JAKE
Not slamming that door takes every ounce of my control. Mac wants to play it like we don’t know each other? Fine. Does she want to hold a grudge for eternity? Okay. I get it. I hurt her. Bad. But if that spoiled bitch is pretending to herself that I never meant anything at all, then I’m damn well going to remind her.
Except … I can’t. It’s been two years since the Valentines made sure I removed myself from Mac’s life permanently. I received a phone call from Mitch Valentine the day after she left.
“How is she?” I asked because I was in absolute hell. With Mac gone it felt as if my life was over.
“You don’t get to ask that question. Mac is none of your concern anymore.”
My hand tightened on the phone, nostrils flaring as I leaned my back against the bedroom wall, letting it prop me upright. “It’s a simple question. All I want to know is that she got home and that she’s going to be okay.”
“She’s going to be fine,” was all he said after a long pause.
“Okay.” I drew in an aggravated breath. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
“We know.”
Mitch had always been a man of few words. It was frustrating as fuck. “Know what?”
“We know all about your life since you left Sydney, Romero. After you gave us your address to come and collect Mac, Dad did a little digging.” Of course he did. Damn Valentines sticking their fingers in everyone’s pie. “I just got off the phone with him. He had a lot to say.”
Sure he did. After some careful questioning with Mitch, I realised they knew just about everything. “Is there a point to this call?” I eventually asked, because if Mitch had one, he hadn’t reached it yet.
“Yes there is.”
“And?”
“How’s your father doing?”
What the … “He’s fine,” I snapped, annoyed at the change of subject. “Why? Do you know something?”
“I know he’s the reason why you’re caught up in the King Street Boys. We found the lump sum payment you made for his care. Two years’ worth. That’s a lot of money.”
I made the payment a week ago. It was part of the original plan in leaving with Mac. I wanted to make sure Dad was taken care of if something happened to me. “I had to do something.”
“I know. But you don’t have to live this life anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“We can get you out.”
I turned around and pressed my forehead to the wall, closing my eyes. I hated that they knew my business. But what I hated more was hearing Mitch offering to help. I wanted to leap at it. At this point I’d do anything. Even accept the offer. But I couldn’t because it was too late.
“I already tried.” My voice cracked and it was embarrassing. I cleared my throat.
“And you failed,” he said as I walked to my bed. Sinking down on the edge, I pressed the phone to my ear with one hand and held my head with the other. “With these people, Romero, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know. If you want out, consider it done. Just say the word.”
“How?” I asked. “Who is it you know?”
“Does it matter?” At this point, no, it didn’t. “Just say the word, Romero.”
“Goddammit.” I took a deep breath. “Get me out.”
So they did. But freedom comes at a price. And we all know the cost. Stay away from Mackenzie Valentine. Except somehow we’ve been thrown together again. How am I supposed to do the right thing and keep my distance when fate keeps making it impossible?
Walking inside my apartment across the hall, I swipe the half empty bottle of Jack from the counter. Tipping it back, I swallow easily as I wonder what Mac is doing here in Melbourne.
Her face swims in my head as the alcohol burns through me. Fuck. I’ll never dig her out from under my skin. I swig another huge mouthful of whiskey and choke, sputtering it everywhere. How am I going to live across the hall from her in a constant state of look but don’t touch. It’s going to send me insane.
Spinning, I throw the bottle against the wall. There’s no satisfaction in watching it shatter everywhere.
“Dude,” Frog says as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
My head is fuzzy. I’m drunker than I realised. Jason Froggatt, my bandmate, roommate, and the best bass guitarist I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing, stands in the doorway with his hand still resting on the handle. He looks so much like our other roommate, Cooper, they could pass for brothers. Frog’s brow is wrinkled, his dark brown eyes forlorn as he stares at the shattered bottle. Alcohol pools on the floor amongst shards of glass and clumps of dust.
“Why …” he starts and then trails off as if he can’t speak. The waste of a Jack bottle is simply too much for him to comprehend.
“It slipped from my hand,” I lie.
His gaze drops to my hand. He’s inspecting it for lube. The last time booze was dropped in this house happened when Frog was drinking and rubbing one out at the same time. With the excessive amount of lube he somehow managed to get all over himself, the bottle glided right out of his slicked up hand and hit the bathroom mirror. The loud crash had Cooper and me running. We opened the door and found Frog standing naked in a pile of mirror shards, dick in hand, wailing about the seven years of bad luck about to rain down on his head.
