Abbi frowned, and then the look changed to something shot through with surprise. Without meaning to, Mack was crying. Actual tears were streaming down her face, and this wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Abbi was supposed to apologize, that was supposed to make Mack feel better, and then everything was supposed to be fine.
Only here she was, standing on Abbi’s front porch with her eyeballs leaking and nothing was close to fine at all.
“Okay,” Abbi said quickly. “Don’t call Adam. Delete his number. Forget I said anything. I’m sorry! I’m—oh my God.” Her hand flew to her mouth as everything clicked into place. “Mack. When?”
Mack shook her head. She couldn’t get the words out.
“Oh, honey,” Abbi said, her voice completely changed. “I think you need to come in.”
It wasn’t until the kettle had finished singing and Abbi came to the kitchen table with two mugs of tea that Mack was able to stop crying long enough to eke out an answer to Abbi’s question. “Last night,” she said, blowing on the steam. “I stayed over there last night.”
“Holy shit,” Abbi said.
“And…maybe it happened a little before that, too.”
“Define a little.”
“More than zero, less than a lot.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah,” Mack said, raking in a hard breath. “Wow.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
“I know. I sort of can’t believe it, either.”
“But you know that you can tell me, right? When Claire and I were joking—you could have said something any time to tell us to stop.”
Mack nodded. But the truth was that telling her friends hadn’t really occurred to her. She didn’t know what she’d thought would happen—it wasn’t as if Abbi would be mad. She’d brought it up plenty of times on her own, that Mack and Connor would be good for each other.
It was more that the thought of anything shifting in her life caused this undefined knot to tighten inside her, so tangled she couldn’t begin to unravel it. There were simply things she didn’t talk about, and she’d gotten used to life that way.
Abbi looked… Well, she looked like her best friend had suddenly announced she’d been carrying on a secret affair with a mutual friend she’d claimed to dislike for years.
“So, does this mean Connor is still a dog?” Abbi said when Mack finished telling her everything. “Not a dog? We like dogs? We hate dogs? I have no idea where we are.”
“Haven’t you been listening?” Mack said. “Where we are is nowhere.”
Abbi nodded. “Because I’m the worst friend ever.”
Mack tried to smile. “Can I help that you’re an easy target to blame?”
“But did you mean it?” Abbi asked. “What you said about him?”
“I don’t know.” Mack tried to think about it. “Honestly? Kind of. Yeah. It certainly didn’t come out of nowhere.”
“But you do think he’s different than you’d assumed. You definitely don’t hate him. In fact, I’m beginning to suspect you never have.”
Mack rolled her eyes. “Let’s not take this too far.”
“You’re not hate-fucking. Bored-fucking. Fucking because this is a tiny-ass town with no one else around.” She leaned forward, eyes wide. “In fact, you’re giving-up-other-men fucking. Not-even-looking fucking. You’re—”
“I get it.” Mack held up a hand. “Could you say the word ‘fuck’ a few more times?”
“You prefer ‘making love’?” Abbi smirked, and Mack flashed to the memory of Connor’s sweat-slicked skin against hers. The way he’d kissed her and kissed her as she came.
“He’s a pain in the ass, has an ego the size of Mount Rainier, we can’t agree on anything for the restaurant, and Abbi, why am I even doing this? It doesn’t make sense!” She looked at her friend, begging for answers. For someone to tell her it was okay, everybody made mistakes. But now it was past time to stop.
But Abbi didn’t say that. She shook her head as she sipped her tea, and Mack got the distinct impression that she was holding her mug over her mouth to hide the fact that she was smiling.
“Did it ever occur to you,” Abbi finally said, “that the reason Connor drives you so insane is because you like him?”
Mack snorted. “What am I, six?”
“Hey, you said it, not me.”
Mack made a face.
“I’m serious. You said yourself that you remember the exact moment he came to town. He’d started flirting with you, but then you had to watch him parade through the restaurant with a string of women on his arm. That must have sucked.”
“You’re not exactly making the case for why he’s boyfriend material.”
“I’m making the case for why the two of you spent all your time picking apart every flaw you could possibly find in each other, in order to convince yourselves that nothing should happen. But you’re so similar, you’re pretty much perfect for each other. He’s the only person I know who can keep up with you and your tongue, and have you looked at him? Maybe you just needed a chance to see him in the right light.”
Like the candlelight, Mack thought. In the moonlight streaming through his bedroom window. In the sunlight when I woke up this morning in his bed.
It must have been written all over her face because Abbi said, “Oh, Mack,” like a sigh, and reached across the table to take her hand. “You have to tell him.”
“Tell him what?”
“That you love him.”
“Do I?” Mack asked, her voice small.
“You mean love him, or have to tell him?”
“Both.”
“Yes.”
The word lingered between them, this thing Mack had to do. And then Abbi pushed back her chair.
“Beat it, Ellinsworth,” she said.
Mack was still sitting there, confused, when Abbi strode over to the front door, opened it, and motioned for Mack to get lost.
Mack stood up. “You’re kicking me out?”
“Yup.”
“What the hell, Abbi?”
