Everything Worth Fighting For

by Street, K.

  “When Camryn wasn’t hurling?” He chuckled. “It was great.”

  “She got sick, too?”

  “No, dumbass.” He grinned like a fool. “She’s pregnant, remember?”

  I’d forgotten, right before the wedding, they’d found out she was expecting.

  “Daddy.” Shayne held her palm flat and looked up at Tucker.

  He dug around in his pocket and set a quarter in her palm.

  She shoved the coin into her pocket and smiled. “Always a pleasure doing business with you,” she said and skipped over to the swing.

  I took a swig of my beer and then tipped the bottle in Shayne’s direction as I met Tucker’s gaze. “Heaven help the man who marries that girl.”

  “I know it,” Tucker said, the pride in his voice evident. “We’d better get in there. You know how Mom gets if we let the food get cold.” He opened the door with his free hand. “Let’s go, Bug. Time to eat.”

  “Thank goodness. I’m starving.” Shayne jumped down from the swing.

  I inhaled the delicious scent that filled the air, and my stomach growled.

  In the kitchen, Mama J pulled biscuits out of the oven while Camryn poured lemonade into glasses.

  After I made the rounds to hug the ladies, I became fully aware of Macy’s absence. It dawned on me that I hadn’t seen her car in the driveway either.

  “Where’s Mace?” I asked, hoping I sounded more curious than disappointed.

  I had replayed the kiss we’d shared at least a hundred times.

  Mama J spoke, but I was too lost in thought to make out her words.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I said, she’s sick. It seems she caught whatever bug Shayne had.” Mama J pointed to the small stack of paper plates on the counter next to the stove. “Come on, y’all; make yourselves a plate before the food gets cold,” she chastised even though steam was rising from the food.

  “Baby, why don’t you and Shayne go out and sit down? I’ll take care of this,” Tucker told Camryn.

  I watched the two of them exchange a smile, and I tried not to be jealous of my best friend. He’d been through hell, and he deserved his happiness.

  Once the plates were filled, we all sat around the large oak dining table. Over the years, it had been marred with scratches, and if you looked close enough, you could still see faint spots of red Kool-Aid stains left behind from our youth. Mama J’s had been my second home, growing up. I had more happy childhood memories in this house than I did my own, and it still felt like home.

  It took every bit of restraint I had not to inhale Mama J’s signature pot roast, roasted carrots, and mashed potatoes with gravy. After I finished eating, I carried my stuff into the kitchen, discarded my trash, and tried to think of an excuse, so it wouldn’t seem like I was eating and running off.

  Worry gnawed at my gut along with the overwhelming need to go check on Macy.

  “Do you mind dropping this off to Macy?” Mama J asked from behind me. She held out a paper bag with the logo of the local supermarket on it.

  I hadn’t even noticed she’d followed me into the kitchen.

  “Sure. I guess I can run by there.” I half-shrugged, rubbing the back of my neck.

  She gave me a look that said I wasn’t fooling her. “Go take care of our girl.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I took the bag, gave her a hug, and thanked her for supper.

  On my way out the door, I bent to kiss Camryn on the cheek and ruffled Shayne’s hair.

  Tucker stood. “Leaving so soon?”

  “Yep. Your mom asked me to run this over to Macy.”

  He clapped me on the back. “See you at the shop tomorrow.”

  “See you,” I called over my shoulder and headed to my car to drive to Macy’s.

  When I arrived, I found her front door unlocked.

  I walked inside, expecting to find her lying on the couch. When she wasn’t there, I deposited the bag Laura had given me in the kitchen and went in search of her.

  “Mace?” I called out but not too loud in case she was sleeping.

  She wasn’t in her room or in the master bathroom, so I went down the hall to the guest bathroom.

  What the fuck?

  She was passed out cold on the tiled floor.

  Instantly, I dropped to my knees beside her. “Mace. Come on; wake up.” I shook her shoulder.

  She let out a groan and swatted at my arm. “Stop shaking me.” At least that was what it sounded like. It was hard to tell with her face smashed against the floor.

  “Shit. Mace, you’re burning up.”

  Her only response was another groan.

  “Come on; I’ll help you to bed.” I lifted her into my arms. The heat from her skin radiated through my T-shirt.

  Her covers on the bed were already thrown back, so I gently laid her down.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  She didn’t bother with a response.

  I made my way to the kitchen, put the soup Laura had sent over in the fridge, and took a Gatorade from the bag. Reaching into the cabinet, I grabbed a glass and then opened the freezer. Ice cubes clinked against the sides of the glass as I dropped them inside.

  I located the thermometer and some ibuprofen, and I carried everything into the bedroom, placing the items on the nightstand before I went into the bathroom in search of a washcloth to wet.

  When I returned, I toed off my shoes and sat on Macy’s bed, propping myself against the headboard.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Taking care of you.” I pressed the damp, cool cloth to her head.

  “You—”

  “Don’t even say it,” I cut off her words, in no mood to hear what I was certain would have fallen out of her mouth.

  You don’t have to do this. I can take care of myself.