“What was that about back there?” he asks as I open kitchen cupboards, looking for something to clean the mess with. The empty shelves stare back at me as I think about how to answer Frog.
Oh that’s just Mac once again reappearing in my life. You know her, right? Except he doesn’t know her because I never told anyone I let the best thing in my life slip right through my fingers without a fight. No point explaining to anyone that I’m a stupid sonofabitch. But I’m a sonofabitch that sleeps at night knowing she’s better off without me, right? Right?
I have no idea what I’m going to do, but I can guess what the Valentine brothers will do. The minute they get wind of our inadvertent reunion, shit will hit the fan. I’ll be in for the beat down of my life.
I slam the kitchen cupboards closed. There’s nothing to tidy the mess with. When you’re at the shops with limited funds and it comes down to either booze or cleaning supplies, what kind of chump buys a dustpan and broom?
“It’s nothing,” I tell Frog, when it’s actually everything.
The truth is that I see Mac everywhere. I catch her walking down the street, sundress on and hair tousled from swimming in the ocean. Then she turns around and it’s a stranger. I see her sitting in my lecture, three rows down. I stare at the back of her head for minutes at a time, missing everything my professor says. Then she laughs and tilts her head and her face is all wrong. A trapdoor opens and my heart plummets, each and every time.
It leaves me feeling like I’m losing it.
“You’re losing it, man,” Frog cautions, somehow stumbling onto the same conclusion. He staggers his way to the bathroom and unzips his pants to take a piss with the door wide open.
“Don’t I know it,” I mutter.
“What?” he shouts over the noise of him urinating into the bowl.
I don’t answer. Instead, I search for my wallet. It’s wedged down the back of our ragged old sofa. I tuck it into my back pocket. “I’m going out to get another bottle!” I call out, heading for the door.
“Fuck that,” Frog says, zipping his jeans as he walks back in the room. “Stop being a killjoy and come back next door.” His words are slurred. Whatever he drank over there, it’s taking effect. “They have plenty of booze to fix whatever’s going on in your head right now.”
I’m not admitting to what’s going on in my head right now. Or ever. I met this merry new band of friends two years ago, and if I’ve learned anything since then, it’s that they pry into everything. No topic is too big or too small, and the term too much information does not exist. Your business is their business, your success their success, and your problems their problems.
It actually makes them the best kind of friends to have. They always have your back, even when they know you’re wrong.
For example, Frog slept with another guy’s girlfriend last month. It wasn’t the coolest thing to do, but Frog believes in his right to fuck any living, breathing female that crosses his path. And he can be persuasive. The boyfriend found out. He came looking for Frog like a wounded bear charging prey. He had friends at his back and a knife in hand, fully prepared to cut Frog’s dick off and shove it down his throat.
We knew this day would come eventually, so we might have been drunk and barely seated upright on our bar stools, but there was no element of surprise. We came out swinging, no holds barred. The showdown ended in a bar brawl, six stitches to a wound in Cooper’s back from a switch blade, two broken chairs, and a lifetime ban at the bar we brawled in. It also ended with Henry getting diarrhoea because we got stoned afterward and dared him to eat a giant lump of wasabi.
No doubt my friends will come in handy when the Valentine brothers came to hunt me down and bury me in their dirt hole, but even that isn’t incentive enough to share my stupidity over losing the girl who is everything I never deserved.
So when I open the apartment door and look at Frog, I keep my expression blank. “There’s nothing going on in my head.”
A loud burp escapes his mouth and he laughs. “You said it.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever, asshole.”
Frog shuffles me across the hall. He opens the door and I’m pushed inside. I don’t offer much resistance. To be honest, I’m not sure I can keep away. It’s only been a few minutes, and I already want to see Mac again.
But she’s not here. All I see are Henry, Evie, and Cooper. The three of them are yelling over the top of each other as Cooper struts in front of the television. He has heels on his feet and boobs underneath the white tee shirt. It’s stretched tight from the new additions, revealing a hint of the orange balloons with black skulls underneath. They’re leftover from our Halloween party last year. I know because I’m the putz who got stuck blowing them up. I gave up halfway through when it left me gasping like an asthmatic. I made the resolve to ditch the cigarettes, which I still plan to do. Soon.
I walk over and cup Cooper’s chesty balloons. I’ve no doubt they’ve been playing Truth or Dare and he’s chosen the latter. It’s what we do when we drink.
