Make Me Beg (The Men of Gold Mountain)

by Rebecca Brooks

  But there wasn’t time to get into it—he was already opening the door. Mack plastered on a smile as Austin and Sam walked in. A nice, normal smile for her friends. Not the look of someone who’d been having sex all night. And morning. And for weeks before. With someone she’d purported not to like and was still figuring out if she could trust. Complicated? It was enough to make her head spin.

  “Look at you.” Sam laughed as she brought a bowl of fruit salad into the kitchen and caught sight of Mack.

  “I spilled coffee all over my clothes,” Mack said loudly, so Connor could hear. It wasn’t the best cover story, but it wasn’t the worst. “We threw everything in the laundry. It should come out okay.”

  “I hope it wasn’t too hot,” Sam said in concern.

  “It was fine.” Mack took the fruit salad as Connor pulled out serving tongs.

  She’d hoped that would be the end of it, but then Austin came in. “Must have been quite a spill,” he said.

  “Yup. The whole mug.”

  “What on earth were you doing?” Sam wanted to know, and Mack began to think she should have worn her little black dress instead. They had to go through it all over again when Claire and Abbi showed up, both of them laughing at how funny she looked. Then Claire commented that Mack must have gotten an early start, because when she and Maya went for a walk that morning, her car wasn’t there.

  “Yeah, I barely slept after Abbi and I got back from Bellingham. I kept thinking of more things we have to do.”

  Connor had soaked thick slices of homemade bread in eggs, cream, and rum last night and stuck it in the oven while she was sleeping. It was her favorite kind of French toast, and she took another slice, wondering if her friends were always this goddamn chatty or whether she was just being paranoid.

  “That sounds like good progress,” Sam said brightly. “And if this dish is any indication, it looks like the planning for the brunch menu is going well.”

  “Oh, definitely.”

  But somehow she had forgotten about the brunch menu and the fact that she was supposed to be making another set of cocktails to play to a midday weekend crowd. Funny how things had recently come up to distract her.

  She waited for Connor to say something irritatingly chipper about how everything was fine—or else remark that it’d be going well if she could get her shit together and stop harping on the name.

  In other words, the usual.

  But he didn’t. In fact, he barely seemed to have heard what Sam said. He was looking right at Mack. But she didn’t know what his eyes were trying to say.

  Later, when he was talking to Austin, she looked at him across the room, at his hair still messy from where she’d run her fingers through it after the shower, at the muscles in his forearms where he’d rolled up his shirt. At the way he carried himself, loose and comfortable as he leaned against the table, intent on the conversation.

  She’d never thought to look at him like this, the way other people might when they weren’t up close to him so much of the time. He was a good listener. His brain bounced all over the place, trying new ideas. But that was because he was curious, interested, unwilling to stop. Was that such a bad thing?

  “Mack.” Abbi smacked her in the arm. “You’re not even paying attention.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “What?”

  Abbi narrowed her eyes at her. “I was asking when you’re going to call Cute Adam. I’ve decided it’s a non-negotiable. You have to do it.”

  Sitting next to Mack on the couch, Claire perked up immediately. “Who’s Cute Adam?”

  “He’s no one,” Mack said, at the same time Abbi said, “He’s cute. Obviously.”

  “Marginally,” Mack conceded. “But it’s not happening, so forget about it.” Her eyes scanned the room, looking for Connor. He’d moved to the kitchen to get coffee—thank God.

  Abbi leaned conspiratorially toward Claire. “We met him at dinner last night. The friend he was with was a dud, but you should have seen the way he was looking at Mack.”

  “And?” Claire asked.

  “And Mack got his number. Like a champ.”

  “So you’re calling him—right?”

  Mack shook her head. “Abbi loves playing matchmaker, but trust me. This isn’t the one.”

  “He doesn’t have to be the one,” Abbi scoffed. “Just the one for an hour or so.”

  She winked, and Claire burst out laughing as Connor came up behind them with the coffeepot. “Refills, anyone?”

  As he poured, Mack hoped with every cell in her body that he’d been too late, he hadn’t heard anything, he really was there for the coffee.

  But then he said, “Who’s not the one?” If it were physically possible for a person to curl up into a ball and disappear, she wanted to discover that ability right about then, before the inevitable happened and Abbi said:

  “This guy Mack met last night. He saved his name in her phone as Cute Adam, no last name. We’ve agreed Mack has to call him. Don’t you think?”

  There was a pause. “If that’s what Mack wants,” he finally said.

  Abbi raised an eyebrow at Mack as if to say, See, even Connor thinks you should go for it. How did her friends not hear how his voice was steel, how he spit out the words as though they were venom on his tongue? He was holding the coffeepot over her head and Mack was afraid he was going to spill it all over her—out of spite or simply because he couldn’t keep his hands still.

  Abbi turned around on the couch so she was looking up at him. “Mack’s flirting game could use some work, though. Maybe you could give her some pointers. You obviously know how it’s done.”

