Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series

by Pogue, Lindsey

  “Ha!”

  Sam’s brow furrows as if my reaction is completely unmerited. “And why not? He saw your tatas.” This time she laughs, and everyone glances over at us.

  “Just to be clear,” I hiss, “I was wearing a bra.” Sam is unmoved. “Look, Sam. This guy’s . . .” I glance at him as he takes the last sip from his pint glass. He doesn’t even appear to be enjoying himself. “He’s too . . .” I try to force out a word, but nothing comes to mind. “I dunno, cold—or something.”

  “Well,” Sam says, and she takes my chin between her fingers, shifting my face so that I have no choice but to look directly at her. “If you stared at me all the time with that stank-face, I would probably act cold toward you, too.”

  “Hmm.” He probably does wonder why I stare at him so much. I’m suddenly self-conscious of what sort of vibe I’ve been putting off these past months. “Alright, well, you’re right. I should make peace.” I glance at the guys, deciding I need some liquid courage before I do anything of the sort.

  I’m about to interrupt the guys’ thrilling car talk for a shot when a group of guys crowd through the front door and into Lick’s. I lean forward, prepared to raise my voice so they can hear me, when I hear my name.

  “Mac Carmichael?”

  I’m barely registering who the voice belongs to when I turn around and see two familiar faces smiling at me. “Jason? No way.” I stand up and head over to him. “What the hell are you doing on the wrong side of the tracks? You still going to the college?”

  “Nah,” he says, coming in for a quick hug. I hug Miguel, who’s standing next to him, grinning. “We’re both in Benton now, at the university playing ball.”

  Miguel nods. “What about you, Mac? You still at Falls College?”

  “No, I graduated with my associates degree this past summer. I just had a couple classes I needed to finish up. Now, I’m at my dad’s shop full time.”

  “Are you still into photography?” Jason asks, crossing his arms over his chest as he smiles. There’s an amused glint in his eyes.

  I shake my head and tuck a stray hair behind my ear, unable to resist a smile as I remember our infrequent study-turned-party sessions on the football field. “I haven’t picked up my camera in months, actually. It’s kind of sad.”

  “That’s too bad.” he nudges Miguel. “You’re great at capturing those really embarrassing candid moments you never want anyone to see.” They’re both chuckling when by brother comes up beside me.

  “Are you going to introduce us to your friends?” I smile as Bobby puts on his invisible brother cap and tries to sound intimidating. Bobby is built for plowing into angry hockey players, but he’s nothing compared to these football players. A quiet, pained voice somewhere deep down reminds me that David’s the one who should be looking out for me, anyway.

  Endeared by Bobby’s protectiveness, I smile and drape my arm over his shoulder. “Guys, this is my younger brother, Bobby. Bobby, this is Miguel and Jason.” I turn to the rest of the crew. “Everyone, this is Miguel and Jason. We had classes together at the community college last summer.”

  Sam comes over to introduce herself and proceeds to introduce Reilly, her “boyfriend.” Nick and Savannah say hey from behind the bar, Felix waves, and Colton nods.

  “I know you’ve turned me down a hundred times before, Mac,” Jason says, inching closer, “but let me buy you a drink. For old times. It’s not every day we get to run into a pretty girl who could probably beat us in arm wrestling.”

  Sam snorts.

  “He’s joking,” I add.

  She chuckles. “Clearly.”

  “But she can definitely make a guy question his manhood when she’s feeling feisty enough. You should’ve heard her arguing why she deserved an A minus instead of a B in Slinson’s class.” Jason jabs Miguel and flashes me his charming, boy-next-door smile.

  It’s that smile—too easy and white—that prevented me from allowing him to buy me a drink before. He’s nice enough, attractive even. But the moment Jason rests his hand on the small of my back, I remember the unease that always follows. The shame that hovers over me, never allowing the opposite sex to get too close.

  . . . But everyone is here, and I remind myself that Jason is a nice guy, so I plaster a smile on my face. “Alright,” I say. “I’ll let you buy me drink. Just one, though.”

