I grimace and peer up at Nick with puppy-dog eyes. “Thanks for taking one for the team. I hope you’re able to get some sleep tonight.” That’s one thing I don’t miss about being home—a house full of snoring men.
Nick rolls his eyes. “The things I do for you …” He winks at me and yawns as he runs his fingers through his longish hair.
“I could cut that for you again,” I offer.
“Ha. I know you want to. And I should probably let you. Even Savannah comments on it,” he says through another yawn.
“Sam likes it long,” I add for a different perspective.
He nods and yawns again.
“You should go to sleep,” I say and glance around the cabin, at the kitchen and living room mostly tidy for our morning departure. “Where’s Colton?”
“Grabbing some more firewood for the night.” Nick leans down and kisses my cheek. “Nighty night.”
“Night.” I pat his arm and stand when Reilly comes out of the bathroom, his overnight bags gripped under his arms. While he and Nick banter back and forth, saying their goodnights, I crawl out of the recliner and shuffle into the den to snag my toiletry bag. Just washing my face sounds like a chore, but I step into the bathroom and go through my nightly routine. I throw my hair up haphazardly, wash my face and moisturize, brush my teeth … and with each movement I can feel my muscles growing more stiff and sore from sledding and snowball fights. With a yawn, I gather my things, ready to pass out until it’s time to make breakfast. My mouth salivates at the thought of bacon and eggs and tater tots.
I switch off the light and quietly open the bathroom door so as not to wake anyone, then I freeze. Sam and Colton are sitting on the couch, their backs to me and their outlines flickering in the roaring flames of the fire. Sam’s voice is muted, but I hear my name and hold my breath.
Twenty-Four
Colton
Sam lifts the string of her tea bag in and out of her mug, her eyes flicking from her tea to me. “Did you have fun today?” she finally asks.
It’s all I can do not to laugh, remembering Bobby’s high-pitched demand for a truce. “Yes, I had fun. I’m glad I came.”
Sam’s lips curve in a knowing smile. “Good.”
We sit in silence for a moment, and I wonder if I’m somehow intruding on her moment to unwind by the fire.
“I figured some chamomile tea would help me sleep better tonight,” she says. When I look at her she’s staring into the fire. “Whenever there’s a big storm,” she continues, “I feel a little anxious.” Her voice is quiet, and there’s a sadness to it that changes the awkward air around us to something more calming and companionable. Slowly, she lifts her tea bag once—twice. I’ve heard about the accident, a drawback to living in a small town where everyone knows your business, and I wonder how much of the past she carries with her.
To me, Sam seems endearing and pixie-like, but I also get the sense that behind her big brown eyes, she’s determined and tough—she’d have to be after losing both of her parents and running a horse ranch.
She taps her fingers on her knee, like perhaps she’s thinking or maybe just feels uncomfortable. After a moment, she angles to face me and pulls her legs into her chest. She wraps an arm around them and clasps her mug in one hand. “I don’t mean to be too bold, but what’s up with you and Mac?”
My heart stumbles a few beats, and I face her. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” I’m a damn liar, but I keep a straight face.
She tilts her head, a strand of long blonde hair falling into her face. “How about this: before you play the dumb game, you should know that I see the way you look at her, even if she’s in denial.”
I’m not put off by Sam’s abruptness as much as I’m surprised by it. First off, she sees too damn much, and I don’t like how transparent I’ve become. If she can tell I feel something for Mac, Cal can probably tell, and that’s not okay. Secondly, Sam’s rarely spoken more than a full sentence to me in passing since I’ve known her. I can’t help but smile a smidge, appreciating her forwardness and hoping that one day my daughter has a friend like her.
Unable to resist, I finally ask, “And how, exactly, do I look at her?” I need to know what she sees—to know how obvious my feelings have become.
“Like you’re torn and she intimidates you,” she says easily.