“Tough love time. I’m touched you came by to see me and let me know how I fucked up your life. But Mack? I’m not the one you need to talk to right now.”
“Of course you are! You’re supposed to calm me down and then get me liquored up so we can spend the night man-bashing. Claire’ll be up for a session. Isn’t that what friends are for?”
“Mack, I love you, and I will get you liquored up and talk shit any time. Except for right this second, when you need to own up that you’re a soft little kitten with soft little feelings and not the badass bartender bitch who never cares.”
Again she gestured toward the door, but Mack didn’t move.
“I can’t, Abbi. Don’t you get it? Now he really does hate me. It’s over. I fucked it up, and it’s over.”
“It will be if you stay here wallowing and don’t get your butt to his place to tell him what you’ve told me.”
“That it’s over?”
“No, you idiot. That you love him.”
Mack wrung her hands. “So he can tell me he doesn’t want me? That he doesn’t feel the same way? Or that we can keep sleeping together but hey, let’s not pretend it means a thing?”
“You mean what if you can’t control the conversation, or predict exactly how it’s going to go?”
Mack didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her mouth was too dry, her heart beating too hard against her chest. Her palms felt sweaty, and she didn’t know whether to storm out of there because Abbi was right, or storm out of there because Abbi had no clue what she was talking about and was so clearly not on Mack’s side.
Finally she said, weakly, “It’s not like he’s called me, either.”
“Oh please.” Abbi snorted. “He’s not the one who basically announced you’d never be worth more than a romp in the sack, then exchanged numbers with another woman before spending the night at your place. Can you imagine how livid you’d be if the situation were revers
ed? Would you honestly be the one to reach out?”
Mack’s quiet “Of course not” hung in the air until Abbi grabbed her shoulders and marched her out the door. Mack was so stunned she let herself be taken. She was the one who was supposed to be upset, and now Abbi had gone and turned it all around.
Abbi got Mack to the car, opened the door, and shoved her in. “You’re worrying about the wrong problems. It’s not about what Connor’s going to say. It’s about how you’re going to live with yourself if you stay silent about how you feel.”
Chapter Nineteen
One of the reasons Connor had rented his house was that it came fully furnished. He’d put up a few shelves, but he could leave those behind. Everything he needed—clothes, books, his kitchen knives—fit in his car. He was surprised he could pack up so quickly, but wasn’t that the benefit to not settling in?
After years messing around, it was time to stop kidding himself. He wasn’t a fine-dining chef. If he were, he wouldn’t have left that world behind as soon as he had the chance. And he certainly wouldn’t have stayed away for so long.
He could cave and work at Mackenzie’s, but what was the point? Mack didn’t want to be with him. His father would just as soon have him work with Matthew than attach his name to some bar. Things were clearer now than they’d been in a long time. He’d let himself be stuck in one place for too long.
He was zipping up a duffel bag when he heard knocking on the door. “Come in!” he called, thinking it was Austin or Sam. He’d left a message for them as soon as he got off the phone with Matthew. He knew he’d be back to visit, but he wanted to see them in person before hitting the road.
He opened the door, ready to smile and reassure his friends it was going to be fine. But the smile froze on his face before disappearing altogether.
“Come to get your dress?” he asked.
“What?” Mack looked confused, like she’d already forgotten about it. “No, of course not.” Her face was flushed, her eyes looked glassy and sore, and he realized she’d been crying.
She came into the house, which was a mess, but she hardly seemed to notice. “Connor, I’m so sorry. I never should have said that to Abbi, and she should never, ever have repeated it. It was stupid. Can we…” She took a breath. “Can we pretend it didn’t happen and go back to the way things were? I mean, the way things were starting to go?”
It was tempting. So tempting. He could run his hands through her hair, kiss the tears off her cheek, take her upstairs to make love to her all afternoon. Call Matthew back and say never mind, he wasn’t coming after all. His life was here. Or it would be, for as long as Mack was.
Maybe if it had been a real apology, a way forward instead of a way back, he would have. But he couldn’t. She wanted to pretend everything was fine, as though her hurtful words didn’t matter—as though he should simply roll over and take it like the dog she said he was. She wanted everything to go her way, but there was no rewind button.
“No, Mack,” he said. “We can’t pretend. We can’t go back like nothing happened.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Mack said.
“This seems to be a trend. You say something fucked up, then take it back when you get called out.”
“Tell me what I have to do. Tell me how I can make it up to you.”
“I don’t think you can, Mack,” he said sadly. “I think this is our story. We’ve never been on the same page—about anything. There’s no reason things would be any different now.”
She opened her mouth to protest. But then her breath seemed to catch as for the first time since walking in, her eyes shifted away from him and took in the surroundings. She noticed the duffel bag by his feet, the boxes stacked in the hall.
“No,” she whispered. And then, louder: “No. Connor. Tell me this isn’t happening.”
“I’m moving to Oregon.” He turned to put another stack of books into a box. “I know you want to pretend nothing happened, but I can’t.”
She rushed over, grabbing his arm to stop him. “Connor, please don’t do this. At least wait until we can talk about it some more, until we can decide.”