I give his new additions an amorous squeeze and wink. “Show us ya tits, love.”
Cooper smacks at my groping hands.
“Nice.” Mac’s comment is sharp and biting, like a rubber band flicking my skin. I turn around.
“I thought so,” I reply in a mocking tone.
There’s nothing more either of us can say without revealing our past connection, so I stare. Mac’s hair has grown. It’s piled in a messy topknot leaving her slender neck bare. She’s wearing a baggy shirt and sweatpants. I can’t remember her ever looking so good.
“See something you like?” she asks, folding her arms. “Because I don’t.”
“Burn,” Cooper says from behind me and sniggers. It makes me feel ten years old. Frog pays no notice to either of us. He jabs at Cooper’s chest like a punching bag. Popping sounds render the air and a loud argument ensues.
Fuck it. Mac and I can’t be at each other’s throats every day. No one can live like that. I walk toward the hall, holding her eyes until I pass. I know Mac will follow. She sees the intent on my face and is never one to back down from a challenge.
Knowing the guest room will be hers, I walk inside, turn around, and fold my arms as I wait. Mac doesn’t disappoint. She joins me moments later and closes the door behind her with a discreet click.
It encloses us together and the battle to keep my emotions in check begins. I can already feel my jaw ticking as we glare at each other. I’m angry. She’s not supposed to be here. I can’t keep my promise to her brothers like this. “What the hell are you doing in Melbourne, Mac?”
She mirrors my actions and folds her arms, creating a standoff. “How dare you! I’m attending university here just like every other student.” Her nostrils flare. “I’m not following you, if that’s what you think. I’m not that pathetic to chase after a guy who doesn’t want me.”
A protest climbs my throat. I choke it back down.
I want her. God, do I want her. My hunger is palpable. It rages through my blood like an inferno, savage and hot. It’s all I can do not to reach out and grab her.
I fist my hands by my side in a fight for control, but my voice is hoarse. It betrays me. “You think I don’t want you?”
She cocks her head, entirely too calm and in control. I know it’s an act. The colder Mac becomes, the deeper her agitation runs below the surface. “I used to think that, but I’m watching you now, Jake …” She steps toward me. Lifting a finger, she rakes a nail slowly down my chest, never taking her eyes from mine. I suck in a breath. Her lips curve coolly. She heard it. “… and I’m thinking you do. You want me. I see it in your eyes.” Her finger trails down until she’s cupping my rapidly filling cock. She squeezes and my pulse ignites. “And I feel it here.”
I take her hand and move it away. “You think you can toy with me now?”
Mac smirks, tugging her hand free from my grip. “I don’t think I can. I know it.”
My chest expands with anger. “I’m not your plaything.”
“I don’t plan on playing with you. I plan on reminding you that we always want what we can’t have. And you,” she says, taking a step backward as she holds my eyes, “will never have me.”
My restraint snaps. I hate her coldness. I hate that it’s directed toward me.
I grab Mac’s arm and turn her, twisting it behind her back. She struggles as I push her against the bedroom wall, face-first. She turns her head sideways, growling curses. I take immense satisfaction in her loss of composure. “You’re wrong,” I hiss in her ear. “I’ve already had you.” The familiar scent of her fills my nostrils, and I completely lose my mind. I forget every promise I made, both to the Valentines and myself. That’s what she does to me. “I’ll continue to have you whenever I damn well please. In fact, no one will ever have you the way I have you. Got that?”
“Fuck you,” she spits out.
My cock is harder than an iron pipe, and I grind it up against the sweet, round cheeks of her ass. “Anytime, Princess.”
“No,” Mac says with force. My hold goes lax and she turns. Sparks shoot from her eyes. “No, damn you. I don’t want you. Being in the same room as you makes me want to puke. I never belonged to you, Jake. And you never belonged to me. I just thought we did. I thought I had an idea of what love was, but I was young and stupid, and you … well, you were just stupid.”
The venom she spews is like little jabbing darts to the chest. It hurts. “Mac, what I did was the right thing to do. You know it is.”
“You don’t get to speak,” she hisses, her hate so strong I can barely stand beneath the weight of it. “And you don’t get to wrap up what you did with a self-righteous little bow to make yourself feel better. You’re just some loser who had the chance at something great and didn’t have the balls to take it.”
With that Mac walks to the door, flings it open, and leaves.
She’s right. She’s so very right that it eats away at me every single day. I had the chance at something great. But I couldn’t take it. And now it’s too late.