I scratch the side of my face and nod. “Intimidated is a good word.” Everything about what we are or aren’t is uncharted territory. We’re barely even friends one minute and then I can’t get her out of my head the next. And Sam is right, Mac—everything she is and how much I think about her—scares the shit out of me. And it’s only gotten worse since I kissed her.
Sam continues in my silence. “I don’t know if it’s because of Cal, maybe some work-ethic-no-relationships thing, or maybe it has something to do with your daughter, but I hope you know that whatever’s going on between you clearly affects her. I’ve never seen her so wound up before.”
It’s all of those things, but I’ve never thought about Mac’s side of it—about how she feels. Not until she called me out for treating her like a leper, I think she said.
When I look at Sam again, she’s staring at me. “Now I see what she means.”
I lift a curious eyebrow.
“You do have a scowl about you.”
My features narrow into a real scowl. “I’m thinking.”
Sam sighs. “Usually Mac would be the one having a discussion with someone like you—cross-examining you about your intentions.”
“Really? I’m not sure I’m surprised.” I picture Mac’s green eyes hardened and intent on me, the way I’ve caught her watching me in passing. However, in this scenario, she’s leaning closer and I can smell her perfume hanging in the air between us; I can see the different greens that fleck her irises, something I’ve been noticing a lot lately. “Look, Sam, I—”
Her palm comes up to stop me. “You don’t have to say anything, but just keep in mind that Cal and her brothers—all of us, actually—would kick your ass if you hurt her.” Sam unfurls her legs and stands up.
I’m sure she says goodnight, but all I can do is imagine Cal beating the crap out of me.
“Mac’s special,” Sam whispers. “Please try not to hurt her while you figure out what it is you want.”
She’s about to walk away when the bathroom door flings open. With an abrupt wave, Mac rushes out and into the den. Her hair’s piled on top of her head and I see the pale skin of her slender neck. She whispers a goodnight and shuts the door behind her.
I groan, jaw flexed and aching as I turn to the fire, and let my head fall into my hands. I’ve never spent as much time with Mac as I have today, and keeping my feelings in check is becoming damn near impossible.
Twenty-Five
Colton
Six Years Ago
I’m bending over a newly restored ’67 Ford Galaxy 500 when I hear high heels on the pavement coming into the shop. I’d know that strut anywhere.
Grinning with surprise, I look up. Kylie rarely comes to see me at work—she thinks it’s too dirty and loud—so I wonder what the occasion is. Her messy blonde bun shimmers in the afternoon light as she glances around at the shop, eyeing Ian, the only other mechanic in the garage today. As she draws closer, I realize her mascara is smeared a bit beneath her eyes, like she’s been staring at her computer screen for far too long. That seems to be the trend lately since they’re in the middle of a campaign launch at the ad firm.
“Hey there, beautiful,” I say, and I lean in for a quick kiss. Her skin is soft and warm from being outside in the summer sunshine. I grab a rag from the top of my new toolbox and wipe the grease from my hands. “You look like you’ve had a long day.”
Her head tilts to the side and a strand of hair falls from the mess atop her head into her face. “Gee, thanks.”
I wink at her, but she glances around the shop again. “Where is everyone?”
Shrugging, I toss the dirtied rag onto the tool
box. “It’s a slow week. Malcom took his family to the North Island for a couple weeks to visit his parents and the other guys went home early, I guess.” I eye her more closely. “Why, what’s up?”
She blinks and looks up at me. “We need to talk.”
Hesitantly, I nod and point to Malcom’s office. “Is everything okay?” I rest my hand on her lower back and usher her inside. “That asshole, Jack or whatever his name is, isn’t giving you a tough time at your internship again, is he?”
Kylie shakes her head and steps inside the office. “No more than usual.” She beelines for the far window, and I shut the door behind us. Crossing her arms, she stares outside for a few beats, then turns to face me.