There was something wild in her voice, desperate and so unlike Mack it almost scared him. He pulled away quickly. “I’m sorry, but I already called Matthew. It’s done.”
“So un-call him! Tell him you need more time.”
She followed him as he pushed past her to carry the duffel bag out to the car. He threw it in and slammed the door. “We’ve known each other for three years, Mack. Three years to decide if you want me or not. Don’t you think I know the answer by now?”
“That’s not fair. We haven’t had three years together—not like that. This thing just happened, and now you’re making huge decisions. Why does it have to be rushed? Why can’t you give me a chance?”
He stormed back inside, but he couldn’t get away from her eyes, her voice, the nakedness of her pain. He’d thought she’d say she didn’t care, he should do whatever he wanted—anything to hide the way she felt.
But this was different. This was raw and hurting and it was too much, too fast, too deep all at once. He didn’t know what to think, how to respond to this person who was so unlike the woman he thought he knew. The woman he’d become convinced he’d never be able to know.
He stopped blustering around, packing his things, and cocked his head at her. “Did you honestly tell Abbi I’m a dog?” he asked. “Do you really think that I’m—what was it? Incapable of love?”
“Connor.” Her voice was quiet. “It wasn’t like that.”
“It’s a simple question. Don’t worry about my feelings—you obviously didn’t before. Just tell me. Did you say those things last night?”
“You’re twisting my words,” she said, a familiar edge to her voice. “You’re taking things completely out of context.”
“Yes. Or no.” The edge to her voice had nothing on his. They were back on solid ground. This fight they knew how to do.
Finally, after a long pause, the word slipped out. “Yes.”
“And Cute Adam?” He said the words with a sneer.
“Is so not in the picture.”
“But his number’s in your phone.”
“Doesn’t mean I called him.”
“I know that I haven’t always shown you the best of who I am. But the other women I used to go out with? That was before anything happened between us, and I’ve never looked back. You’re holding my past against me when all I’ve done is try to show you that I’ve changed.”
“And I’m telling you I’m sorry. I was wrong.”
“You said those things to Abbi after we’d talked about that first night we’d met, the reasons nothing happened way back then. Did what I told you not even matter?”
“I was joking, Connor,” she said. “Abbi and I were just…joking.”
But he could hear the way her voice deflated, and he knew it wasn’t true. Abbi hadn’t thought those words were a joke. She’d thought they were part of the same old bullshit, Connor the man-whore, Mack the one calling him out. Mack may have regretted the words, but there was no way some part of her hadn’t relished it—or at least wanted to relish it—at the time.
“You don’t get to say things that are stupid and cruel and then make them not count by pretending it was all a big joke. You said this last night, Mack. You made fun of me to Abbi, and then you drove straight to my house and you…”
“I didn’t mean it,” she said when the words stuck too deep inside him to get out.
“Which part didn’t you mean? When you said you hated me, or when you came over and made love to me?” He tried not to let his voice break, but he couldn’t hide it. Not fucking. Not having sex. What they’d done last night was different. They’d both felt it. Or he’d thought they had.
“I meant every word I said to you last night,” Mack said. “And every single thing I did.”
“How am I supposed to believe that? How am I supposed to know you want to be at m
y place when you’re saying one thing to your friends and another to me? I can’t believe how easily you lied today, Mack. Making up stories, an answer for everything. You should be an actress. I just wish I knew when you were acting—whether it’s with your friends, or with me. Or maybe it’s both. How would I know?”
“You wanted me to tell everyone I was here? You want them to know what we’ve been doing?”
“I want it to not horrify you that this could be real.”
She was silent for a while. A silence that spoke volumes, telling him exactly what he’d known but been too blind to see. “That’s not what I’m saying,” she tried.
“Then what are you saying? Give me something that might make me think staying wouldn’t be the stupidest idea of my life.”
She folded her arms. “I’m not going to beg you for this.” Despite the way she’d come in here, her voice was cold. How could he chip past that? Was it even worth trying?
“It’s not supposed to feel like begging to tell someone you want to be with them.”
The silence was interminable.
“I want to be with you,” she finally said, but her voice was tentative, small.
A laugh escaped him. “Now that I’ve coerced it out of you.”
“You can’t tell me what you want me to say and then get mad when I say it.”
“And you can’t see admitting to vulnerability as anything other than giving me what I want. How are we supposed to build something when you won’t be open with me?”
“How are we supposed to build something when you’re running away?”
He put another stack of books into a box. “I’m not running, Mack. I’m making the best decision I can with the options I’ve been given.”
“You promised you weren’t leaving. When your dad called this morning, you told me about the money, the pressure you’re under, but you promised you were going to stay.”
He straightened and looked at her. Her body was tense, but he knew her well enough to see the panic in her eyes. She looked desperate, terrified, but he couldn’t say whether that had to do with him, or simply with the realization that her plans—whatever they’d been—were going awry.
“So stop fixating on the whole Mackenzie’s thing and let me have my restaurant.”
Make Me Beg (The Men of Gold Mountain) Page 14