When I look at my phone, I realize it’s barely eight-fifteen. “What a day,” I mutter and start a group text to both Reilly and Sam. I tell myself I’ll text David later.
Fifty
Colton
Friday night after work, Mac comes over to hang out with Casey and me before our overnight trip to San Francisco.
“You mean you won’t be next door anymore?” Casey asks. She’s all concern and confusion.
“No, I won’t be next door anymore, but Mr. Funny Man will still be there,” Mac says, and she glances to me. “And you and your dad can come visit me at my new place.”
“But,” Casey starts, running her fingers over Mac’s purple fingernails, “will you still come here sometimes?”
With a crooked grin, Mac leans closer and looks Casey in the eyes with a sincere, unspoken promise. “Yes, but maybe not for a while. I have a lot to do.”
“Like what?”
“Well,” Mac explains, “I have to move.” The girls cross their legs on the rug in front of the fire. “And I need to buy furniture, and I have to decorate for Christmas still . . .” She tilts her head. “My family is coming over to my house for dinner, you know? And you and your dad are invited if you’re in town.”
Casey’s big, brown eyes widen to saucers. “Really? I can see your new house? And your tree?”
A small, endearing smile crosses Mac’s face and she gives a quick nod. “Of course you can.”
“Will we open presents there, too?”
I can’t help but chuckle, even if the direction of this conversation is starting to make me feel a bit uneasy. I move into the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee. Casey isn’t going to bed anytime soon, I can tell. She’s too excited to go see her grandparents, and she definitely won’t sleep with Mac here.
“Well, I might have a little something for you.”
“Daddy?” When I look over the counter, Casey is looking at me with narrowed, concerned eyes, and her brow is furrowed a little. “Daddy, can we go? I want to see Mac on Christmas.”
I know the smile on my face wanes, but I can’t help it. Although I’m enjoying every moment with Mac, this feels too significant. I show up to Christmas dinner and then what happens, it becomes an expectation that I’m part of the family? Everyone forms their opinions and Cal confronts me again about my intentions and marriage plans? It feels like everything might be moving too quickly for Christmas to be a good idea, even if I’m sure I’ll enjoy spending the time with her.
I turn back to the coffeepot. “We’ll see, Casey. Your mom has you for part of the day.”
“Okay,” she grumbles. “Want to see my new dolly, Mac?” she asks and her little feet thump through the house as she runs into her bedroom before Mac has a chance to answer.
Turning around, I take a sip of my coffee, peering over the brim of my mug at Mac. The fire casts flickering shadows over her skin as she picks up the photos she developed from the tattoo parlor. “Coffee?” I ask, holding up my cup.
Mac looks over at me, her smile the stuff that melts the hearts of men. “Yes, please. Just a little. And can I have some of your yummy vanilla creamer in there, please?”
I nod. “Did any of the pictures turn out?” I remember how clueless I felt the moment she handed her camera over to me. It was heavy and foreign in my hands, and I wasn’t sure I could capture her special moment well enough. But in the end, pretending I was a photographer for the evening ended up being pretty fun.
I pour her a mug half full of black and add a bit of cream the way I know she likes it, then head into the living room. It doesn’t escape me that our relationship’s gone from waiting for her to finish pouring herself coffee in the break room at work, so that I can go in after her without having to interact, to having her in my house—in my bed—and spending time with my daughter.
Mac looks up from the photos and accepts the proffered Best Dad in the World mug. Her mouth curves slightly and she blinks up at me through those long, fringy lashes I love so much. “Great mug.”
“Ha. Thanks. Kylie got it for me Father’s Day a few years ago—when I was a newbie in the trenches of fatherhood. I think it was positive reinforcement.” Our gaze lingers for a minute as she takes a sip of her coffee and I stand there awkwardly, fixated. I clear my throat and plop down on the couch. “How’s Cal feeling, by the way? That must’ve been pretty scary.”
She snorts a bitter laugh. “You could say that. But he’s okay. Alison has been staying with him in case he has any more dizzy spells.” An amused grin spreads her lips.
“I see.”
“Indeed.” Mac sets her mug down on a coaster on the coffee table. “I’m happy for them,” she says, almost as an afterthought. “I like them together.” She goes back to her photos. “They all turned out. Though I have to say your ability to take such candid, awkward shots of my pinched and pain-ridden face is horribly good.”
I chuckle. “I had a great model to work with.” She was so good that night—no complaining, only cringing toward the very end. Scar tissue hurts like hell to tattoo, but I’d warned her about going into it and she handled it like a champ. “Speaking of which, we haven’t really talked for a couple days. How’s it healing?” I gesture to her shoulder.
She stares down at the photos, analyzing them, pink lips pulled up in a smile, probably remembering her hour and a half in the chair. “Great, I think.” Her features softening a little, and she drops the pictures in her lap. “Thank you, again,” she says, sincerity beaming from her. “I’m really happy I did it, and it meant a lot to me that you were there.” She peers up at me through her lashes and opens her mouth to say something.
“Daddy!” Casey runs back into the living room.
I sit back into the couch and wink at Mac. “You’re welcome—”
“Dad,” she repeats, hands on her hips. “I can’t find my doll.”