  Jason’s grin widens. “Finally,” he says and gestures to the bar. “After you.”

  Everyone starts chatting amongst themselves as shots are ordered all around. But even with the influx of warm bodies, the loud voices, and the laughter, I can feel Colton’s eyes on me from across the bar. I lean over the counter, waiting for Savannah to hand us a shot, when I finally gather the nerve to look over. He is watching me. He glances back down at his phone.

  This is ridiculous. I can’t let him unnerve me like this. I steal the first two shot glasses poured and look up at Jason. “I’ll be right back.” Jason barely notices as he laughs at something Miguel and his friends say. Taking a deep breath, I walk past Sam and Reilly—Sam giving me a thumbs-up—and I stop next to Colton. He’s reading something on his cell phone, and I see the name Kylie on the screen as he steps down from his stool.

  I force another big, peacemaking smile on my face and meet his narrowed blue gaze. “A peace offering? To trying to be friends.” I hold a shot out to him, deciding this is the defining moment that will determine what happens next. He’s about to say something, but I cut him off so he can’t argue with me. Arguing means this could end ugly, and I’m trying to be cajoling and friendly so we can put the past five months behind us. “Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I think—”

  “Machaela.”

  “Mac,” I correct. “No one calls me Machaela except for my dad.”

  “Mac, I can’t do this right now. Sorry. I have to go.” He seems a little impatient, but mostly just annoyed. And just like that, he’s walking out the door.

  Even if this has something to do with the text message on his phone, it’s still a wound to my ego, and my desire to be friends flees right out the door with him.

  Five

  Mac

  “Hey, Mac,” Felix says, strolling into my office. He sets a key ring down on my desk. Electric drills and air compressors echo in the shop, louder now that the connecting door is open. “Lyle’s golf cart is ready for pickup.”

  I let out a grunt of a laugh. “I still can’t believe we’re taking in golf carts now.”

  Felix shrugs. “Being friends with Cal has its perks, it would seem.” He winks at me.

  “I guess.” I pull Lyle’s manila envelope out of the drawer and slip the keys inside with his repair order and receipt for late pickup.

  Felix steals a mint out of the candy dish on my desk. “I see you put more gifts under the tree.” His eyes widen with curiosity. “What are they?”

  “Ha. Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  He looks at me sheepishly.

  “Wait for Christmas, Felix. You’re worse than your kids.”

  He laughs and heads back out to the shop, leaving me with my finance spreadsheet open and taunting me on my computer screen. I’ve got another hour to balance last month’s income until I have to place the final parts order before the weekend. When my dad sees these numbers, he’s going to push harder for me to hire desk help.

  I’m resigned to seriously considering it when a shadow passes over my desk. I glance up just as my dad strides in the front door. He walks past my desk without a look or a wink or a word in my direction. His coveralls are still on and covered in grease, but he’s clearly been somewhere.

  I glance at the clock. “Late lunch?”

  He doesn’t answer as he walks past me and out into the shop.

  A little alarmed, I stand up. “Dad? Is everything okay?” When he still doesn’t answer, I trot up behind him. “Hey . . .” I reach for his arm.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” he asks and spins around. His words are normal enough, but
he’s distracted and his eyes are crinkled in the corner. He’s wearing his distressed face.

  My skin warms and my mouth grows dry. “Did you have another appointment with the cardiologist?” I hate when he doesn’t tell me these things. My heart’s pounding, heavy with dread. Feeling claustrophobic despite the brisk weather, I tug at my scarf. “What did she say?”

  My dad pats my shoulder then gives it a squeeze. “I’m fine, sweetie. I was just running errands. No doctor appointments, I promise.”

  The heaviness in my heart lifts and I let out a breath, but something is still off about him. “Is this about Alison? Did you go to lunch with her or something?” If that’s what he doesn’t want to tell me, I don’t care one iota as long as he’s okay. “Honestly, Dad, I won’t be upset or anything.” I almost smile to reassure him.

  “No, Machaela, I wasn’t with Alison.”

