by Gemma James
“I think she’s napping with the baby.”
“I haven’t seen her yet. How old is she now?”
“Four months.”
I folded my arms. I’d been raped four months ago, which was why I hadn’t gone to Salem to meet my new niece.
Leave the past at the door.
The past always had a way of knocking. The doorbell rang, and Mom materialized from the kitchen. She sent a furtive glance in my direction as she headed for the foyer.
Oh shit. I recognized that look. It was her I’m-meddling-and-you-won’t-like-it look. Maybe it was someone she was dating. Yeah, fat chance. I knew who was on the other side. I followed, rounding the corner as she turned the knob. She pulled the door open, and there stood Joe, looking so calm it was irritating. His blue eyes zeroed in on me.
“Hi, Mac.”
What had Aidan said about this day being fun? How could I leave the past behind when it literally walked through the front door?
“What is he doing here?”
My mom didn’t display an ounce of guilt as she glanced at me in her typical stubborn manner and answered with a shrug.
“Come on,” Joe said. “You had to know I’d show up here. You won’t answer my calls. How else was I supposed to talk to you?”
“You wanna talk? Fine, let’s talk.” I headed toward the kitchen, sending my mom an accusatory glare on the way, and didn’t bother to check if he followed. I knew he would. I busied myself with washing the few dishes that littered the counter. “You have five minutes,” I said, sensing his presence behind me. I finished rinsing a mixing bowl and picked up a casserole dish.
“Can you stop for a minute and talk to me?”
“No.” I hated how my voice shook, how my heart tripped and my body grew warm. Too warm.
“Mac, please…”
“Don’t call me that.”
“What?” He sounded surprised. “I’ve been calling you that for years.”
I dropped the dish and whirled around. “So did your dad.”
He looked broken, there was no other word for it. “I messed up bad. I just…I need you to know how sorry I am.”
“You need? What about what I needed?” I blinked, holding back a range of emotion varying from despair to rage.
His expression cracked. “Don’t cry, I didn’t mean to…I’m so sorry.”
He reached for me, but I held up my hands. “Don’t,” I said, firming my resolve. Falling apart because he’d had a change of heart was pointless. “Now you know he did it. Still doesn’t change anything between us.”
His blue eyes took on that familiar determined glint. “It changes everything. I know I messed up. I should have trusted you.” He moved toward me, lifting a hand to touch my face, but let his arm fall instead. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I stopped missing you weeks ago.” I faced the sink again and picked up the forgotten dish, putting all my energy into scrubbing away the last remnants of crusty yams. If only I could make the hole he’d left in my heart disappear so easily. It had grown smaller over the last few weeks, but it was still there, and my hurt whistled through it now. He was clueless if he thought an apology could resurrect the ashes of our relationship. “My mom obviously wanted you here. Why don’t you go mingle with her for a while? I’m sure she’s missed you.”
“That’s cold, Mac.”
“That’s how I feel when it comes to you. Cold.” It was true. The guy I’d experienced my first taste of love with, the man who’d promised me forever, had shattered my love for him so completely that only dust remained. “You hurt me more than he did.”
He sucked in a breath. “I still love you.”
“Your five minutes are up.” I left the kitchen and grabbed my jacket, ignoring the curious stares of my family as I slammed through the door. I didn’t allow thought or emotion in, didn’t do anything but focus on putting one foot in front of the other. The wind tore through the branches above me, whipping my ebony locks into my eyes, but I didn’t slow down.
“Mac!” Joe’s footsteps pounded the gravel behind me.
“Leave me alone!” I hastened my stride and turned onto the main road, paying no attention to the raindrops sluicing in rivulets down my cheeks. He kept pace with every furious step.
“I’m sorry!” He pushed his dirty blond hair out of his eyes. “I hate myself for what I put you through. Please…please let me make this right.”
“You can’t,” I cried. “You ripped my fucking heart out! No one…no one has ever hurt me the way you did.” I wiped the moisture from my cheeks, not entirely certain it was only rain at this point. “An apology can’t erase the past, Joe.”
He grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop. “I know it can’t.”
I kicked at a rock on the muddied ground. A nightcrawler inched away, working hard to escape the threat of danger. “I wanted to hate you.” I still wanted to. So, so much. Hate was easier to hang on to than hurt, easier to get through. Hate had kept me going. I buried my face in my hands and wished it would all go away, wished he would go away. He brought his arms around me, and I stiffened until the familiarity of his embrace crumbled a little piece of the wall I’d erected.
“I hate you! I hate you so much.” I pounded my fists against his chest. He took every blow without a wince. Finally spent, I slumped in his arms and sobbed. After all these months, everything finally poured out; the emotions I’d buried deep…but not deep enough.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he murmured those words over and over again, his breath exhaling in gasps against my neck as he held me tight, one arm bracing my back while the other tangled in my hair. “I want to kill him for what he did to you.”
It was tragic, because after all this time, most of which I’d spent alternating between hatred and intense longing to be where I was now, all I could think of was how these were the wrong arms.
