There’s a slight furrow in Casey’s brow. He leans over, whispering something in Grace’s ear. She shakes her head. He speaks again. She shakes her head again, rolling her eyes.
Seeming to give up, Casey leans forward and snatches a chip from the bowl that rests on the coffee table in front of him. He tosses it in his mouth with a loud crunch and manages a grin in Mac’s direction. “So … that was quite an outburst.”
Mac harumphs. She’s curled up in the recliner looking like she hasn’t slept for forty-eight hours. She repeatedly insists she’s fine and simply suffering exhaustion from the tour. My “incessant hovering” is making it worse. So I’m standing on the opposite side of the room, leaning against the kitchen counter behind me in an attempt to give her space.
Cooper folds his arms. “And we’re still waiting to hear the full story.”
All eyes in the room rise to me. Travis and Quinn are here sharing the opposite recliner to Mac. Jared is seated on the floor with his back resting against the couch Casey and Grace are seated on. Evie sits between his legs. His arms wrap around her, his hands rubbing over the lower rise of her belly. She has a packet of healthy baked vegetable chips resting on her chest, and she’s munching them with a complete lack of enthusiasm. Cooper, Frog, and Henry are scattered about the living room floor, cross-legged and holding beers.
We’ve only been back in Australia two nights. Returning home was a flurry of activity, which was opportune because it left no time for either Mac or myself to explain the scene Cooper managed to capture on video for everyone to see.
Now there’s no more dodging the issue, and I don’t know how to start.
“There is no story,” Mac says, taking the focus of attention from me. Eyes and ears swivel her way. They stare at her. And then they stare a little more, until she feels compelled to elaborate. “I met Jake when I was eleven, and he’s been my best friend ever since. And that is all any of you ever need to know.”
Her statement is brilliant. It’s simple, succinct, and resolute, and despite the husky, sleep tone to her voice, it dares any person in the room to question her. Mac has managed to sum up our entire relationship in a single sentence. My arms are folded and my fingers dig into my biceps. It’s all that stops me from walking over, collecting her from the chair, and carrying her straight out the door.
Questions burst forth, peppering the room like gunfire.
“But I don’t get—”
“You’re always fighting—”
“You told us you didn’t know each—”
“How did you—”
“Why did you pretend—”
The only three who remain silent are Casey, Travis, and Jared … for obvious reasons.
“Everyone shut up!” I boom, my voice loud enough to bounce off the walls. Shock stirs the air and eyebrows rise. I never raise my voice. “Mac is tired, and you’re all badgering her. If you want to know more than that …” I mash my lips together, pausing, thinking, before I speak. “We had a falling out when we were younger and it took some time for us to move past it. That’s all.”
Jared’s expression is pained. “The falling out is my fault.”
“And mine,” Travis adds.
Eyes whip wildly about the room. Now everyone is wondering what Jared and Travis had to do with any of it.
“What was the falling out about?”
The question comes from Evie. Her voice is soft and wounded. We’ve hurt our friends by keeping our past a secret, but some things are best left in the past. And far too painful to rehash.
My eyes find Mac across the room. Her eyes are beginning to fill. She works so hard at keeping her emotions in check, yet it’s clear how much the past still haunts her because a singular tear brims over and rolls down her cheek as she stares back at me. The hurt on her face is visible to the entire room. A surge of protectiveness wells up. “A private matter,” I answer gruffly.
Mac stands. “Excuse me,” she mutters to the room. She carries her stiff body away, only stopping to collect her handbag from the table by the front door. She opens it swiftly and exits in the blink of an eye.
I give chase, catching her in the hallway of the building. “Mac!”
She pauses as I jog toward her, but she doesn’t turn. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” she whispers. The low, defeated tone in her voice is like nothing I’ve heard before. It sends dread snaking down my spine.
I take hold of her arm, turning her to face me. “What do you mean?”
