Page 5 of Mad for Madison

After the first time we had sex, Ava knew. I hadn’t told her, but she knew something was wrong with me. For one thing, I couldn’t look her in the eyes the next day. She resented me, hated me even, and decided there were way more attractive guys out there. I could hardly blame her. That one desperate act ofrunning from the truth of who I was had felt like violating myself and Ava at once.

But then she told me she was pregnant. And then she told me she was keeping the baby. It wasn’t until the time for making decisions was far too late that Ava changed her mind and decided keeping our child was no longer an option.

“Have her,” she’d told me. “I’ll always be her mother. I’ll be there for her.”

But that changed a week after Lily was born. She couldn’t be involved, so she wouldn’t be involved.

Things turned out well for Lily and me. Gran had a place big enough for all three of us and enough free time to help me take care of Lily.

I didn’t know where Ava was now. I hadn’t heard from her in just under four years.

And in that time, I redirected my life to Lily. Crying over the way I’d missed my chances when I should have tried things out served no purpose. Instead, I worked hard and made time for my daughter. I made the right choices now and seized all chances I could.

That was enough to let me sleep at night.

CHAPTER 2

A Decent Proposition

Madison

I passedby Neon Nights on an evening walk the following Tuesday. I had spent the day in my studio, working on a complicated piece with many moving characters, something I had never done before. Frustration over the elements not quite falling in place on the canvas still ran through my veins by the time I reached the Burrow, so I circled the block instead of returning to the apartment.

As I walked by the bar, I glanced inside. Warm lights poured out of the windows and onto the sidewalk, almost inviting me for a drink with my roommate and neighbors. Tristan wore an apron but sat with the rest of them around a table, little work going on in the kitchen. Cedric sat next to him, arm around Tristan’s shoulders, hand playing casually with Tristan’s ear. On the other side of the table, Roman sat, his chair leaning dangerously far on its hind legs, one arm thrown over the back of the chair, the other arm resting on the table, hand covered by Everett’s much larger hand. Everett lived above the bar in Mama Viv’s spare bedroom, falling low after living in the riches of his parents. It had been a valiant descent fromthe penthouse overlooking Central Park last year when Everett’s father attempted to force Mama Viv to sell Neon Nights and build a luxury hotel in the rubble. It was Everett’s willingness to leave behind his family and his comforts that ultimately saved the bar.

Mama Viv sat at the table, too, a magnificent drag queen who almost never appeared downstairs without complete makeup, wig, and dress. And with them, Luke and Rafael—Luke, the rising author of various fantasy and science fiction comics with gay twists, told some story that held everyone’s attention. Rafael grinned as he listened. They had gotten married last year in Neon Nights, and Mama Viv officiated.

Although single, Mama Viv was surrounded by photographs from forty years ago, her long-lost partner still present in her life, still watching over the bar.

My heart clenched as I walked by. Part of me wanted to stroll in and join them, but I had avoided doing that for two years, and changing my mind now would only be weird. I had avoided it because it would be awkward to be there and be recognized by some random patron of the bar. I didn’t want to see these people change their minds about me in real time.

It was a strange feeling. I wasn’t ashamed of what I did. In fact, I was rather proud. It had lifted me out of near extreme poverty, saved me from a life lived in the closet, and gave me the kind of future I never could have hoped for otherwise. I worked hard for what I had, yet I was afraid of my friends learning the truth.

As I pushed on, I threw another quick glance through the window, spotting Bradley Hayes behind the bar, preparing intricate cocktails for two girls who observed him with a mix of awe and instant crushing. It was common for straight girls to swing by and enjoy drinks without worrying about guys hittingon them, but nobody was immune to Bradley’s warm eyes and dimpled smiles.

A flush of heat rose into my face as I hurried away. That was, perhaps, the only regret I had about choosing the path I had picked. In rare moments such as this, feeling slightly struck by a guy’s smile was the furthest I could let things go. I’d been fully aware of that when I’d first started out. It was a price worth paying, especially when I hadn’t had any intentions of sharing my life with another person ever again.

I circled the block, passing along the Hudson River for a long time and letting the cold wind slap me in gusts until I shivered and decided it was time to get warm. My frustration over the painting had slowly shifted to a general feeling of unease, but I knew where that was coming from.

As I walked along the sidewalk on the side of Neon Nights, I cast a glance anew, finding it empty. The two girls enjoyed their cocktails alone on the far end of the bar, and Bradley was alone, polishing glasses. I would have lingered for only a heartbeat or two, watching him so absorbed in his work and letting myself go to sleep with something nice and wholesome to think about, but he lifted his gaze as if he could sense me and grinned at the sight of me.

Before I knew what I was doing, I walked in, warmth washing over me and chasing away the chills of the night.

“I don’t believe my eyes,” Bradley said as I neared the bar.

“A rare sighting of a previously-believed-to-be-extinct neighbor,” I said with grave significance.

Bradley threw his head back and laughed. “Want a drink?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Sure. Something to warm me up.”

He winked as if to say he knew exactly the right kind and got busy while I sat on a barstool.

“Where is everyone?” I asked.

Bradley glanced at me over his shoulder. “Gone home, I hope. It’s almost closing time.”

I looked at the vintage clock hanging above the window to my right. It was close to midnight. “Imagine that,” I mused.

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