Copyright © Kate McCarthy 2017
ISBN-13: 978-06481236-0-6
ISBN-10: 0-6481236-0-X
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any other information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for brief quotations in a review.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual person’s, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Interior Formatting by Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Epilogue
Titles by Kate McCarthy
Acknowledgements
About the Author
This book is for Terrena.
“A best friend is someone who loves you
when you forget to love yourself.”
“Don’t worry when I fight with you.
Worry when I stop,
Because it means there’s nothing left for us to fight for.”
MAC
Grace and Casey’s party is in full swing. Their loft is a complete crush, leaving me stuck in the kitchen dispensing drinks. I’m busy making small talk but my mind is locked on the pregnancy test I purchased in a fit of panic on the drive here. It’s buried deep inside my Burberry handbag. I haven’t had time to take the test, but I can’t stop thinking about it. At the pharmacy I grabbed the first one I saw and marched it to the counter, chin up like I was going into war and the test was my hand grenade.
When I was young having a baby was always in my distant future, but my entire life changed at seventeen. The life I imagined for myself got knocked off course. Marriage. Family. The white picket fence. A fairy tale—and one that was never meant for me.
I wrap an arm around my belly, wondering if my life is about to change. Are you in there, baby? I glare at my flat stomach. If so, you’re not in the plan.
“Princess?”
The deep, husky tone infiltrates every part of my body. My head lifts and my heart lodges somewhere near the vicinity of my throat. Whiskey-coloured eyes look down at me with concern. I hate that I like seeing it. The way Jake Romero looks at me makes me ache. It always has, and it always will.
“I’m not your princess.”
Not anymore. It’s too late. I wrecked us. There’s only so many times you can glue a broken vase back together. Our pieces don’t fit back together anymore.
Jake ignores my retort. His gaze drops to my arm cradled protectively around my belly. He meets my eyes. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say sharply. My bitchy tone is a defence mechanism; it snaps in place like a rubber band whenever I talk to him. It’s the only way to keep him at an arm’s length, otherwise my hands will reach for him and I won’t be able to let go.
Jake grinds his jaw. He wants to turn and walk away but there’s a pull between us that makes it impossible for him. I know, because I feel it too.
I reach for a fresh beer and twist off the top. Tossing the lid in the nearby bin, I shove it toward him. Jake doesn’t take it and leave the kitchen like I hope he will. Instead, he folds his arms creating bulges of tanned muscle. The coloured ink on his skin intertwines with dark images, forming beautiful works of art that sleeve both his arms. I remember those arms when they were reed thin and bare, when he was a boy on the verge of becoming a man. His hair was longer then. Golden brown strands rested against the back of his neck and fell in his eyes. It was the texture of silk, and I loved running my fingers through it. Gripping it in my fists when he did things to me that I never imagined possible. Jake said he’d always keep it longer just for me, but then I left and the next time I saw him it was buzzed short. It’s been that way ever since.
“Are you sure?” Jake asks before I drown in the memories of who we used to be.
No. And I want to tell him that so very badly that I bite down on my lip to stop the word escaping. His heavy-lidded gaze drops to my mouth and heat flares between my thighs in an instant. Damn him.
“Take the stupid beer,” I growl before I completely lose it.
With a sharp huff, he snatches it from my hand. He sets it on the kitchen counter and his eyes come back to me. Does he even know the heated way he looks at me? It burns me like a brush fire.
“Mac, I …” Jake looks away, swallowing, and rubs a hand over his short buzz of hair. There’s a war inside him. I see it on his face. Indecision. Frustration. Longing. The ache inside me intensifies. His gaze returns and he lets out a deep breath. “We need to start living more separate lives. I can’t …”
The pain of his words are a thousand rusty knives stabbing me straight in the heart.
I ignore the party going on around us and close my eyes for the briefest of seconds. The moment I do, his hand cups my jaw. The barest contact before it slides away. My eyes open, the rough touch of his palm lingering on my skin.
Why can’t I unlove you?
“You’re right,” I force myself to concede.
Jake nods as if pleased with my response, which sends the knives deeper.
I snatch his abandoned beer and tip my head back, filling my mouth with fizzy alcohol. Then it hits me. What if I am actually pregnant? I can’t drink this stuff. It sprays from my mouth like a ruptured fire hydrant. I turn and most of it lands in the sink rather than on Jake’s shirt.
“Mac?” He takes the poor beer from my hand and once again abandons it on the kitchen counter. Then he grips me by the elbow as I’m trying to wipe at my face with a paper napkin. “You’re not okay at all, are you?”
I breathe deep, lost in a sea of nausea and rejection. “Get lost,” I rasp as I toss the bit of towel toward the bin.