This was Joe. The kid who’d pushed me on the swings during recess, the guy who’d used my math homework as a cheat sheet for his own. The guy who’d snuck into my bedroom in the middle of the night when he was sixteen, heartbroken over his parents’ divorce.
I had no doubt that I’d loved him. But it wasn’t enough. I gently untangled from his hold and stumbled back a few steps. Joe’s gaze darted behind me, and when I turned around, I found Aidan and Micah parked on the side of the road. Micah peered through the passenger window, his face a blanket of curiosity. Aidan stood on the other side, and only now did I register the annoying ding that indicated he’d left the door open with the keys still in the ignition.
“You okay?” he asked, his gaze moving between Joe and me.
I quickly wiped my eyes and nodded. His face was tense with what I recognized as worry. If I wasn’t so forlorn, I would have smiled. That was Aidan, my perpetual worrier. When it came to me, he had the role of protector down to an art.
Joe flung an arm around my shoulders. “Who’s the guy?”
I ducked out of reach, and before I could reply, Aidan beat me to it. “I’m her boyfriend. Who are you?”
My eyes collided with Aidan’s, and his mouth twitched at the corners, as if we shared a secret. “Come on,” he said, “get in the car. You’re both drenched.” He looked at Joe, his expression hardening. “You know how to drive?”
Joe scoffed. “Of course.”
Aidan rounded the car and grabbed my hand. “Keys are in the ignition,” he told my ex before opening the back door for me. He slid in after me, and I snuggled against him as Joe settled into the driver’s seat, where he slammed the door shut, making his displeasure at this new development known.
“You’re so warm,” I mumbled.
“You’re freezing.” Aidan engulfed me in his arms and brought his lips to my ear. “What were you thinking?” He inched away and peered into my eyes. “I saw a white van parked a couple blocks down the street.”
I shuddered. “I-I wasn’t thinking. I was upset.” I closed my eyes as the implications hit me. White vans weren’t
exactly rare, but…what if?
“We can’t afford to be reckless, Mackenzie.”
“I know.”
Joe pulled into the driveway and killed the engine.
“Can you guys give us a minute?” I asked.
His blue eyes met mine in the rearview mirror for a few heavy seconds. Then he barreled out of the car and slammed the door in his wake.
Micah turned to face us, brows raised. “Thanksgiving’s are never dull. See you guys inside.” He grabbed the Cool Whip and went after Joe.
Raindrops pelted the roof of Aidan’s car. In that moment, sitting next to him surrounded by the howl of the wind and the pattering of rain, a surreal peacefulness settled over me. I burst out laughing, as if a pressure valve had been released.
Aidan arched a brow. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I just realized you let my ex drive your car. You must really love me.” Grasping a handful of his jacket, I pulled him down with me onto the backseat, and all traces of laughter died.
“How much of that scene back there did you see?”
“Well,” he began, brushing a lock of stray hair from my eyes, “when I pulled over it looked like you were beating the shit out of him.”
“I don’t know what came over me. I was just so…angry.”
“And hurt.” Aidan frowned. “Do you still love him?”
I gnawed on my lower lip and searched for an honest answer. “He’ll always hold a small piece of my heart, Aidan.” I slid my fingers into his hair and pulled him closer. “But I am so in love with you, it’s ridiculous.”
He let out a breath. “If we weren’t parked in your mother’s driveway, I’d have no problem steaming up these windows.”
“I think we can steal a minute,” I said before tugging his mouth down on mine.
Joe reminded me of a wounded puppy. He spent some time chatting with my mom, but once she disappeared into the kitchen to finish dinner, he was left with nothing to do but stare at me. He finally gave up and left.
Mackayla grabbed my hand and pulled me up from the couch. “C’mon.”
I sent Aidan a pleading look, but he and Micah were in the middle of an intense discussion about college football. He shot me an infuriatingly wide grin as my sister dragged me away. He wasn’t about to save me from my family.
“Tell me all about him,” Mackayla demanded once we were out of earshot of the living room. “Is he good in the sack?”
“Mackayla!”
She waved away my indignation. “I heard about the hell you went through after you and Joe split. I’m just glad to see a sappy smile on your face.”
“Can we not talk about Joe?”
Michael ran past, followed by Mason. They were in the middle of a heated game of tag.
“Who’s talking about Joe?” Mackayla asked once the coast was clear. “I thought we were talking about Aidan and how good he is in the sack?” She wiggled her eyebrows, and I was suddenly reminded of Six. I’d never realized how much the two of them were alike—had been alike.
A mixer buzzed to life. I peeked into the kitchen and saw Mom busy at work with a gigantic bowl of mashed potatoes. Satisfied our conversation wouldn’t be overheard, I turned back to my sister. “He’s amazing. I’ve never felt this way before.”
“You’re in love with him.”
“Crazy in love with him,” I agreed. “He makes me happy.”
“You look happy, but I wish you’d come home. Talk about a bad time to move to Mom’s hometown. We’re worried about you.”