Mac shakes her head. “Marriage. Babies. The white picket fence. You deserve it all. But I don’t think I can do it, Jake. I’m sorry.”
My mouth opens and closes. I don’t know what to say. What to think. “Of course you can.” I swallow past the dryness in my throat. “We were meant to be. This was how it was always supposed to happen. Us. Together. Why can’t you see that?”
“I don’t know why. It’s like every time I think about our future, my mind clams up and blocks me from seeing anything at all.”
My jaw tightens and my eyes lift to the ceiling as I blink at the sharp pain of her words. When I recover enough to look at her without yelling my frustration, I offer her an easy excuse. “You’re just tired.”
Mac doesn’t take it like I hoped she would. “It’s not that. It’s not just now. It’s always been that way. I’ve never been able to see it.”
I take a step toward her and tuck a finger beneath her chin, lifting her face upward until she’s looking at me. “Never?”
She closes her eyes as if my face is too much to bear. “Ever since the accident, it’s just been a fog.”
“Ever since I pushed you away.”
“Yes.”
Her affirmation is a soft whisper, and yet it packs enough meaning to hit like a tonne of bricks. Tears drip down her face as I take her shoulders in my hands and press my forehead to hers, closing my eyes too. We’ve tried so hard to make this work, but Mac has been like sand slipping right through my fingers. And now all the sand is gone, and my hands are left empty.
My eyes prickle with heat, and I tighten my jaw against the crippling wave of pain. “I’ll always love you, Mackenzie Valentine.”
“I’ll always love you too, Jake Romero.”
The silence stretches taut until I feel ready to break apart. “You need to go,” I utter hoarsely.
Mac flinches.
I don’t say anymore. I can’t.
She draws away. Her soft footsteps are soundless as she walks down the hallway toward the exit. Yet I hear them. They’re a heavy echo inside of my heart.
When I finally open my eyes, she’s gone.
MAC
I take a seat at the outdoor café table. It’s noon and a beautiful day. Lush, leafy green trees line the full length of the busy street and flutter in the light breeze. The sun is out, bright and hot. People wander past the shop fronts, chattering, takeout coffee cups in hand and cute dogs on leashes. Christmas is only four weeks away and the atmosphere is festive. I want to appreciate it, but I feel like dog shit mashed into the bottom of someone’s shoe.
My heart and my stomach are competing for the title of who can make me feel the worst. It’s currently a tie.
I set my phone on the table. It lights up with a message.
Mitch: Where are you?
But it’s not the message (which I ignore) that captures my attention. It’s the background image that lights up along with it. Jake’s face and mine are close to the screen. We’re drunk and laughing uncontrollably while he gives the camera the finger.
You win this round, heart, I mutter to the offending organ when it squeezes so hard I lose my breath. Not to be outmanoeuvred, my stomach rolls over in a long, queasy thump. It feels as though I’m dying, my traitorous body attacking me from the inside out.
I haven’t had time to Google in the four days we’ve been home from tour, but I’m thinking Lyme Disease or Dengue Fever. I’m utterly exhausted. My body is fighting whatever it is, but I’m losing the bat
tle.
A waiter passes by with two coffees in hand. The delicious aroma reaches my nose and I heave. Usually the scent wakens me.
I take a deep breath. Realisation is a slow awareness in my thoughts, like I’m underwater and pushing my way to the surface. The answer touches at the corner of my mind. I recoil with horror and shove it away.
Thankfully, my dining partner arrives to distract me. I half-stand in my seat and the small motion leaves me dizzy.
“Sit, sit,” he admonishes, waving a hand as if to shoo me back down.
I’m grateful for the small mercy and sink back in my seat. He leans across, all clean-shaven jaw, spicy aftershave and sharp suit, and kisses me on the cheek. Drawing away, he smiles, tugs off his jacket, and drapes it across the back of his seat before he sits opposite me.
“It’s good to see you, Mac.” He studies my face with care. “Though I’ve seen you looking better.”
