Chapter 68: The Station

Chapter 68: The Station

Andy

“Maddie!” I called out for the hundredth time today, banging at the door of the Lennon home. “Maddie! Open up!”

I knew she was inside. Her car was in the garage. And I knew Maddie so well that I knew she’d never step out when she was sad.

And I knew she was really sad. I hurt her.

The knowledge sat in my stomach like spoiled food. Heavy. Rotten. Impossible to ignore no matter how many times I told myself it hadn’t been that bad, that she had wanted it too, that things had just gotten out of hand the way they sometimes did when feelings ran too high and neither of us knew how to stop.

“Maddie, please open the door. I’m begging you.” I pounded my fists on the door again, practically desperate at this point. The wood rattled under the force. Somewhere down the street a dog barked. I didn’t care. I needed her to hear me. I needed her to open the door and look at me and let me fix what I had broken.

“Andy?”

I turned around to see their friendly neighbour, Mrs Cross, standing on her porch and giving me a look that told me she knew I’d fucked things up. The kind of look older women reserved for young men who had made a mess of something precious.

“Mrs. Cross, I’m truly sorry for the disturbance.” I said, feeling hopeless. My voice sounded rough even to my own ears. I hadn’t slept. I hadn’t eaten anything that stayed down. All I had done since yesterday was replay every second of what happened between Maddie and me until the edges of the memory started to blur and rewrite themselves in ways that made me look less monstrous.

“You’re looking for Maddie?” She asked. “She hadn’t left the house since she returned. Only Rachel and Bill left for work in a rush.” She said, talking about Maddie’s parents.

“She’s all alone?”

“Yes.”

I glanced at the door. Then back at the old lady. “Thanks, Mrs Cross. I’ll just find my way up to her bedroom.”

From the way she shook her head with a small, knowing smile and walked back into her house, I knew she understood what I was talking about. She had lived next door long enough to remember the version of us that used to be inseparable. The version that climbed through windows and stayed up until sunrise talking about futures that felt guaranteed.

I used to climb up Maddie’s window into her bedroom just so I could spend the night beside her. That was when we were teenagers who were madly in love.

Not the current version of me that lost its mind and focus at the thought of her sister.

The thought of Ivy still made something twist uncomfortably in my chest. Guilt layered on top of guilt. I shoved it down. This wasn’t about Ivy. This was about Maddie. About the girl I had promised forever to before I let myself get distracted by someone who looked at me like I was already half a villain.

I tucked the flowers into the back of my jeans and climbed my way up. The familiar route felt different now. Harder. Like the house itself was judging me for daring to use old habits after what I had done.

Thankfully, her window was open. A part of me was happy because that was a sign. Back then, she used to leave her window open too because she knew I’d climb in. The small detail felt like a lifeline. Maybe some part of her still wanted me to come. Maybe some part of her hadn’t given up completely.

But the joy was short-lived when I took in her appearance.

“Maddie?”

She was curled up in her bed. Hair pulled up in a very messy, ruined bun. She was still in the clothes from yesterday—the same dress she had been wearing when everything went wrong. The fabric looked wrinkled and slept-in. Her face was pale. The room smelled faintly of closed windows and untouched food.

I quickly rushed forward, hurrying to her side. She didn’t react as I pulled her into my arms. Her body was limp, almost boneless, like the fight had already drained out of her hours ago.

“Maddie. Baby, what happened to you?”

“You.” She said weakly. “It’s all your fault.”

The words landed exactly where they were meant to. Straight through the softest part of me.

“I’m so sorry.” I said, hugging her tighter. I buried my face in her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo mixed with something heavier—salt, maybe, from tears she had already cried. “I’m so fucking sorry. I swear I’ll never hurt you again. Ever. Just come back to me, baby. Please.”

She pulled away, eyes scanning me like I was the enemy. The bags underneath her eyes were deep. The dark circles surrounding them made her look years older. And the sadness there was enough to make me want to disappear. To erase the last forty-eight hours and go back to the version of us that still believed love was simple.

“What are you doing here, Andy?” She asked, wary. “Go! Leave! I don’t want you here!”

“Maddie, I’m sorry—”

She cut me off. “Why are you here?”

I swallowed the apology that was on the tip of my tongue and instead pulled out the flowers I’d gotten for her. White lilies mixed with soft pink roses. Her favourite. The ones she used to pretend not to care about while secretly pressing them between the pages of her journals.

