I smiled and stole a glance at Mac. He was bent down talking to his tiny blonde niece, who was showing him her missing bottom tooth. I tried not to stare, but the sight of them together was picture-perfect. The way he handled her, all soft-voiced and sweet, was incredibly endearing.
“Though it is out of the ordinary for Mac to worry about anyone’s paint job. Or to willingly owe Mason a favor—for any reason whatsoever,” Robin whispered, giving me a thoughtful look.
Mac drove me home after lunch, and though he flirted as always, he made no attempt to come inside. Of all the things that had happened that day, that one in particular made the biggest impression. I wondered if he was growing tired of the game…losing interest in me.
I didn’t like that idea. Not one little bit.
I decided to give it a little time to see if I was overreacting and whether he’d come around or call. Neither happened, and I knew that the ball was in my court. If we were still playing ball.
One overcast afternoon, I found myself pulling into a parking space right in front of Good Wood. It was drizzly, and my windshield wiper was sticking. I sighed, wishing for a brief moment that I’d gone into a more lucrative profession. It would be nice to be able to just throw money at problems once in a while.
Though I’d struggled to resist the temptation that was Mac Hildebrandt, the weather had been gloomy all week, and I needed a little of the sunshine he could provide. We’d only had a half day at school, and I had the following week off for Thanksgiving. Fall break was a wonderful bonus to teaching in Texas, though my parents both did their best to overschedule me.
Mom had been pestering me about flying up to Colorado to spend Thanksgiving with her. I’d tried to tell her we only had a week off of school and that I’d already made plans, which was a stretch. I planned to go rock climbing, read a couple of books, and maybe binge watch some old sitcoms on TVLand. I’d clean my tiny apartment and do a little laundry. Most of my peers would call that boring, but it sounded deliciously drama-free to me.
Still she kept pushing, but I told her I just couldn’t get away.
“You’re having Thanksgiving with him, aren’t you?” I knew immediately who she was referring to.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Even though I was telling the truth, she’d instantly reduced me to the awkward teen I’d been when my parent’s marriage came apart at the seams. I could feel my heart racing and suddenly had the mad urge for a king-sized Snickers. “I told Francis I wasn’t ready to play ‘family holiday.’”
“Good.” I heard her exhale loudly and knew she’d given up her nicotine patches again. It wasn’t surprising. She had always been a chain-smoker. My stepdad Bart had tried everything to get her to quit, but it was the one thing my mother wouldn’t give up. “We’re dying to see you. Maybe we’ll just fly down when Bart can get away.”
“You should,” I said, but I didn’t mean it. I missed her, even though she drove me bonkers. My stepdad was a pretty cool guy, but I didn’t see Austin on his top fifty list of places to visit. There was a reason I lived far away from my mother. She had a way of making me question every decision. There was also the fact that she seemed to revel in pointing out my shortcomings. She would always tell me that I got from my flaws “from my dad.” She made me feel small, pointing out the downside in any accomplishment that wasn’t a direct result of her guidance.
My biggest concern was keeping Francis and my mom away from each other. If they ended up in the same room (or within a five mile radius of one another), it was sure to be the start of the apocalypse.
As I sat in the car replaying the conversation in my mind, I noticed my dad in the store window, and he waved to me, all cheerful and enthusiastic. I felt frown lines forming on my face. He’d pestered me to join him for Thanksgiving, volunteering at a shelter, serving meals to the homeless. Though it was incredibly uncharitable of me, I couldn’t stand the idea of him introducing me to his fellow philanthropists as his daughter. I told him I had plans with Jerry. This was a total fabrication; she was meeting the cowboy’s family in San Antonio. At least one of us was getting laid.
Dad gestured for me to come into the shop. I took a deep, cleansing breath and opened my car door. I’d come here to get my flirt on with Mac, not force politeness with Francis so he could have his Lifetime Movie holiday moment. He’d still offered no explanation for his absence all these years, and I was done waiting for one. I planned to corner him and speak my mind. A heart-to-heart with my father had been on my ‘to do’ list since I moved down south, and there was no time like the present to mark it off.