“Then …” I gesture to one of the ratty chairs against the wall. “What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head, eyeing the chair like it might bite her, but I’m too busy staring at her face. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she might’ve been crying. I walk over to her but she puts her hand up. “I’m fine.”
Stopping short, I cross my arms over my chest. “Clearly. I—”
“Why didn’t you take the position my dad offered you at the dealership?” she asks, her voice hardened into something I’ve never heard from her before.
“Um, I didn’t want it.” Her father’s been hinting around at a position for months and I’ve been graciously reiterating the fact that I’m happy where I am. This morning, in some fabricated coffee date, he finally made the official offer.
She throws her hands up. “Why not? The pay is better, the benefits are better—”
“Barely,” I interject.
“And you’ll be working for my family—a secure job, something more dependable than the hot-and-cold hours you have here at this tiny shop.”
“Perhaps, but you know I like it here. Where is this coming from? Why are you suddenly pushing me to switch jobs?”
She balks. “Suddenly? I’ve been trying to get a position for you at my dad’s dealership for like, a year. There’s no suddenness about it.”
“But why? Have I ever given you the impression that I’m unhappy here, that I’d want to leave?”
“It’s not always about you, Colton.”
I straighten, taken aback. “Besides,” I continue, ignoring her jibe, “I still owe Malcom money for my new toolbox. I can’t just leave.”
“You keep saying that, but how long are you going to use what you owe Malcom as an excuse to stay?”
I’m baffled, a little irritated, and getting the sense there’s something bigger that she’s not saying. “I don’t need an excuse to stay, Kylie, because I’m not trying to get away from this place. I like working here. You of all people know what I gave up to be able to be happy and do what I want without feeling like a constant disappointment.”
She just stares at me. A few heartbeats pass and she blinks.
I feel quills of anger begin to rise up around my heart, and I try not to let my emotions get the better of me. “What the hell is this about, Ky? Why are you freaking out about this all of a sudden? Why does it matter if I work here, or anywhere else for that matter?”
Kylie throws her hands up. “Colton, I’ve given you time to get your shit together—to find yourself—”
“Don’t say it like that,” I warn, my father’s words coming too near the surface.
“It’s time to starting thinking long-term. I wanted you to be able to get out from under your dad’s thumb and be happy, but I thought …”
“You thought what?”
“I thought that you just needed some time for yourself and you would start thinking about us and a family and you’d start making someone other than yourself a priority.”
“What? Are you saying I don’t think you’re a priority?”
“Buying me things and showering me with gifts isn’t everything, Colton. I want stability—a family.”
“Fine, but you’re still in college, for Christ’s sake. Why are we talking about this now?”
“Because you never want to and I don’t want to keep wasting my time.”
I recoil, my heart tumbling a little as I try to catch my breath. Her words are like a rusted blade in my chest. I take a deep breath. “This morning you told me you loved me and five hours later you think you’re wasting your time with me?”
She shakes her head and takes a step closer. I see the truth and remorse written clearly on her face. “You are a good guy, Colton. And I do love you. But I want things for my life that I don’t think you do. And if you’re not serious about us and our future—if we don’t want the same things—then yes, we’re wasting our time.”
My mind is looping—my father’s words and warnings about expectations and families and everything I was trying to get away from returning. Anger and resentment, fear and confusion rush through me and I have to force myself to breathe. “I gave up everything so that we could be happy. I gave up the comfort and the stability and the money because I thought us being us was more important than a cushy, moderately happy life.”
“Yeah?” The word is sharp and seething on her tongue. “Well, spoiled as I might sound, you never once asked me what I wanted for my future before you went ahead and decided for us.”
My mouth is gaping. My blood boiling. “Then I’m clearly fucking clueless, because I thought you cared more about me than money.”
“You’re such an ass, Colton. Of course I do, I just wish you cared a little bit more about it too. But then again, I guess I should’ve known better.” She shakes her head. “Maybe I did and I was just hoping it was a phase.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that yes, money and comforts are always appealing. You’re delusional if you think otherwise. No one willingly wants to struggle.”
