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 battle.
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. “The 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.
My phone rings, the sound faint from inside my handbag. I ignore it and kick at the door from frustration. It rings again.
“Goddammit,” I growl and reach for it, walking away.
Casey’s name is on the screen, along with an image of him giving me the finger. My friends did that one night when I was sleeping. They hacked my phone and edited my contacts, adding an image to their individual profiles of them flipping the middle finger to the camera. My brothers, Evie, Henry, and Quinn. Even the band, including Jake. I had to give them credit for that. It was funny, especially when I got a call from Dad and they’d managed to get him in on it too.
“Hotdog,” I answer, putting the phone to my ear as I jog down the front steps.
“Mac Attack,” he replies. “Need you.”
I start toward our duplex on the other side. “What’s up?”
“The party tonight. Grace won’t sit down. She needs to rest and I can’t do it all on my—”
“Say no more,” I interrupt as I reach my own front door. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
“May God grant you a thousand of the best orgasms of your life,” he replies and hangs up.
Using the key, I let myself inside. “Anyone home?”
No one calls back as I close the door behind me.
I shower quickly and plan my outfit as I massage a facial scrub over my cheeks and forehead. When I’m out, I dry off. After wrapping my hair up in my towel, I tug on the sexiest underwear I own. Black lace, demi cup bra and a thong so tiny I may as well be wearing dental floss on my butt crack.
After that, I slide on tight black pants. Horizontal zippers decorate the front and the back. My top is a fitted leather vest that zips upward into a low-cut V and pushes my breasts up and together to create some much-needed cleavage. I complete the look with sleek hair, heavy, dark eyes, nude lips, and strappy black stilettos. The whole process leaves me feeling battle ready.
With no one home, I call an uber and get assigned ‘Louise.’ She arrives in ten minutes. I open the car door to a driver who looks no older than ten. “Are you Louise? How old are you?” I ask as I slide inside the passenger seat.
I don’t hear her answer because everything blacks out for a moment.
“Oh my gosh, are you okay?”
My breath comes with conscious effort as waves of nausea roll over me. “I’m fine,” I say, buckling my seat belt.
We zoom off into the street but panic begins to creep in. It’s okay, I tell myself in a cool voice. You haven’t eaten today. That’s all it is.
My breathing eases a little but the nausea does not.
I’m not pregnant. I’m just exhausted.
We’re halfway to Casey’s loft when I spot a pharmacy looming ahead. There’s only one way to be sure. “Stop the car,” I bark.
“What? Here?” Her tone is confused but she pulls over, parking by the kerb.
“I just need to—” My stomach heaves, and I gesture at the building we’ve stopped in front of. “Be right back.”
JAKE
Casey’s loft is a crush of people by the time I arrive. My eyes seek Mac the moment I step through the door. She’s standing in the kitchen, talking and laughing with Coby, Evie’s brother. The craving sets in with a steady thump thump thump. Everyone is dressed in varying shades of colour, and she’s all in black. The effect is dark and sexy, like Satan’s blonde mistress. Her green eyes flicker my way as if she feels my stare.
You’re so beautiful.
I draw air deep inside my lungs. They expand, my chest rising.
Be strong, asshole.
I force a distant expression, turn away, and exhale with care. Moving through the living area, I spy Henry in conversation with Cooper and Frog. I come up from behind and slap him on the back.
“Hey,” he says, half turning.
I steal his beer and take a long pull before joining in their conversation. After about ten minutes, Henry leans in, speaking in a low voice. “Have you seen Mac tonight?”
“Yes.” I look for her again and catch her watching me, her eyes pained. She knows I’m avoiding her. If she didn’t get the hint at the duplex, she knows it now. I don’t know what it was that brought her to my door this afternoon but pride will stop her from approaching me again. At least tonight. And after that it will be too late.
“Why?” I ask Henry.
“Because she doesn’t look so good. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mac sick before. She’s always seems so invincible, but tonight …”
Mac turns away when someone steals her attention, and I study her face. Henry is right. Faint shadows line her eyes, and the golden hue to her skin appears faded. Her health doesn’t appear to have improved since our return from tour. I abandon all sense of self-preservation and start toward her.
When I reach her in the kitchen, Mac is holding an arm across her belly, as if she’s moments away from puking all over the timber floor. She watches my approach with wary eyes.
“Princess?”
The endearment slips out. Dammit.
“I’m not your princess,” she snaps, tension gathering in her slight frame.
My jaw grinds. I get it. Mac humbled herself earlier today. Her desperate “please” still echoes in my head.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
She’s not fine. Her movements are jerky as she twists the lid off a beer and thrusts it at me. I ignore it, instead studying her face. My eyes drop to her mouth when she bites down on her bottom lip. Thump thump thump goes my craving. I can’t even be around her for even a minute without wanting to push her up against a wall and fuck her until the hunger eases. But it never does.
“Take the stupid beer,” she growls, seeing the heat gathering in my eyes.
I huff and snatch it from her, setting it on the kitchen counter beside us.
“Mac, I …” I look away, swallowing, and rub a hand over the short buzz of hair on my head. Am I making a mistake by leaving? My shoulders sag. What choice do I have? My voice hardens as I face her again. “We need to move on. Build some distance. I can’t be around you …”
Because it wears me down.
Her eyes close and the bitterness of heartache folds me up in its cold embrace. I cup her jaw before I can help myself. The touch is everything. For one brief moment we’re connected and everything feels okay. But it’s all an illusion.
My hand slides away and her eyes flicker open. “You’re right. We need to move on.”