breaking for him.

The moonlight shines down on him, allowing me to see him clearer as I get closer. He’s wearing a snug white tee, the fabric hugging his muscular frame, teaching every line and curve of his large body. The tattoos on his arms catch the light, swirling black designs that seem to tell his story. I trace the lines in my mind, imagining the tales behind each inked mark, each one a symbol of something he’s been through.

His black sweatpants hang low on his hips, casual yet effortlessly stylish, and the high-end slides he wears add an air luxury. Even in a casual outfit, he exudes the same larger than live energy he does when he’s wearing his all black suits.

I whisper to myself, “Who hurt you, sweet man?” My chest aches as I watch him.

As if sensing me, Madden pauses, his fingers stilled on the strings, the notes flowing in the air, like a question left unanswered. For a long moment, the space between us feels thick, almost electric.

His gaze finally meets mine. His eyes, dark and distant, flicker with a sadness that steals my breath. I rub my chest, willing the pain to go away but it is useless. He’s obviously hurting and so am I. “You followed me…” he slurs, clearly drunk.

There’s something in the way he says it— like a question, like he’s surprised I’m here. Does he think no one cares about him? The thought breaks my heart even more.

I hesitate for a moment, unsure if I should step closer, but something about the way he’s looking at me draws me forward. I take a seat on the grass next to him and say nothing. I sit there quietly and just exist with him.

Because nothing sounds more beautiful and wonderful than simply existing with Madden Hunt.

The silence stretches between us as he takes another sip from the bottle. Why is he drinking? Is he in that much pain that he needs alcohol to numb him? I can feel his pain and it’s enough for me to break the silence.

“Who hurt you?” I whisper. “Who hurt you, sweet man?” I ask again.

He freezes, the bottle pausing midway to his lips. I can see the flicker of emotions cross his face—anger, and sadness. He sets the bottle down slowly, the sound echoing in the quiet.

“Life,” he replies, his voice low and gravelly, a rasp that cuts through my heart like a knife. “Life fucked me up, fairy.”

The weight of his words settles deep like a stone in my chest. I want to reach out and touch him, to show him he’s not alone, but I hold back, afraid that if I do he’ll shut me out.

“What do you mean?” I ask, hoping to peel back the layers of his guarded heart.

He runs a hand through his black as the night hair, tugging at the strands with force. His eyes flicker to mine, and they look vulnerable before he’s back to his guarded self.

“Let’s just say, while you were coddled and loved on,” he says, his voice bitter but laced with sadness, “I was trying to not die every single day of my fucking miserable life.”

Crack.

The pain in my chest intensifies with every broken word out of his mouth.

I knew things weren’t easy for him. Although Mom and Dad kept Madden's situation to themselves not wanting to share something that wasn't theirs to, I could see how bad it was in the way he didn't trust my parents and how he was always on guard as if expecting the worst, I just didn't know how bad it really was until I was older and overheard my parents talking about the boy they couldn't save.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask quietly, knowing I might be pushing too hard. But I want to understand him, help him heal and carry his pain.

Madden takes another swig from the bottle, his eyes narrowing, his jaw clenched. He sets it down on the grass beside him. “My past is ugly, Wild One. Don’t want that shit touching you.”

I shake my head, moving closer with caution, careful not to spook him. “Nothing about you could ever be ugly,” I whisper, the words slipping out before I can second-guess them.

I hear the soft breath he takes in, like I’ve caught him off guard. He looks up, surprise flickering across his features, and for a heartbeat, the world shifts. I can see the battle within him—the urge to pull away, to shut down, and push me away trying to protect himself. He had the same look every time I got too close when we were kids.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he says with a bitter laugh, his voice low, broken. “I’m broken.”

Tears well up in my eyes, and I do my best to hold them back. “We’re all broken, Madden.” I say softly. “It’s our broken pieces that make us real. Those tiny broken pieces make us beautiful.”

He stares at me for a second that feels like a thousand lifetimes, studying me as if searching for lies. He takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting to the ground as he gathers his thoughts.

“You want my ugly pieces, Willow?” he asks, his voice rough, eyes still fixed on the grass beneath us.

I don’t even hesitate. “Yes,” I reply, my voice steady and strong.

I don't even notice I’ve not signed and have used my voice with him all this time without fear of ridicule because Madden grinch exterior and all has always made me feel safe.

“I killed my mother.” he says, and my breath catches in my throat. “She died giving birth to me.”

I feel my heart clench at his words, the weight of his story pressing down on us. “I’m so sorry, Madden,” I whisper, wishing I could ease his pain.

“Yeah, well, it didn’t stop there,” he continues, his brow furrowing. “My dad was miserable after that. He came to America chasing the dream, but all he found was disappointment. He wanted more—more money, more success. But he never made any of his dreams come true. He fell in love and quickly had us leaving him a family to feed and no time to chase dreams.”

I can’t help myself. I lean in closer, my heart aching for him, for everything the little boy in him went through. “That sounds so hard.

“He was weak,” he spits, the bitterness creeping into his voice. “He was so unhappy that he checked out and stopped fighting. He left me with my brother, who—let’s just say was a poor excuse of a human. He liked to beat and starve me because he couldn’t stand the fact that his life was shit. He blamed me for everything that went wrong in our lives.”