“Casey, you’re interrupting. Mac and I are talking.”
Ever the typical five-year-old, Casey glances between us, nonplussed. “I can’t find my doll.”
“Well, maybe you forgot it at your mom’s house.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. Her attitude seems to take on a life of its own these days. “I had it and now it’s gone.”
“Case,” I say, a little more firmly this time. “I don’t know where your doll is. When was the last time you saw it?”
She tilts her head to the side and makes a valid effort to remember. “In the car, I think.”
“Well, maybe that’s where it is.”
“Can I call Mommy and ask her?” Her voice is practically a whimper, but I give in anyway for a chance to be alone with Mac for a few more stolen minutes.
“Yes. You can use the phone in my room, but no playing around,” I warn.
“Okay.” Casey patters into my bedroom and I hear her jump on my bed with an “Oomph.”
When I look at Mac, she’s stifling a laugh behind her mug. Tonight she has an oversized sweatshirt on, but I know the taut muscles and soft skin that hide beneath her pajamas, and I can’t help the heat wave that floods through me. “God, you’re sexy.”
She’s even more alluring as she blushes. “You’re not too bad yourself.” She winks up at me and sets her coffee mug back down. I have to bite back a growl. “I’m beginning to wonder if I haven’t overstayed my welcome at Nick’s just so I can keep hearing such nice compliments.” She’s teasing, but I’m still happy she’s stayed at his place so long.
“I do like the way your face gets rosy when I say them. It just perpetuates the cycle, you know?” Mac shrugs, her shoulder nearly touching her ear, and her hair cascades down her chest and back.
It strikes me in that moment that she’s never really allowed herself to be with someone before. Not like this and how we are. A muted apprehension tugs the back of my mind.
“Daddy!” I take a sip of my coffee. “Mommy wants to talk to you.”
It’s all I can do to tear myself off the couch. I smile at Mac
and step into my bedroom. Casey hands me the phone, a scowl on her face. “Thank you,” I say as Casey stomps out of the bedroom, back into the living room.
“Let me guess,” I say and sit down on the edge of my bed. “You have the doll?”
Kylie laughs. “Yes, I do. I told her she’d have to make do without it this weekend, unless you want to stop by here on your way out tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t know, we’ll see.”
I hear the sound of her chair rolling on the hardwood floor on the other end of the line, like Kylie’s stuck in her office for the night again. I’m about to let her go when she clears her throat. “Is your friend going with you guys this weekend?” she finally asks.
I roll my eyes because she’s been prying about me and Mac every time she gets a chance. “No, her name is Mac and she is not going with us.” The last thing I want to do is subject her to my father. Having Casey with me is going to be hard enough.
“Why not?”
“Because,” I say evenly, “it’s not like that with us. And I don’t need this trip to be more complicated.” All I can think about is my parents meeting her—their assumptions and expectations about family—my mom saying something about marriage. Those are conversations I’m not ready for, especially since Mac and I haven’t had any real conversation about us yet.
“It’s not like that, huh? You might want to double check, especially if you’re spending Christmas with her, spending weekends together. Casey’s been going on and on about it—”
“Please just leave it alone. We’re not spending Christmas with her and—actually . . .” I stand up, more than ready to end this conversation. “It’s not really a great time to talk about it.” I inch the bedroom door shut and struggle to keep my voice down.
“Well, keep in mind, Colton, that Casey’s getting attached, and that concerns me. She talks about Mac all the time.”
“Yeah,” I say dryly. “Noted.” As if I haven’t thought about this a million times before. “I have to go.”
Kylie mutters something inaudible and finally says, “Drive safe, please.”
“Always.”
“And can you put Casey back on for a second?”
“Case,” I call, more than happy to oblige. “Your mom wants to say goodnight.”
There’s a scuffle in the living room, then Casey comes trotting into the room, like her estranged doll is already forgotten. I rumple her hair and leave her to say goodnight to her mom.
When I get back into the living room, Mac is still sitting on the floor by the fire, staring into the flames.
“Sorry about that,” I say and glance at her coffee mug. She’s barely touched it. “Would you like me to warm that up for you?”
She shakes her head, but doesn’t look at me. “No, thanks.”
Rubbing the annoyed remnants of Kylie from my face, I try to push all thoughts of her aside and sit down on the couch.
Mac’s still silent and staring into the fire when I look at her. “Everything okay over there?”
Her index finger brushes against the black and white image of her peering over her shoulder at me. The first of her phoenix outline is started, the bird raging beneath the needle of the ink gun. Then, she drops the photo on the table, onto the pile with the rest of them.
“We’re not like that,” she says quietly, almost to herself. There’s a dullness in her voice that wasn’t there before.
“What?”
“That’s what you told Kylie.” Her brow creases and she finally looks at me. “You said I wasn’t going with you this weekend because ‘we’re not like that.’ We’re not like what, exactly—a couple?” The sound of her voice . . . each word is edged with a disappointment that blindsides me, and I stiffen.
“Mac, you heard what I said out of context. I was just trying to get her to stop berating me for answers.” I lean back and groan. “Everyone wants answers. I’ve got your dad breathing down my neck—your brother, even.”