My outward appearance is clearly failing to hide my imminent death. “Thanks a bunch.”
His eyebrows rise with genuine concern. “Are you okay?”
No. I told Jake I couldn’t see our future together and it was a lie. A Big. Fat. Ugly. Lie. Because our future is amplified in my head until it’s all I see. “We just came off tour,” I explain, forcing blitheness to my voice that I’m not feeling. “I’m exhausted. And I haven’t had any coffee yet today.”
His brilliant blue eyes soften with sympathy, and he signals a passing waitress. “Let’s rectify that.”
He places an order for two coffees, an espresso for himself and a long black for me, requesting it darker and stronger than Satan himself. Does everyone know how I take my coffee?
The waitress leaves, and I’m gifted with a magnetic grin. “How was the tour, gorgeous?”
Gorgeous? A snort of disbelief escapes me. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”
He shrugs. “You’re always gorgeous to me.”
I sink back in my seat, surprised and yet unsurprised all at the same time. He’s flirting. Elijah Rossiter is flirting with me. I thought I’d imagined it at the party and brushed it away. A frown creases my brow. “Eli—”
“Just accept a compliment and move on, sweetheart.”
“Okay, okay.”
“So …” His face wrinkles in a wince as if what he’s about to say next is going to hurt. “I heard about you and Jake.”
“Ugh.” My head tips back, and I draw in a long breath. The gossip network has been running hot. At times it can be convenient, but in this instance it’s plain annoying. And embarrassing. My face flushes when I think of my outburst on Cooper’s video.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks a second time.
The waitress returns with our coffee. The thick, pungent liquid is placed in front of me before she walks away. The scent rises inside my nostrils and sets my stomach into a deep clench. Don’t, I bark silently. It ignores me, refusing to relax.
“I’m sure,” I reply reflexively, a forced smile forming on my lips.
“Okay. Good.” Eli expels a breath. “You’re better off without him, you know.”
“Whether I am or not, is not your call.” My tone is defensive as I stir sugar into my mug. What am I doing? I don’t drink my coffee with sugar. Eli frowns at my actions. He knows I don’t either.
“You’re right. It’s not,” he concedes with easy-going grace. “It’s just …”
“It’s just what, Eli?” I ask, impatient when he trails off and goes silent.
Eli’s cheekbones have sharpened over the years and there’s a thin scar across his brow that I never noticed before. His lips are full and always quick to grin, but they’re flat now. He’s pressing them together. “He never deserved you.”
His tone is accusatory and my body tightens with tension. “Has anyone stopped to think that maybe I never deserved him?”
I’m the one who can’t let go of the hurt. I’m the one crippled by fear. It’s me who holds tightly to the past despite numerous attempts from Jake to help me move on. He tried to keep me safe, even when I raged at him for letting me go. He’s the one I fucked so coldly before walking out the door, acting like it meant nothing. Yet he still loved me. Jake told me I was his universe, and he held me on the bathroom floor at Evie’s when I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe. He held me so tight I felt maybe one day I would be okay as long as he kept holding me like that. I thought needing Jake made me weak, but I was wrong. He gave me strength. And I gave him nothing.
“Mac?” I tune back in. Eli is still talking. “Did you hear me?”
I blink, comprehension throbbing painfully at my temples. I pushed Jake away before he could do it to me a second time. I was convinced I had something to prove—to him, to my family, to myself—that I never needed anyone.
But I do.
I was convinced that nothing could break me.
But I’m already broken.
Jake was simply doing everything he could to piece me back together.
I stare blindly at the coffee before me, my eyes burning.
Eli reaches across the table and takes my hand. The contact is unfamiliar. I look down at our joined fingers. Eli’s palm is cool and somewhat rough, whereas Jake’s is always warm, his calluses thick and scratchy. I always thought them beautiful. Not just because of how they feel when he touches me, but because the hardened skin is a testament to the joy that drumming gives him.
I stand abruptly, breaking our contact. “I made a mistake.”