“We’re not struggling!”
“No, you’re not. You barely graduated with your bachelor’s degree and are perfectly content working here. Content to be covered in grease and live paycheck to paycheck. I want it all—I’m working toward success—”
“And exhaustion—”
“I don’t want to carry you!” Her words settle and simmer inside my gut as I watch her chest heave and anger fill her eyes. “I want us to work together and I want to have kids …”
“You say that like it’s decided that I do or don’t. We’ve barely talked about it.”
“Oh, come on. Every single time my mom mentions grandkids you practically roll your eyes. They all see it.”
“Really? And is this something you and your mom talk about all the time—how I’m not serious enough about you? That I don’t care enough about us and I’m not good husband material? That I haven’t proven myself to you?” I turn away from her, prepared to leave, but I force myself to stay, almost desperate enough to plea for her to understand, but I’m too angry. “I’m so sick of being the one that feels like shit because of other people’s expectations. This is who I am.”
“I’m sorry,” she says after a few rushed breaths. “I can’t help the way I feel. I’ve been trying to ignore it for a while, but you not taking this job … I guess it’s just the tipping point.”
I nod, understanding only one thing. “So, now what? I’m a disappointment and that’s that? Two years together and because I don’t want to work for your dad—the way I didn’t want to work for my dad—that deems me unsuitable to be with you or a part of your future?” I say the words as level and clear as I can manage. “Am I forgetting anything?”
“Don’t say it like that, Colton. You’re twisting my words.”
I let out a callous laugh. “Am I? Well, I thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together, and I just learned that I’m a regret to the only person in the world I give two shits about.”
I don’t bother looking at her face. I’m too afraid to see the emotion in her eyes—or, more pointedly, the lack of it.
“I’m such an idiot,” I hear myself say, and before I realize what’s happening she’s walking past me.
>
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “This wasn’t what I wanted.”
I glare at her, the weight of my heart almost too much to bear.
Kylie takes a step back and opens the door. “I’ll plan on staying at my parents’ house until we, well, figure things out.” Then she shuts the door and a waft of cotton candy hits me. It used to bring me comfort, but now it burns the unwanted scent of failure and mediocrity into my memory.
I pound my fist into the wall and let the sting of pain spread through my hand and up my arm. I’m running out of reasons to give a shit about anything anymore.
Twenty-Six
Mac
After stirring in and out of sleep, I finally sit up and grab my cell phone. The display light is near blinding, so I close one eye and squint with the other, trying to focus on the clock. It’s nearly dawn and the cabin is still quiet, but I can’t stay asleep. I’m cold and thirsty as hell. Deciding water and another blanket are my only hope for a few more stolen moments of oblivion, I peel back the covers, the cool air assaulting me despite my thermal attire.
In the darkness, I riffle through my overnight bag, looking for a sweatshirt, and tug it on before I head toward the door. Careful not to wake Colton or anyone else, I turn the knob and ease the door open. Warm air hits me from the living room and grateful chills spring up over my body. Only after hours of misery do I finally realize I should’ve slept with the door open. The fire isn’t raging, but it’s built and flickering and its warmth fills the cabin.
With a quick glance at the back of the couch, I briefly wonder what Colton looks like when he sleeps and tiptoe toward the kitchen on sock-covered feet. I nearly screech in terror when I see a dark figure standing at the counter. My hand flies over my mouth and I double over, holding in a profanity or two.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, hushed, but not in a whisper. Then he steps into the light. I glance from him to the couch, wondering what he’s doing awake so flipping early. He holds up a mug. “Coffee?”
I brace my hands on the counter and hold up my finger while I catch my breath and steady my nerves. “Water. Please,” I say on an exhale.
Nothing But Trouble (A Saratoga Falls Love Story Book 2) Page 16