“I came to bring you this. Your favourite.”

She looked at me emotionlessly. The lack of reaction hurt more than anger would have. “Thank you. You can leave.”

“No. I’m not going anywhere, Maddie.” I said. I set the flowers on the nightstand carefully, like they might break if I handled them wrong. “I’m staying right here. And we’re going to fix this.”

She shook her head repeatedly, curling further into herself. “I don’t want to be in the same space with you, Andy. Go.”

I frowned. “Maddie… why? Do you think I’m going to do something to you?”

She couldn’t look at me. “You’ve done enough. Get out. Please.”

I drew closer to her. She shrunk back. That action alone felt like driving a knife straight through my chest. The girl who used to fall asleep on my shoulder was now treating my proximity like a threat.

I gently touched her ankle, thankful that she didn’t pull away this time. My eyes stung from the way she refused to look at me. The contact was light. Careful. I didn’t trust myself with more.

“Maddie… let me help you. Please.” I said. “Have you eaten anything?”

She shook her head. “Go to Ivy. Leave me.”

I snapped at the sound of that name and the face that had been haunting me recently. “Maddie, stop it. This isn’t about Ivy.”

She looked up. Really looked at me for the first time since I climbed through the window. “It’s not?”

“No. This is about us. Ivy and I have nothing. It was just a distraction. I was tempted, Maddie.” I spat out the words like they burned. “Please give me another chance. I swear I won’t let you down again, baby. Please.”

“Another chance?” She echoed lifelessly. “Why? You already ruined what we had. Why don’t we just go our separate ways? That way you’ll be free to fight for the girl you love.”

“I don’t love Ivy. You are the one I love.” I said, convincing myself as much as her. The words felt necessary. If I said them enough times, maybe they would become the only truth that mattered. “I was stupid. Please don’t leave me, Maddie.”

I watched how she quietly threw her legs to the ground and grabbed the edge of her vanity to stand. The movement was slow. Careful. Like every shift of her body cost her something.

Rushing forward immediately, I was met with a flinch. Then she pushed me away. “Don’t touch me.” She hissed, hunched over in obvious discomfort.

“Maddie, what’s wrong?” I asked, worried. My hands hovered uselessly in the air between us. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just go!” She said.

“You’re not.” I insisted. “You haven’t eaten anything. You’re still in the same dress as yesterday—”

“Because I was contemplating.” She said, fingers tightening on the vanity until the knuckles went white. “On whether to go to the hospital—” She paused and looked at me.

I don’t know why my heart hammered in that moment. I didn’t like that look. It was too calm. Too decided. The kind of expression people wore when they had already made a choice and were only waiting for the right second to say it out loud.

“Or the station.”

The breath was knocked out of my lungs. “The station?” I repeated, confused. The word didn’t make sense at first. Then it did. All at once. Like a door slamming shut somewhere inside me.

“You committed a crime, Andy.” She said. Her voice was quiet. Steady. More terrifying than if she had been screaming. “You don’t want the punishment?”

You committed a crime.

I’d heard that before. In different contexts. From different mouths. And I hated that statement more than anything. It reduced everything messy and human and complicated into a single black-and-white judgment that left no room for the ways people hurt each other without meaning to become monsters.

“Maddie, what are you talking about?”

“You hurt me.” She said. “You forced yourself on me—”

“I did not!” I refuted. The denial came out too fast. Too loud. “What are you saying?”

“I asked you to stop—”

“You also asked me not to stop.” I reminded her. The memory was sharp and selective, the way defensive memories always were. “Maddie, you started all this. I told you I wasn’t in the mood. But you just wouldn’t stop!”

“So, it’s my fault?!” She screamed. The sudden volume made me flinch. “You’re blaming me for your actions?!”

“You blamed me for yours, Maddie!” I said, my anger getting the best of me. The heat rose fast, familiar, the same temper I had spent years pretending I didn’t inherit. “What’s stopping you from going to the station if you’re convinced that—”

“Because I don’t want my child to see his father as a criminal!”

Everything stopped.

Only one thing kept ringing in my ears.

My child.

I stumbled backwards a step. The floor felt uneven. The air in the room suddenly too thin.

“You’re… you’re pregnant?”

She scoffed. The sound was broken. Tired. Final.

“Congratulations, Andy. It’s yours.”