  “I just—”

  My dad’s palm is up and I’m instantly shushed. I blink. Appraise him. His face is red and his jaw tight. “We’re not sneaking around behind your back or anything of the sort. So before you start getting worked up . . .” He shakes his head and lets out a breath.

  I’ve clearly upset him, though I’m not sure how. An awful feeling fills my gut and rises up my throat. I try to swallow it away, but it’s there, lodged and waiting for him to reassure me that nothing’s amiss. The problem is, I know something’s definitely not right. But I also know better than to push him, no matter how agonizingly painful it is not to. My shoulders slump. “Sorry. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine, Machaela. I need to get back to work. Make sure Carrington’s paperwork is ready. And call him. Tell him to get this truck out of here. I’m tired of it taking up space in my shop. If he doesn’t pick it up, I’m having it towed.”

  I nod, stunned, and watch him retreat into his office and slam the door behind him.

  Utterly confused and half sick with worry, I head back into my office, praying that he’ll open up to me when he’s ready.

  I plop back into my office chair and wheel myself closer to my keyboard. My poor office plant, once vibrant and green with variegated yellow running through it, now looks tired and wilty. “I hear ya, buddy. Rough week.”

  Trying not to think about what my dad isn’t telling me, I type in a formula to total the man-hours and income for the month of November when Colton’s spicy vanilla scent precedes him. “Hey, Machaela—Mac,” he quickly corrects himself.

  I lean closer to the screen instead of looking at him. His dismissal last night still stings. “Yes?”

  “I’m gonna need another day on Jonathan’s Chevy. Can you give him a call and see if that’s okay? I want to drive it home tonight and make sure that noise doesn’t come back once the bearings heat up.”

  “Will do.” I click and scroll with my mouse, trying to focus on the amount summaries at the bottom of the screen and why they don’t match up. After a couple breaths, I realize Colton’s still standing there.

  Finally, I look at him. I try not to notice the smudge of grease on his perfectly shaven face or the small scar on his temple that shimmers in the overhead lighting as he clenches his jaw. “Was there something else?” I ask, and I plaster a one-hundred-percent professionally false smile on my face. Keeping it professional is one thing, but it’s the sincere politeness I seem to be struggling with.

  Colton watches me a moment, studying me, maybe, then shakes his head. Just as he’s about to turn away, my dad rushes outside, toward the street.

  “What are you doing here?” my dad demands, his voice chillingly flat.

  I stand up. Concern and that looming sense of dread amplifying tenfold. I can’t see who he’s talking to, but his voice is harsh and threatening. Goosebumps rise on my skin and I hurry to the front door, Colton stepping up beside me.

  I pop my head out and my dad is talking to a woman; her back is to me but something about her is familiar. Her hair is dark brown—definitely not Alison. My dad does not do well with customers when he’s pissed off. I rush out there, about to step in, when I hear their heated, angry whispers.

  “Dad?” I hedge forward and the woman looks over her shoulder at me. “Is everything—” I freeze. Her eyes are wide and her lips slightly open in surprise.

  It’s my mom. I’d remember that slope nose and sprinkle of freckles anywhere.

  She’s standing in front of me.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I falter and take a clumsy step backward, into someone warm and solid that vaguely smells of vanilla. I can only stare at her, shocked and vacant-minded for a moment. Her wide-eyed expression makes me angry, though I’m not sure why. My lungs burn like they’ve stopped working as I try to understand, but I can’t. She’s not supposed to be here. She’s gone—she left fifteen years ago.

  My dad curses, breaking me from an incredulous, petrified trance that feels like a dream, and I can’t help but notice how guilty he looks.

  “You’re not surprised to see her.” When his sympathetic green eyes meet mine, I shake my head. “I don’t understand . . .” I glance between them, waiting for someone to say something. “You’ve been speaking to one another?”