  “My game is doing fine,” Mack said hotly, standing up. “Is there more fruit?” she asked Connor. “I think I’ll get some.” She willed him to follow her into the kitchen, for Abbi to shut up, for anything to make this conversation over.

  But he was glued to the spot, still gripping the coffeepot, his knuckles white. And Abbi was still talking.

  “What was that you said last night, Mack?” she called.

  “I really don’t think we need to—”

  “Oh, come on,” Austin said, coming over with Sam to join the conversation. “Give us the good stuff.”

  Abbi laughed. “Now I remember. It was something like, once a dog, you don’t learn to purr.”

  “The purring was your line,” Mack said, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, watching the color drain from Connor’s face. She willed him to understand that that wasn’t what she’d said.

  Or it was, but she hadn’t meant it. Not like that.

  Not the way he was taking it now.

  “Who’s the dog here?” Austin asked. “Connor?”

  Abbi shrugged. “According to Mack, some people never change. So I’m placing bets on whether Connor’s ever going to meet the one. Mack says he’s incapable of love. I’m willing to be a little more generous, just because I’d hate for someone to say that about me.” She laughed. “Connor, you have anything to say in your defense?”

  Mack had no idea what he said. She was too busy witnessing the exact moment when his insides split open and everything that had started to grow between them leaked out. It was like watching glass shatter in slow motion, seeing the disaster and knowing there was no way to stop it. Nothing she said, no way she tried to backtrack, could put together what had broken right in front of her.

  But of course no one else noticed. Because no one else knew.

  She’d been so afraid Connor was going to use her for a night or two and then announce he was done. But she’d been the one to get someone else’s number. She’d been the one to make this seem like nothing but some short-lived, meaningless fun. Even if that wasn’t how it felt.

  Mack spent the rest of brunch in the kitchen. When Connor dropped off dishes, he kept up his conversation with Austin and left right away. It was just as it used to be between the two of them.

  Only it felt as normal as a hole in her chest.

  S
he was busy packing up leftovers when Claire asked if she wanted to come over while Maya was at a playdate. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!”

  “I’d love to,” she said, “but I, uh, I should probably stick around to check on my clothes.”

  “That’s okay,” Connor said, coming into the kitchen. “I’ll bring them to you at work later and we can do an exchange.”

  “But shouldn’t we finish working on the…” Her mind raced, trying to come up with a reason to stay when they’d never lingered one-on-one. “On the stuff for the restaurant?”

  His jaw clenched. “I think we covered plenty this morning.”

  Blood pounded in Mack’s ears. If she could stop him right here, make everyone leave, she could fix this. She’d explain she hadn’t meant it, and Abbi certainly wasn’t supposed to repeat it…

  And he’d instantly forgive her for talking shit, for acting like he was nothing to her friends while at the same time she was on her way to spend the night with him? Right, like that was what would happen.

  “I guess I’ll go then,” she murmured.

  “Do you want that?” Claire pointed to the fruit she’d left out.

  “You can take it. I’ve got to run.”

  “I’ll come with you, give me a sec.”

  But Mack was already out the door, half tripping in Connor’s sweatpants, the smell of him—laundry and coffee and cooking and Connorness—making her eyes smart as she fumbled for her keys.

  She understood now why people got up and left. Some things broke in too many pieces to be fixed. Hearts, egos, friendships, jobs. The strange something she’d almost started to think of as love.

  But it was too messy, too out of control to handle. She went home and headed straight to her bedroom to change. She couldn’t stand having his clothes on, the way it felt like he was still holding her.

  It was even worse back in her jeans, though, knowing his touch was gone.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Connor stood in his bedroom after everyone had left and held Mack’s dress in his hands. It smelled like her, like citrus and shampoo. He put it on a hanger and tucked it in the back of his closet. He’d return it as promised, but if he had to look at it another second, he’d probably wind up setting fire to it in the sink. And then it would be awkward when the fire department came and he had to explain how his not-girlfriend, whom he wasn’t in love with, apparently had zero feelings for him, too.

  He knew it didn’t make sense. But the fact remained that she’d come over, made love to him, slept in his bed, woken up to turn his old T-shirt into something sexier than the finest lingerie. All that, moments after getting some other guy’s number, then turning to her best friend and calling Connor a dog who was never going to change. Even worse, never going to love.

  She’d acted like he was “just” someone who slept around, as though his sexual history made him less than—less capable of feeling, less worthy of care. As though what was happening between them didn’t mean a thing.

  One night together wasn’t the stuff of promises. But this wasn’t one night together. They’d had more than that already. And they’d known each other for so long, they were far from strangers starting from scratch. He’d thought he’d felt things growing between them.

  He’d thought this meant so much more than when they’d begun.

  But the way she was with him was a lie. As soon as their friends were around, as soon as this was anything but a secret, an accident, a mistake, she went and denied it to the world. The excuses she’d made up so no one would suspect were preposterous. Spilling coffee on her clothes? Any pretext she could come up with before practically ignoring him all morning, as though he wasn’t worth her time.

  It wasn’t like he’d expected to make some grand announcement to their friends today. But then the doorbell rang and everything felt like it was about to burst out. Why should they have to hide? Wasn’t it okay to be happy?