“I’m sorry, but what did you think was going to happen?”
I shrug, knowing I hadn’t been thinking much at all. “I thought we might be able to spend some time together, figuring things out before everyone started making us their business.”
“Colton, you work with my entire family. My best friend lives next door to you. I’m sorry if people have questions—I have questions.”
“Well, then, what are they, Mac?” I hate the sharp edge to my voice, but I can’t help my frustration.
She’s quiet a minute, and I can tell she’s measuring her next words. “Why don’t you want to come to Christmas with me?”
With a heavy sigh, I try to pinpoint it. “I don’t know—it’s not that I don’t want to, but it feels like too much too soon. It’s been a matter of weeks and it’s like people are already waiting to see what I’m going to do next. I told you from the beginning this needs to be about Casey. She’s the priority.”
“And there’s no way to make her the priority and have a serious relationship with me?”
Bracing my elbows on my knees, I try to muster up the right words and articulate it, but I can’t. “Do you seriously want to have a conversation about this right now?” I ask, pointing to Casey in the other room. Her eyebrows raise minutely at the thin veil of irritation in my voice.
“No.” She shakes her head and her gaze flicks to the hallway. “We don’t have to.” She reaches for her stack of photos. I hate that pinched, pained look on her face, and I struggle to find something to say.
“Look,” I breath out, running my hands over my face. This isn’t how I wanted tonight to go. “I’m sorry about what I said to Kylie. You’re right, at this point, you and I aren’t her business. And I didn’t mean to get so worked up, I just—that sort of came out of nowhere. I thought we were easy and we didn’t have expectations or need labels for whatever this is between us.”
Mac’s silent for a moment, which I know probably isn’t a good thing. “I thought the fact that we were sleeping together—that I’ve told you things I’ve never told another living soul—meant that we were something, at least.”
“We are something, but I can’t make you promises and plan our future together.”
“I don’t expect you to,” she says in a harsh whisper.
“Well, everyone else does.”
“But what does that have to do with me—with us?”
“Everything,” I bite out.
Mac sets the photos on the coffee table and stares at them. Her mind is somewhere else, I can see the distance in her eyes. She slowly begins to shake her head. “I’m not Kylie, Colton.”
“I know you’re not.”
She rubs her palms on her thighs and takes a deep breath. “Then stop punishing me for what she did to you.”
I imagine Casey in the other room, oblivious to the fact that her attachment to Mac hangs just as precariously in the balance as my own—oblivious to how complicated this has become in the past few weeks. “I really can’t do this with you right now, Mac.”
“Now?” she asks with a hint of curiosity. I look at her. “Or ever?”
I’m unconscious of my expression, but my mind spinning, and I’m uncertain how to answer her. “I don’t know.”
She practically sputters. “After everything that’s happened this week, it’s so simple for you to say you don’t know?” She shakes her head in disbelief and climbs to her feet. “You’re such an asshole.”
Finally, I stand up. “Mac, come on, you know I didn’t mean it like—”
“I knew I shouldn’t have done this,” she mutters and pulls on her boots.
Her words are a branding iron on my heart. “No? That’s a fun fact.” I remember having a conversation just like this six years ago. “I’m the one who told you this wouldn’t work—”
Mac has no comebacks and no retorts and my chest heaves as I watch her intense gaze dull. She’s quiet. And the weight of what was said begins to set in—words replaying and hostility weighting the air around us.
“You’re right. You’ve been pushing me away from the beginning, yet here I am. Pretty stupid, huh?”
When I hear a creak in the hallway, I glance over to find Casey peeking around the corner. I notice my daughter’s brown eyes pinched with worry and everything else falls away.
“Hey, munchkin.” I reach down to pick her up.
Casey doesn’t take her eyes off of Mac. “Are you guys fighting?” She idly thumbs my hand wrapped around her waist.
“No, Case,” Mac says so easily I almost believe her. “We’re just talking.” Although the smile she flashes is wide and reassuring, Mac won’t even look at me. She offers Casey a small, heartbreaking little wave. “I’m going to go home now, but have fun with your grandparents, okay?”
Casey gives a small wave back, and then Mac turns without another word and walks out.
The anger quickly fades away and my heart begins to pound in panic as the severity and uncertainty of what just happened sets in. What did just happen? The clawing in my gut tells me whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
Fifty-One
Mac
I’m not surprised when I get to my dad’s house the next morning and no one’s there. The Christmas lights are off since my dad is out, probably at the shop or out with Alison. Bobby’s at a hockey scrimmage in Benton, just like he is most Saturday mornings, and I heard Colton and Casey leave early this morning. I’m not exactly sure how we left things last night, but I know it’s not good.
I’d wanted to text him a few times, to go back over to his apartment to figure everything out, but not with Casey there, and not while I was feeling so hurt and desperate and angry all at once. I can’t possibly compete with a history that haunts him on a daily basis, with the insecurities I can’t even see. And I can’t be so nonchalant about what a relationship with him means to me, no matter how much I wish I could. The possibility of what we are or aren’t now leaves a twisted, indescribable pain in my chest.
Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series Page 62