“Hi, darlin!” My father’s smile was radiant. “Happy Thanksgiving a little early.”
My eyes shot to his horrible holiday sweater with a giant turkey stitched on the front. I’m not sure what came over me, but I realized I was shaking with rage. Where did he get off being so happy? How was it fair that I was spending the holiday alone with a Cornish hen and cranberry jelly from a can while he got to experience all that good cheer serving his fellow man?
I’d never wished unhappiness on another person in my entire life, but at that moment I was thinking vile thoughts about my father, and racking up decades worth of bad karma.
“Where were you?” I demanded, and my jaw hurt from clenching it. It was suddenly very hard to for me to breathe; but my back was up, and there was no way I was letting this conversation get pushed aside like it had been so many times before.
“What?” he asked, but I could tell by his apprehension that he knew where I was headed.
“Where the fuck were you, Dad? Where were you when the kids pelted me with candy bars because I’d gained so much weight? Or on prom night, when my date didn’t want to take no for an answer? I kicked him in the nuts just like you taught me. I had to walk three miles home in my stocking feet, because Mom was working a second job at the mall!”
He looked stunned…he sputtered, as if he’d just done the Ice Bucket Challenge. I’d love to say that it made me feel better to see him that way, but it didn’t.
Tears threatened to fall from my eyes, but they were angry tears and I welcomed the release. “I looked for you at my high school graduation, can you believe that? Even though I may as well have been looking for the fucking tooth fairy or Santa Clause or some other mythical creature I should have outgrown when I was little!”
“Kelly…I—” he started, but I wasn’t done. My rage was like a cancer, and I needed it out of me.
“Couldn’t you just stay away and let me believe you were dead?” It was the coup de gras, and when he grabbed his chest, I was sure I was going to have to dial 911.
I turned to storm out and ran face first into a man’s chest. I stepped back, mortified, and looked up to see I’d just smacked into Joe. His handsome brow was furrowed, and he couldn’t move, as he was carrying a five-gallon can of stain in each hand. By his bashful expression, it seemed like he wished he was anywhere else in the world.
“Sorry,” I blurted, as I sidestepped him, hurrying out of the door and into my car. I was a couple of miles away before it occurred to me that Mac might have been in the shop, and if he had been, he was sure to think I was a total psycho. When Joe told him about my rampage, I’d never hear from him again.
Once I was home, I changed into sweats and a halter top, ordering my very own small Philly Cheese Steak Pizza, and breaking out a pint of Godiva ice cream. I’d just sent the delivery boy off with a decent tip when my phone rang. I picked it up to deny the call, when I saw it was Mac’s name and number on the screen.
“Hello?” I managed, after spitting my very first mouthful of cheese and meat into a napkin.
“Hey,” he sounded all business. “I’m downstairs. Can you buzz me in?”
“O…Okay,” I replied, and I hurried over to the intercom to do as he asked. The monotonous drone sounded, and it dawned on me that Mac was about to be inside my inner sanctum. I glanced around at the minor clutter and then in the mirror at my sloppy ponytail and red-rimmed e
yes and groaned.
I heard the boards creak outside my apartment door, and I swung it open. Mac had his hand raised to knock. He looked amazing in a white button up shirt and black jeans. His light eyes scanned my blotchy face, my hair, and my state of dress, and he held up a case of cold Shiner Bock.
“Joe called. Said you could probably use a friend.” He brushed past me and turned sideways in order to fit into my tiny kitchen, where he opened the fridge and stuffed in the beer. He took a moment to pop the end and pull two cans from the case, and crossing back to me, he handed me one. “I hope you like Shiner.”
“I have pizza.” I replied, turning and walking back to the couch. He disappointed me when he took a seat in the nearby chair. I opened my beer and took a long pull. It was divine, and I relished the taste as I tried to think of what to say. It was hard to talk about Francis, even after all this time.
“So what did he do?” Mac asked. My confused eyes shot to his, since my mind was still stuck somewhere between the past and present.