“For fuck’s sake,” he spits, his hold on me tightening as he pulls me toward the bathroom. “Can’t you lose the bitch for even a second?”
“No,” I snap as I’m dragged alongside him. “It??
?s who I am and I’m not asking you to like it. I’m asking you to leave me alone.”
“You heard her,” a deep voice growls from somewhere on my left. “Get lost.”
My hackles rise further. Damn my meddling older brothers. Jared’s green eyes spark fire as he glares at Jake.
“Stop interfering in my business,” I hiss at Jared, poking him in the chest.
Jake smirks at my brother and arches a brow.
Jared’s nostrils flare as he looks from Jake to me. He folds his arms, eyes narrowing on mine. “I wouldn’t need to if you had it handled.”
My fury climbs. “I was handling it, you asshole.”
“Asshole is right,” Jake adds.
I turn to him, mouth agape. “You’re an asshole too! You want to end whatever the hell this is? Consider it ended!” I shout. With the thumping beat bouncing off the walls, no one around us pays any mind, not that I particularly care right now. “Now both of you can just go fuck off!”
I turn and disappear into a sea of people in my need to get away, leaving them to duke it out by themselves. The party has begun to wind down anyway. I’m tasked with dispensing keys to those who are sober, and it keeps me distracted and occupied.
When I’m down to the last set of keys in the bowl, I scan the room and don’t see Jake. Casey’s brother is one of the last to leave. He’s been drinking all night and holds a fresh beer. I’m getting a death stare because the key to his Harley is being held hostage in my hand.
Kelly is a Sentinels biker with dirty blond hair, scary tattoos, and flirty blue eyes. He’s the definition of trouble and so damn hot it rips the air from every room he enters. Even sick as I am, it’s hard not to notice, yet it fails to stir anything inside me. Only Jake has ever managed to do that, and I hate him for it.
“You’re not getting your keys, biker dude,” I tell him in a firm tone. “No matter how hard you glare.”
He glares harder. It doesn’t faze me. He’ll be thanking me in the morning when it isn’t a piece of scrap metal wrapped around a tree.
I lift my chin, his keys tight in my grip. I’m not backing down and he knows it.
“They better still be there in the fuckin’ mornin’,” he bitches.
My gaze narrows. He seems to like it, and his bleary eyes drop, inspecting the decorative zippers on my tight black pants with serious intent.
“Or else what?” I bark.
Kelly pauses for a moment, weaving on his feet as he blinks at me. “Or else I’ll be pissed off.”
“Good one, Kelly,” I snap, rolling my eyes. It’s late. I’m tired. I’m also potentially pregnant for fuck’s sake. I can’t see Jake anywhere, and I’m pissed because it leaves me disappointed. I start for the living room, crooking my finger. “Come with me.”
His flirty blue eyes light up. He leaves his bottle on the counter and follows me to the living area. Kelly has the wrong idea but if it gets him to the sofa where he can pass out, I can consider my duty done and leave.
I point to the couch. It’s covered in blankets and pillows. “Lie down.”
Instead of doing what I say, he peels off his shirt and stalks toward me like a lion. Then he pounces, planting his lips on mine. My hands move to his chest to push him off. He needs to remove his mouth before I punch his junk or barf on his face.
“What in the goddamn fuck?”
I leap in the air, a shriek escaping me.
Kelly pulls back and turns, affording me a glimpse of Jake standing behind him. His large hands are fisted so tight by his sides that thick veins pop wide over his knuckles. He isn’t even looking at Kelly. His gaze is on me, his hurt so deeply visible it freezes me in place. He closes his eyes and when he opens them, they’re blank. But it’s too late. I’ve seen what he’s trying to hide. And knowing I caused his pain burns like acid on my skin.
Don’t cry. Do not fucking cry.
But I can’t get any air. Damn you, Jake, for coming into my life. For making me want things that were never meant to be. For telling me you wanted to end it all and then acting like I just stabbed you in the heart.
We could have had everything. A whole different life. Yet in one fateful day we lost it all. The past swims in his eyes when I lift my chin and meet his gaze.
“Fuck this shit,” he growls. He stalks to the door, rips it open, and slams it behind him so hard I flinch. The reverberating bang is a catalyst. The dam bursts inside me and a sob breaks free.
Kelly stares down at me, eyes round like a deer caught in headlights. His body is fairly vibrating with horror, which tells me he doesn’t do tears.
“Fuck you,” I mutter to him. I don’t do them either. And yet here they are dripping down my face faster than a leaky pipe.