  I mentally finished her sentence, and while I knew she was more than capable, it didn’t change the fact that I wanted to be the one to care for her.

  “Open,” I ordered.

  She complied, and I placed the thermometer under her tongue. While we waited for it to beep, I twisted off the lid of the sports drink and poured it over the ice.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  I removed the thermometer and read the display, “One hundred two point seven.”

  “See?” Her tone mocked me. “It’s not even that high.”

  “Don’t give me that bullshit. It’s almost a hundred three. Do you feel like trying to sip some Gatorade?”

  She winced and shifted to sit up. “Sure.”

  “Here,” I said and passed her the drink.

  After Macy had a few sips of the blue liquid, I gave her two ibuprofens, which she took without argument, and then I replaced the bottle on the nightstand.

  She curled into my side, and I put one arm around her while using the other to hold the cold rag on her forehead.

  After several long minutes, soft snores filled the silence. I glanced down to see Macy’s eyes were closed, those long lashes nearly reaching her cheekbones. She was so fucking gorgeous. Even like this. Snoring, sick, and feverish.

  I wanted to hold her forever. The need to commit the way she felt in my arms to memory overwhelmed me. I kissed the top of her head before resting my cheek against it and closing my eyes.

  Hours later, I woke in Macy’s bed. A crick in my neck and a damp T-shirt clinging to my skin.

  Macy stirred but didn’t wake as I angled my head to stretch out the kink.

  Strands of her deep red hair were plastered against her forehead, and I swept them out of the way. I ran my fingers up and down her back, relishing the closeness of her, wishing it were possible to recapture all the time we had lost.

  Too soon, she stirred in my lap and shifted onto her other side.

  I got up to use the bathroom, and when I returned, I found Macy sitting up in bed. She glanced at me, and I watched her eyes struggle to focus.

  “What time is it?” she asked. Her voice was that raspy kind of sexy.

&n
bsp; “Not sure. Feeling any better?”

  She licked her lips and looked around. When her eyes landed on the Gatorade, she unscrewed the cap and brought it to her mouth. After a long swallow, she fixed her eyes on me. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

  “I was happy to do it.”

  Macy carefully moved across the bed until her feet dangled over the edge of the mattress. She took a deep breath and stood on shaky legs.

  In an instant, I was beside her, gripping her elbow to steady her. “Easy.”

  “Thanks.” After a second, she pulled out of my hold and put a foot of space between us. “I’m good. Really. Thanks for everything. I’m feeling better. I don’t want you to get sick. You really don’t need to hang around.”

  I brushed her hair back. “What if I want to?”

  She was weak, and she looked miserable. I was worried about her, and there was no way I was leaving her like this.

  “I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

  “I never implied you weren’t. I’m right where I want to be. So, stop being fucking stubborn and let me help you.”

  Macy took hold of my hand that was lingering on the side of her head and moved it away. “All right. I’m going to take a shower.”

  “You should probably try to eat something. I’ll heat you up some soup.”

  “Thank you. I won’t be too long.”

  An hour later, after she showered and ate some of the soup Mama J had sent over, we sat on the couch and watched Parks and Recreation on Netflix.

  I tried like hell to ignore the perfect swell of her breasts beneath her tank top and the way the edge of her sleep shorts had ridden up to the place I wanted to bury my face.

  I snatched one of the throw pillows beside me and set it on my lap. Then, I kicked my feet up on the ottoman. “Feeling better?”

  “A little. I’m just tired and cranky.” She yawned.

  She was still beautiful despite the dark circles under her eyes.

  “You should probably stay home tomorrow.”

  “Maybe. It depends on how rough I feel when I get up.”

  We were quiet for several minutes until she broke the silence.

  “I’m sorry for being rude earlier … before my shower.”

  “Don’t sweat it.”

  “Can I ask you something?” she asked shyly.

  Macy wasn’t timid. She was ballsy and didn’t hold back, so the fact that she’d asked for permission before she spit out the question made me nervous.

  Even though I was certain I’d regret it, I said, “Sure.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  The question came out of nowhere, taking me by surprise. I knew damn well what she was talking about, but I asked anyway, “Do what?”

  “Why did you sleep with her?”

  She’d never asked me that before.

  Not the night it’d happened and not in all the years since.

  The truth would be hard for her to swallow, but I owed her that much. “I didn’t.”

  “What?” Her mouth hung open.

  “I didn’t.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Macy, I swear to you, I never had sex with Becca that night.”

  Her spine straightened as she sat taller on the opposite end of the couch. “I saw you.”

  “No. You saw what I needed you to see.”

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded.

  The pain I saw etched on her pretty face almost made me wish I had fucked Becca. I wasn’t sure which was worse. The look on her face the night it’d happened or the one I saw now that she knew the truth.

  “I had nothing to offer you, and you were going to throw your whole future away. The scholarship you’d worked your ass off for. All of it. Just to be with me. I couldn’t let you do that.”

  Her features hardened. “Are you telling me, it was all an illusion? So you, what? Tricked me? Played some sort of fucked-up mind game?”

  “Calm down. It wasn’t like that.”