“What? Who?” Looking decidedly uncomfortable, but resolute, Mac took a swig of beer before answering.
“Francis. What did he do to piss you off?” I realized that he was searching for an obvious reason for what triggered my outburst. It was male logic at its finest, and I was going to have to explain myself.
“He was happy.” I mumbled, swigging deeply from my beer.
Mac’s face scrunched up into the cutest expression of confusion. Then he reached out and casually snagged a piece of pizza.
“Well,” he deadpanned, “nothing’s more irritating than a happy father.”
“That’s just it,” I sat forward angrily. “What the hell does he have to be happy about?”
Mac’s light blue eyes locked on mine, attempting to penetrate my carefully maintained walls.
“Okay, we’re not talking about him being in a good mood.” he acknowledged, pausing before taking a bite of the pizza. He chewed thoughtfully and made a face that implied the pizza wasn’t bad. “Start at the beginning and tell me, Kelly.”
I wanted to refuse…to tell him that it was all too personal. Or maybe ask him to leave, as long as he left the beer behind. But I couldn’t. Instead, I sat there on my second-hand couch and began to talk. Once the words started, it was like I couldn’t get myself to shut up.
“When I look back, I can see when things started to go horribly wrong. I remember it vividly. I walked into the den and saw my mom slap my dad.” I looked at Mac and all I saw in his eyes was concern. If I had seen pity, I could have stopped. Instead, I kept spilling my guts. “They’d never fought in front of me. There’d been tense words, but never like that.”
All of it came rolling out of me after that. The good times before things came apart. How I’d never doubted my family life and how to this day I still have dreams about my childhood home.
The arguments they had about him being constantly on the road, the screaming matches about who she was seeing while he was gone, and his unexplained absences, which grew more and more frequent. My mom sobbing in her room long after she thought I was asleep. I talked about Francis leaving. How I didn’t realize that it was the last time I’d get to say goodbye. That I’d blown him off for my friends and a pointless trip to the mall.
I tried to explain the hollow feeling after, the hope I held onto that my dad would come back and that we’d somehow be a family again. How after that hope faded and my mom had started dating again, that I’d hoped he’d at least resurface to fight for us, or at least for a chance to be a dad to me. How that pathetic delusion managed to survive (even if it was only a minuscule sliver) until my graduation day. I explained to Mac that that was when a sense of closure came over me. My father was probably dead, and I just needed to move on.
All the unleashed resentment, anger, and loneliness boiled to the surface. I ranted. I raved. I think at one point I blew my nose onto one of my pizza napkins. I was sure Mac regretted his decision to volunteer his shoulder to cry on, but I was already on a roll.
Through it all, he just sat and listened. He handed me beer cans and shared my ice cream. Once in a while, he would ask for clarification or comment on something. Usually he’d just say ‘that sucks’ or ‘Damn!’
“And then he just…called me.” My voice broke. “Mentally burying your father and then having him turn up all smiles and okay…that’s surreal. I wished him dead, Mac. How do you think that makes me feel? I’m a disgusting person, because I’d rather have believed he was dead than hear that he just chose not to come home.”
By that time, I’d drained my fourth beer. The empty pizza box was stuffed in the trash, and I was starting to settle down enough that I wished I hadn’t over-shared. While we were sitting in silence, I wondered how quickly he would bolt for the door. Mac rose from the chair and finally joined me on the couch. He put his arm around me and gave me a side hug, pulling me to rest against him. It was friendly and non-threatening, and I welcomed it.
“There’s nothing wrong with thinking bad thoughts. Sometimes it’s the only relief valve you’ve got, especially as a kid. It isn’t really something you should beat yourself up about. I can’t imagine how I’d have reacted if my father had vanished.”
We sat in silence for a minute before he spoke again.
“Did I ever tell you about my old man?” His voice was soft and tentative.
I shook my head, stealing a glance up at him. Obvious pain was etched in his incredible features, and I felt terrible for unloading my petulance on him.
“No. I mean…I know he passed away. Molly mentioned him a couple of times.” My words came out a little slurred. I didn’t usually drink that much, and my overindulgence was showing. “Usually when she was talking about food.”