  “Machaela,” my mom finally says, turning to face me fully. There’s a hint of desperation and maybe anticipation in her voice, but all I can do is stare at her pale face, those deep brown eyes I see in the few memories I have of her. They peer back at me, beseechingly. “I’m sorry to just stop by like this, but—”

  “But what?” I ask angrily. She looks exactly as I remember, only a little older. Her mahogany hair is parted on the side and pearls layer around her neckline. She’s wearing a knitted white cashmere sweater that’s probably as expensive as my entire ensemble put together, and the scent of lilacs nearly brings me to tears. Her eyes shift from me to someplace behind me and she looks almost frightened.

  My throat hitches and I shake my head. “What are you doing here? Does Bobby know?” I bite out, grateful he’s still at practice. Worried how he might react.

  “No, Machaela, he doesn’t,” my dad says quietly. “Not yet.” He puts a hand up. “I know you have questions. You both will. That’s why I didn’t want to do this today.” He glares at my mom.

  My legs are suddenly shaking, my hands trembling. I’m not sure if it’s with anger or an insurmountable wave of fear and uncertainty, but I nearly lose my balance as I take another step backward. Colton takes hold of my arm to still me, and I find unexpected comfort in having him there with me.

  “How long?” I ask, hesitant—concerned the answer will shatter me. “How long have you been talking?”

  My dad’s brow twitches. “Machaela,” he says, taking a step forward. “Maybe you should sit—”

  “No,” I fume, shaking my head. I clench my fists. They’ve been keeping this from me like I’m a child. “How. Long.”

  “About a month,” my mom says quickly. My dad runs his hands over his face and shakes his head.

  My stomach churns as I frantically look between them. This feels wrong. He’s been acting strange and she’s here—out of nowhere. “Are you together?”

  “No,” he says, obstinate. “Nothing like that.”

  “But something, clearly.” I pin his gaze with mine, searching—wondering when things changed so much between us and why he’d keep something like this from me. “You’ve been lying,” I breathe. My focus blurs and I hurry to filter through all the doctor appointments over the last month, the time he’s supposedly been spending with Alison. “Do you really even have a cardiologist?”

  “Of course, Machaela, don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

  I nod, absently. “But you’re not at Alison’s working on her car, are you, not as much as you say you are, at least.” I don’t ask him because I know the truth. His hesitation about Alison has been less about my reaction to his involvement with her than about his guilt in being forced to lie to me.

  Years of my life unravel in memories a
nd painful emotions of us trying to pull ourselves back together from being broken.

  “This is bullshit,” I breathe, and I turn around, bumping into Colton again before I hurry past him, toward my desk. I ignore my dad’s voice behind me as I grab my purse.

  Colton calls my name, too, I can hear him getting closer and I almost want to believe there’s concern in his voice, but I jump into the Jeep and tear out of there before I lose it completely.

  Six

  Mac

  Fifteen Years Ago

  It’s wintertime, and even though it’s warm inside the house, little crystals have formed in the corner of my bedroom window. I’m excited to go out tonight to see a movie—we haven’t gone in a really long time, and never with Dad. I walk over to my dresser and apply some of the shimmery lip color my mom bought for me last week, “like mine,” she’d said.

  “Machaela! Come on, sweetie,” she calls from downstairs. I press my lips together, smile, and flip my light switch off before I skip down the steps.

  When I realize my mom’s not dressed to go outside, my face falls a little.

  “Come on,” she says and holds my jacket up for me. “Let’s get you bundled up.” She doesn’t look at me; she’s too focused on guiding my arms into the jacket . . . wrapping my pink scarf around my neck that I got for my eighth birthday.

  Dad helps Bobby get dressed to go outside and David stomps down the stairs, already dressed and ready to go. “I’ll be outside,” he grumbles. I don’t know what eleven-year-olds are supposed to be like, but I know that David’s different than most, and I hate that I got stuck with an older brother who’s such a jerk all the time.

  “Alright then,” my dad says, and he rises from his crouched position. His tone is somber and I wonder if he and my mom have been fighting again. “Come on then,” he says and gestures me and Bobby toward the door. “We don’t want to miss our movie.”