I can feel the years of pain in his words settling deep in my soul. My throat tightens as I try to process what he’s just shared. I can’t imagine the pain and agony of a childhood filled with neglect and violence. “That’s awful, Madden.” I whisper, “No one should have to go through that.” My voice cracks on the last word.

Madden shrugs, trying to brush it off, but I can see the hurt lingering in his black eyes. “It was my life. I had to learn quickly to fend for myself…” He pauses, his voice softening slightly. “Until I found racing. That was my escape, my way out.”

I can’t help but admire him for fighting his way out of hell, for finding a way to survive even when life tried to break him. “You’ve fought through so much,” I say, my voice gentle but firm. “That makes you stronger, not weaker. You survived.” I say in awe of his strength. “You did what your father couldn’t.”

Next to what he has gone through, my scars and my insecurities feel so insignificant—nothing like the battles he fought to just keep breathing.

He holds my gaze for a long moment, and in that silence, something shifts.

Tentatively, my fingers lift, my touch trembling slightly as I trace the scar on his lip, the harsh texture of it like a story marked on his skin.

Madden closes his eyes at my touch, his breath catching for a moment.

“What’s this from?” I ask softly, my voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the moment.

He opens his eyes, looking at me with something darker, something that feels like shame. “I dared ask my brother for food.” he says, his voice rough as if it pained him still.

A tear slips from my eye, betraying the emotion that has been building inside me. I pull my hand away from his scar, but before I can retreat completely, Madden reaches out, his fingers closing gently around my wrist, pulling me back to him.

“Don’t cry for me, fairy,” he murmurs.

I sniffle, trying to compose myself, but I can’t. “Someone has to,” I whisper, my heart aching for everything he’s endured.

Oh, sweet Madden. I wish I could erase your past and take your pain.

He studies me for a moment, his grip on my wrist tender, almost like he’s afraid to hurt me.

“I wish I could make it all go away,” I say sadly, another tear slipping down my cheek. Before I can wipe it away, Madden leans in, brushing it away gently with his thumb. His touch, so soft, and it sends a warmth through me, as if he’s giving part of himself to me.

“You do enough of that already,” he replies, his voice a soothing murmur.

I look up at him, confused. “I don’t understand.”

His eyes lock with mine and with slow, deliberate movements, he takes my hand and places it over his chest, right above his heart. “You made it beat again,” he says, his gaze intense and his voice sincere.

My breath catches, and my chest tightens with something meaningful, something sweet. “I... What do you mean?”

He holds my hand there, and I can feel it—his heart, steady and strong, beating beneath my palm. “It was dead. For so long, I only felt anger, and pain. Until I made myself feel nothing at all. Until you came into my life like the warm sun after a long storm. You, Willow Emersyn, make everything less fucking ugly and more… you.”

The words hit me like a wave. I can’t look away from those beautiful black eyes of his. “More me?”

He nods, and my heart feels like it’s about to combust. “You made me smile when my life would make anyone cry. You made me not hate life. You made me look forward to another day because you were there. And even when shit happened, and you weren’t part of my life…I still felt you. Still carried you with me. Even when I tried to push you out of my memories....” He grips my hand tighter against his hard chest. “It. Was. Always. You.”

“Madden…” I whisper breathlessly as he looks at me as if I’m the only thing in the world he ever wants to see.

As our gazes lock, the world around us begins to fade—the laughter and chatter of the guests in the distance slipping away like a distant memory, leaving only the beat of our hearts. The stars in the night sky seem to shine brighter for us. I can’t look away, even if I wanted to. Every part of me is drawn to this man, this moment, and I know by the way he’s looking at me, that he feels it too.

Pushing my fears aside, I lean in closer, my heart racing with anticipation. Madden’s darken, his breath catching in his throat. The anticipation thickens, swirling like the waves at shore I’m both terrified of and craving with every fiber of my being.

It’s beautiful and electric.

And then, when I can’t resist the magnetic pull any longer, I press my lips to his and kiss him softly. The kiss is tentative at first. Just the gentle brush of lips as I try to save the taste and feel of him in my memory.

A second passes before Madden responds, deepening the kiss while his hands find my waist and pull me down to the grass. God, he tastes heavenly. I can taste the remnants of the alcohol, mixed with something raw, pure and real. It makes me feel hot all over until I start to feel an ache between my thighs that only he can make go away.

But then when the kiss turns wild and hot, he pulls pack, resting his forehead against mine, “Fuck, baby,” he breathes, sounding regretful. “Not like this.” Then he pulls all the way back and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Not with you.”

And just like that, this moment feels like a miracle.

Madden has lowered the walls he spent years building up and let me inside his heart and soul.

Now that I’m there… Now that he has let me in, there’s a part of me, a fragile whisper in the back of my mind, that fears the day I won’t be. The thought of losing him again—this sweet, broken, beautiful man— feels like the kind of hurt I could never recover from.

But even so, I hold onto him. I hold onto him like he’s a part of me. I hold onto so tight hoping I can make this moment last forever and I whisper to the stars above to let me keep him. Even if it’s only for a little while, let me have him. If I can’t have forever with him… let me have him just for this Christmas.