Mac smiled.
“Yeah, he and Molly had a pretty tight bond. She was the sous chef he always wanted…someone to follow in his footsteps, so to speak. He was a workaholic like your dad was. Mason and I…we mostly raised hell, snuck beer, and hit on the waitresses. Pop and I locked horns more than once over my shenanigans. We argued a lot, and I wasted a lot of time being mad at him.” I looked into his eyes and saw the sorrow reflected there. “I can only offer you the advice of a son who misses his dad. A lot. You only get one father in this life. They aren’t perfect; they’re human. All of us make mistakes. Sometimes those mistakes are too big to forgive. I’ve only known Francis for a short time, and I know he’s had problems. But I also know that he’s been a stand-up guy as long as I’ve known him. He’s always been ready to help anyone he could, even when it costs him something.” I nodded slowly, my buzzed mind slipping and sliding around his argument.
Mac bent down to meet my eyes, forcing me to peer at him by his sheer will. “He’s trying, Kelly. That’s the best any of us can do, isn’t it? Forgive him if you can. Do it for you, not for him.”
I considered how my father must have felt when I’d attacked him, and more tears welled in my eyes. I hated crying in front of Mac, but after months of trying to act like none of it mattered, I was exhausted from the fight.
Mac’s arm came around me once more, and he pulled me to his chest. I buried my face against him, and his amazing scent enveloped me. I felt my entire body relax as I melted into him, and the overwhelming sense of déjà vu made it impossible to speak or pull away. His fingers stroked my hair, and I felt his large hand on the back of my neck. His chest rose and fell deeply under my cheek, as if something was making him struggle to breathe. I felt his face in my hair as he kissed the top on my head, and before I could think twice, I turned my mouth up to meet his.
I leaned into him, seeking out his lips. The moment his soft mouth met mine, I knew what I wanted and that I’d wanted it since the moment he’d first spoke to me.
I wanted Mac.
I needed to escape into him, for him to consume me. I wanted him to help me drive all the bad memories away. Craving more, I reached for him, raking my fingers into his hair, fusing his mouth harder against mine. H
e let out a grunt of surprise and pleasure, immediately returning my kiss with equal fervor. For several long, glorious minutes our tongues lashed against each other’s, as our hands roamed freely. We were on the verge of combustion, and driven by instinct, I pulled myself up onto his lap, straddling him. Just as my hands were reaching for his belt he captured them in his own.
“Whoa, Sugar.” He murmured against the hollow of my neck.
“Mac…” I urged, rocking gently on top of him. I watched as he shut his seductive eyes and winced.
“Kelly. Stop.” He said the words, but I could feel how hard he was against me. I pulled a hand away from his grasp and caressed the mound beneath the crotch of his worn denim. He groaned, and grabbed my wrist again, holding it out so I couldn’t touch him. “You…you shouldn’t do something you might regret when your head is clear.”
I froze, studying his face in disbelief. “You don’t want me?”
“I didn’t say that.” His voice was thick, and his eyes were glassy.
“Isn’t this what you came here for?” I asked.
To his credit, he seemed completely stunned by the suggestion. “No. I came here ‘cause I thought you could use someone to talk to.”
Feeling like a fool, I climbed off of him and smoothed my haphazard hair out of my face. I tried to think of something dignified to say…a graceful way out of this awkward situation, but the section of my mind that strategized had apparently turned in for the evening.
Fortunately, Mac didn’t seem to have the same issue. Turning to me, he guided my chin in his direction so that I had no choice but to face him. He looked like he wanted to say something, but seemed to choke on the words. Moving in for another kiss, this one delicate and sweet, he nearly took my breath away. He pulled back and pressed his forehead to mine with a troubled sigh.
“I’m gonna go.”
“Don’t.” I frowned, the image of his crumpled body in a ditch flashing through my mind. “You’ve been drinking, too. I can’t let you get on that deathtrap of yours. Just wait here. I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket.”
Wood U (Carved Hearts #4) Page 7