Eli’s voice is sharp. Confused. “You what?”
My legs wobble and my chest is tight. I grab the edge of the table as blackness edges my vision. Eli stands, reaching for me. The dizziness passes, and I bat his hand away.
His eyes harden as we stand across from each other. “You and Jake weren’t a mistake. You were a fucking train wreck. You think it’s been easy for me?”
My mouth drops open. “Think what’s been easy?”
“Watching you love that asshole,” Eli snaps, unleashing a burst of unexpected frustration all over me. His hands clench and thick veins pop over his wide knuckles. “Jake Romero took you from your family and then discarded you like trash. He broke you. And two years after you started getting your life back on track, he waltzes back in and fucks with you all over again. And we’ve all had to sit back and pretend we’re okay with it!”
Eli has me blindsided, as if I were crossing the road and got struck by a car out of nowhere. My phone rings and I speak over the top of it, indignant. “He didn’t take me from my family.”
It rings out and moments later it dings with another message from Mitch, the text showing up on my locked screen.
Mitch: Mac, it’s urgent. Call me.
“You should call your brother.” I look up. Eli’s gaze is on my phone, reading my message. “If he says it’s urgent, it’s urgent.”
Palming the device, I search for Mitch’s contact and dial.
“Mac,” he answers.
“What is it, Mitch?”
“Will you be at the loft tonight for Casey and Grace’s party?” He sounds breathless and his footsteps are loud thumps like he’s jogging down a set of stairs.
“Yes, I’m helping host while Grace is sick. Why?”
“No reason. Gotta go.”
He hangs up.
“What’s going on?” Eli asks.
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” I reply and reach for my oversized bag where it rests on the ground between my chair and the table. “Either way, I don’t have time for my brother’s cryptic bullshit. I have to go.”
“Mac, I’m sorry.” Eli shakes his head and reaches for me. “Don’t go.”
I take a step back and his hand falls away. “It’s not … I just realised that I have something I need to take care of.”
“Mac!”
I’m already walking away, shouldering my bag. “We’ll reschedule,” I call out.
“Wait!” he calls back. “The file.”
I pause, turning. “Th
e file?”
Eli grabs his jacket from the back of his chair. He tugs his wallet from the inside pocket and tosses a twenty on the table with an impatient gesture before jogging after me.
“The file,” he repeats with meaning when he reaches me. He looks around before leaning in. “Operation Strike, Mac. You wanted me to help you.”
“Oh.” I rummage through my bag and pull the sleek manila folder out. “Here.” Eli flips it open and scans the first page quickly. “I have to go.” I start walking backward, suddenly not caring about the file or being a Badass Brigade member in the least. I was happy with my life. I want it back the way it was. “Are you coming to the party at Casey’s tonight?”
“No,” he replies, a faint frown on his face as he looks up. “I have something I need to take care of.”
JAKE
Loud banging cuts through the quiet of the duplex. Someone is bashing their fist at the front door.
“Jake?”
It’s Mac. I pause my packing, my stomach in knots.
“I know you’re in there!”
Of course she knows. My car is parked out front, ready to load with my suitcase. Mac is a drug and I’m addicted. The only way I can be free is to leave.
But like any other junkie, I’ve promised myself one last hit. Just not right now. Not when I’m trying to be strong. Later tonight at the party. My final goodbye. To her. My final goodbye to everyone.
“Jake!”
I sink to the edge of my bed, a tee shirt scrunched in my balled-up fists.
Go away.
“Jake, please!”
Oh, Princess. Don’t beg like that. With your voice all hoarse and desperate. It makes me weak.
I rise from the bed.
Don’t, Jake. Fool.
My legs start moving toward the door. Toward Mac.
“Goddammit,” she growls.
The front door judders as if she’s just kicked it.
MAC
He doesn’t answer me. He always does. But not this time. It’s what I deserve. If you kick a puppy enough, he’ll never come when you call.