Kelly goes in for the awkward back pat. I dodge the advance. His huge pawing hands have done enough damage tonight. Snatching up my bag, I stomp toward the bathroom, wiping at my face.
Shutting the door behind me, I dump my Burberry on the bathroom vanity. Rifling through the contents, I find the brown package in the bottom and pull it out. Not bothering to waste time reading instructions, I unpack the stick, pee on it, and set it on the counter. There. Pregnancy test taken.
I exhale deeply and stare at myself in the mirror as I wait the requisite three minutes to find out my fate. My sheet of long blond hair is as limp as the rest of me, and mascara runs down my cheeks. I look like shit. Tired. Defeated. Not like myself at all.
When my time is up, I hold my breath and look down at the stick. Two lines look back at me.
Holy shit. My hands shake and my stomach rolls as I meet my gaze again in the mirror. The bright green of my eyes has always been fierce and sharp, never kind and loving like a mother’s eyes should be. How the hell am I going to pull this off?
I grip the edge of the counter and set my jaw, glowering as I gather myself together. You’ve got this, Mackenzie Valentine.
I mean, really, how hard can motherhood be?
JAKE
My jaw is tight as I drive along the quiet, dark streets after leaving the party. I’m tired. Tired of wanting the one thing it always seems I can’t have. Tired of never being enough. I’ve been stuck on the fringes of Mac’s life, waiting for her to find what it is she’s searching for. Waiting for her to open her eyes and see what’s standing right before her. But she never does. Whatever road Mac travels on, it never leads to me.
The knowledge burns like hell. I free one hand from the steering wheel and rub it over the tightness of my chest. My heart thumps painfully beneath it. How do you give up on the one thing that keeps you breathing?
You just do it.
With the car idling at a red light, I call up Henry Paterson’s number on my phone and hit speaker. We met when Jamieson formed back in college. Despite being polar opposites, Paterson is my best friend. He’s a flirty show pony, playing lead guitar and whoring his way through women like a man with days left to live. I prefer flying under the radar, smashing out my frustrations on the drums, feeling the pounding rhythm break me apart with its intensity. The thunderous beat and the wildness gives me peace, and the band—Evie, Frog, Cooper, and Paterson—is the family that gave me a home.
“Romero,” Paterson answers groggily.
Shit. I woke him.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“Never mind,” I mutter as I take a left at the lights and hit the on-ramp for Sydney’s Motorway 1.
“You’ve woken me now,” he bitches. “What—”
I cut him off with the words I never thought I’d say. “I’m quitting the band.”
“What the fuck?” he bleats. The shock in his voice is unmistakable. I don’t make idle threats. In fact, I never say anything unless it’s something worth saying. And I’m not impulsive. But leaving is my only option. I won’t survive another minute living like this. “No. You’re not quitting. Why? Where did this come from? Fuck, Jake. Way to drop a bombshell at two in the morning. I can’t even right now.”
Passing the sign that tells
me Melbourne is eight hundred kilometres away, I gun the engine of my 1979 Dodge Charger. It’s a car that Casey helped me lovingly restore over the span of three years. His girlfriend, Grace, smashed his own Corvette Stingray earlier in the year, and he’s been making noises about stealing my Charger ever since. He’ll be shattered to find out he’s lost his chance.
“It’s past time for a change,” I tell Paterson.
“But—”
“Can you let everyone know?” Coward. “Box up the rest of my shit. I’ll message you an address to ship it to.”
Paterson’s voice hardens. “You’re not leaving.”
“I’m already gone.”
He huffs angrily. “Bullshit. You can’t.”
I jab the clutch and drop it down to sixth gear. Miles of dark road pass by me in a blur as I leave the outskirts of Sydney behind me. “Give me one good reason I should stay.”
Henry doesn’t hesitate. “Mac.”
I stare at the empty road ahead of me, my chest aching. So much that I can’t speak.
“You can’t give up.”
“I’m not giving up.” I swallow the huge lump in my throat. “I’m just letting go.”
“Then don’t let go, asshole.”
“It’s too late, Paterson. I already have.”
I hang up, dial another number, and put it back on speaker so I can drive.
It rings three times and then Mitch Valentine answers. “Are you good to go?”
“I’m good to go,” I reply, my voice hoarse.
“Good. We’re all set.”
I exhale, my gaze hard on the road as I focus ahead.
“Romero?”
“Yeah?”
There’s a pause. “You don’t have to do this.”
My hands grip tight to the steering wheel. “There’s no other way.”
“There’s always another way.”
I shake my head even though he can’t see it. “Not this time.”
“Good luck,” he says quietly.
I hang up.
MAC
The beginning…
“Mac! Get your butt down here this minute!”