  “Do not fucking tell me to calm down.” She seethed.

  I reached out to touch her leg, but she pulled away.

  “Will you please just let me explain?”

  “Get out!”

  “Baby—”

  “Don’t. You do not get to call me that.”

  “Damn it, Macy. I get that you’re upset. I fucked up, but back then, I thought I was doing the right thing.”

  “You thought wrong. You ruined everything.” She jabbed a finger into her chest, right over her heart. “You broke me! Don’t you get that?”

  Like shards of glass, her words ripped me open.

  “Leave. Just leave.” She sagged into the sofa, tears filling her blue eyes. “Go home, Nash. Please.”

  Macy didn’t do tears. Not without good reason.

  I could count on two hands, with a few fingers leftover, the number of times I’d seen Macy cry in my life. Sure, her eyes had gotten glassy, but for her to allow anyone to witness those tears … it was rare.

  “All right. I’ll go.”

  Without acknowledging my words, she leaned her head back against the cushion and closed her eyes.

  I stood and tried one more time. “Mace.”

  “Please.” She didn’t spare me a glance, and it hurt like hell.

  Reluctantly, I headed for the door.

  I got in my car and drove away.

  Like a fool, I’d thought it’d be so simple. I’d expected that, after I told Macy the truth, we’d finally move forward. I’d assumed she’d forgive me.

  Whoever said confession was good for the soul was a fucking idiot.

  8

  Macy

  I waited.

  Until the echo of his footsteps carried him across the hardwood floor.

  Until I listened to the front door open and then latch shut.

  Until I heard his car engine start.

  Until I was certain he was gone.

  And then …

  I fractured into a million shards right there in my living room.

  He knew I never would’ve left him.

  So, he made me believe the one thing that would destroy me.

  A stone cast into the sea. The ripple effect far more reaching than a mind could grasp. That night had been the catalyst to the ruin that came after.

  What if …

  Like a swarm of bees, the questions whirred in my head.

  What if …

  A dozen different scenarios played out behind my closed lids.

  What if Nash had never kissed Becca?

  What if I’d never gone away to college?

  What if we had each made different choices and it had changed … everything?

  Pain ripped through me.

  I grabbed one of the throw pillows and held it against my abdomen. Tucking my limbs, I curled into a tight ball and rolled onto my side.

  Sounds I didn’t even recognize as my own reverberated in my ears. They bounced off the walls and ricocheted against the ceiling.

  Tears ran in rivulets and mixed with snot as my agony gave way to exhaustion, and I fell asleep.

  9

  Macy

  Head pounding and heart aching, I picked up my phone and did something I had rarely ever done. I called in sick to work.

  I needed a day to recover. To laze around in my pajamas, rehydrate, and try to make sense of what Nash had said.

  “I never had sex with Becca that night.”

  “You saw what I needed you to see.”

  “You were going to throw your whole future away. I couldn’t let you do that.”

  Relief. That was probably what I should’ve felt when Nash dropped his confession on me. Instead of being relieved, I was angry.

  Angry in a way that heated my skin from the inside out.

  Beneath that anger was a hurt that ran so fucking deep. One that cut me to the bone and made me feel empty inside. There wasn’t a moment when I didn’t carry that hollow ache.

  And that w
as worse than anything.

  The emptiness.

  It never went away.

  It was bottomless.

  I had gone through hell, and I had done it alone.

  Every day, I struggled not to suffocate under the weight of my guilt.

  I’d blamed Nash back then. It had taken years for me to finally move beyond it.

  After the bomb he’d dropped last night, I blamed him all over again. Maybe that wasn’t fair, but I didn’t give two shits about what was fair.

  My head throbbed from all the introspection, so I went into the kitchen to get a glass of water and to swallow a few ibuprofen. After my shower, I curled up on the sofa, closed my eyes, and fell asleep.

  * * *

  Hours later, I woke to the sound of someone pounding on the door, and it went straight through my skull. Whoever it was must have a death wish, and I intended to shank them. Through groggy eyes, I stumbled over to the peephole.

  The last person I wanted to see stood on the other side of my door.

  Great. What the hell is he doing here?

  “Go away, Nash.”

  “Not a fucking chance. I’ll stand here all night if I have to.”

  I knew he wasn’t lying.

  With little choice, I took a deep breath, twisted the doorknob, and pulled it open. “What are you doing here?”

  “I brought you dinner.” He walked in like he had a right to.

  “Of course. Come right in, won’t you?” Sarcasm dripped from my voice. I shut the door and followed behind him.

  Whatever was in that bag smelled divine, and for the first time since Saturday morning, I realized I was hungry.

  “It’s nice to know some things never change.” He smirked at me before heading to the kitchen.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that you’re cranky when you’re sick.” He set the bag on the counter and began to empty it.

  I defiantly crossed my arms. “Aren’t most people?”

  “I guess, but you take it to a whole new level.”

  He wasn’t wrong.

  “Remember when you got your tonsils out?”

  I glared at him. “Fine. You’ve made your point.”

  He took out the containers of food. “I got you roasted chicken and mashed potatoes.”