  Mack wouldn’t dream of it, though. To suddenly see her act like this was nothing, like it hadn’t even happened, turned the meal to salt in his mouth.

  The worst part was that there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t make her feel differently about him. He couldn’t get her to open up, invite him into her life, make this become something if she wouldn’t let it.

  Three years ago, she’d had every reason to turn away. When he’d come to Gold Mountain and walked up to her at the bar, he’d been full of it, expecting her to fall all over him.

  Now he knew why she she’d put the brakes on anything between them. He’d been egotistical, immature, nothing like what she needed. He’d practically announced that he planned to leave after sleeping with her.

  He’d thought it was no big deal. She was just one woman. Surely he’d find someone else.

  But then there followed three years of running from his feelings, pretending everything was fine. Now it was time to face the truth—he’d spent that whole time mired in distractions, convincing himself that anyone could replace her.

  It hadn’t worked. He’d tortured himself for years, but he couldn’t do it anymore. He had to get over her, once and for all. He had to put this behind him, and the conviction made him realize there was something he could do. There was a path that led away from here, away from everything.

  …

  It was a cloudy day, but the low light enhanced the contrasts in the trees, the moss, the wildflowers that had sprung up everywhere. Connor liked days like this where the world felt cocooned, mountains closing in around him. He wasn’t sure where he was driving, until it seemed inevitable. Of course he was pulling into the South Lake Trailhead.

  He parked and walked down the path to the place where he’d shared his recipes with Mack, where he should have realized the two of them weren’t a onetime mistake. He stood at the picnic site and looked at the clouds clinging to the mountains and the gray shadows blooming on the water. It was beautiful here. But lots of places were beautiful.

  He set off around the lake, taking the long path that skirted the water and then ducked into the mountains, immersing himself in the mossy woods until he felt like the only person in the world, trying to walk far enough that he could simply walk away.

  But the trail looped around, and hours later he was back in the same spot where he’d started, sweaty, hungry, and wishing he’d at least brought a bottle of water. One thing had crystallized, though.

  He sat down on the bank of the lake and plucked a wildflower from the grass. He twirled the stem between his fingers as he pulled out his phone, wondering if Mack might have called. Texted. Done anything, no matter how small, to show he was worth something to her.

  No new messages.

  It made it easier, in a way, to do what he should have done when Sam first sat them down and told them the Dipper had to change. He’d thought the answer was to stay here and prove he could be different than the detached player his parents, his friends, and most of all Mack thought of him as.

  But maybe Mack was right. Maybe they all were.

  Maybe he’d been that person for so long, it was too late for him to be any other way. She wasn’t going to budge on the restaurant. She sure as hell wasn’t going to give him her heart.

  So what was he doing still sticking around?

  He could have called his dad back, but that wasn’t who he really needed to talk to. He went to the first name in his favorites and waited for his brother to pick up.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mack stood on the front steps of Abbi’s house and rang the bell. Her car was in the driveway, so when no one came Mack rang again, then banged on the door. She was hollering up to the second-floor windows for her to get her butt down there when a flushed, grubby Abbi appeared around the corner with a bag of mulch, dirt on her knees and streaked across her cheek.

  “Mack, hey! I thought I heard something. I was in the back, hoping to get a little work in on the saplings before it rains.” She shifted the bag of mulch against her hip and then, as if sensing
something, set it down. “Everything okay?”

  “No, Abbi. Everything is not okay. How could you even think that after what you did?”

  Alone at home, fighting back tears, she’d had plenty of time to stew and now she was hot with anger. Abbi had no right to repeat to Connor what Mack had said last night. Wasn’t there supposed to be a friendship code? Something about not divulging things said in confidence?

  Especially not to the person they were said about.

  And doubly-especially if they were kind of sort of maybe not entirely true.

  Abbi set down the mulch and used the back of her wrist to swipe hair from her eyes. “Um. What did I do, exactly?”

  “What do you mean what did you do? What you said to Connor!”

  Abbi narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you mean what you said?”

  “You were the one who repeated it.”

  “Don’t blame me for words that came out of your mouth. Anyway.” She waved a hand. “Everyone thought it was funny. Connor laughs at himself all the time.”

  “This is different. Now Connor thinks I hate him.”

  Abbi scrunched up her face. “I’m not trying to be difficult, Mack. I’m sorry if I said something I shouldn’t have, but I really don’t see what the problem is.”

  “You don’t see what’s wrong with telling Connor I think he’s a dog incapable of love and then going on about that Bellingham guy? Stop looking at me like that, that’s exactly what you did!”

  “And Connor totally didn’t care. It’s not like you haven’t said worse to his face, and he talks about girls all the time. The real issue is, when are you going to call Adam?”

  She grinned, and Mack thought she was going to explode. She could feel a sharp, strong tug in her chest, everything she’d tried so hard to keep in now clamoring to get out.

  “I’m not calling Adam,” she said. “Not today, not ever. I never should have taken his number in the first place. I just wanted him to go away.”