“Aidan doesn’t let me out of his sight. You have nothing to worry about.” I couldn’t quite meet her gaze. My family had no idea how close the Hangman had zeroed in on me, and I wanted to keep it that way.
The mixer shut off in the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost done,” Mom announced.
“Need some help?” I asked.
She smiled. “Sure. I want to talk to you anyway.”
And here it comes.
Mackayla gave me a sympathetic pat on the back before I entered the kitchen. “What is it, Mom?”
“I wanted to talk to you about Joe.” She kept her eyes on the gravy she was stirring.
I crossed my arms. “I didn’t come here to talk about him.” I hadn’t come here to see him either, but that hadn’t stopped her.
“I don’t get you,” she began. “You guys have always been so close, and he’s going through a lot right now with his dad—”
“Mom,” I interrupted. “Joe and I aren’t getting back together.”
“I didn’t raise you to turn your back on the people who care about you.”
“I didn’t turn my back. He did.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I was not getting into this with my mother on Thanksgiving. “Do you want me to put the rolls in the oven?”
Pursing her lips, she picked up two packages and handed them to me, and I began arranging them on baking sheets.
“What’s going on with you, Kenz? You left so suddenly, and now you come home a few weeks later with a man you barely know?”
“Aidan has stuck by me through a lot. You have no idea.”
“Joe has stuck by you. I don’t understand how you can cast him aside when he needs you most.” Her voice shook. “He doesn’t deserve—”
“I didn’t deserve to be lied to my entire life, but that didn’t stop you.” I dropped the rolls into the oven and slammed the door shut.
“I did it to protect you.”
“From William Beckmeyer? That’s great, Mom. I could’ve had a father, but there’s no chance of that happening now, is there? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it was for the best.”
“Did he…did he not want me? Is that why you didn’t tell me?”
She turned around and grabbed the counter, and her shoulders slumped. “After your father”—she shook her head—“I mean after Tom died, I lost myself, did some stupid things. It was one time, one mistake, but I don’t regret it because it brought me you. I never told anyone who he was. Everyone believed what they wanted to, and it was easier to let them.”
Something cold fisted my heart. “What are you trying to say?”
“Will wasn’t your father.”
My jaw dropped. “What?”
“People assumed he was because we’d been high school sweethearts back in the day, and he was a good friend to me after Tom died. But the rumors destroyed his marriage, and I just…left like a coward before you were born.”
She went to the stove and removed the vegetables from the burner. I was struck speechless. Marcus entered the kitchen before I could question her further.
“I’ll carve the turkey.” He lifted the platter and disappeared through the door leading into the dining room. One by one, everyone trickled in and carried the varying dishes to the table.
Mom pulled me into a quick hug. “We’ll talk more later.”
I was still in a fog when we all sat down at the huge oak table in the dining room. When it was my turn to say what I was thankful for, Aidan laced his fingers with mine to bring me out of my stupor.
His brows furrowed. “Everything okay?”
I smiled. “I’m thankful for new beginnings.”
Everyone fell into comfortable conversation after that. Alicia talked about the baby, Marcus mentioned his work in the state’s capital, Micah had us in stitches over some funny stories involving his EMT coworkers, and Mackayla complained about the restaurant she worked at and how mean her boss was. Mom was still miserable but making decent money at the law firm where she worked as a paralegal.
Halfway through dinner, as the twins were giggling and using their straws to blow bubbles in their drinks, Mom engaged Aidan in the lets-get-to-know-each-other conversation I’d been dreading. “What do you do for a living, Aidan?”
“At the moment, I work with Mackenzie. I’m kind of on a prolonged leave from the paper I worked for in Boise.”
Marcus, sitt
ing directly across from me, took a sudden interest. “Did you cover the Hangman stories?”
I jumped in, wanting to distract from that particular subject. “What is this, an interrogation?” I joked.
“I’m certainly not interrogating your boyfriend, Kenz. I just find it interesting that he lived in Boise, considering what’s happened in Watcher’s Point recently.” Forks scraped against plates, and someone had a heavy hand when they set a glass down on the table.
Aidan swallowed hard. “Yeah, I covered the Hangman.”
“You have any theories?” Marcus persisted. “Exactly how much has the media left out?”
“I wouldn’t know. I no longer report the news.”
“Then why are you in Watcher’s Point?”
“Marcus…” I gave my brother a smoldering glare.
“Stop badgering our guest,” Mom warned him before refocusing her attention on Aidan. “Do you have family in Watcher’s Point?”
“Not anymore. My grandfather passed a couple of years ago. You might have known my mother, though. She was born and raised there.”
“How interesting. What’s her name?” She picked up her glass and brought it to her lips.
“Lila Payne, but you probably would’ve known her as Lila Davis. She married my father right out of high school.”
The glass slipped from her fingers, and though it didn’t break, water pooled around her half-eaten plate of food. Appearing stricken, she scooted her chair back and stood.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” I asked, wondering if something she’d eaten had made her sick.
“Can you come into the kitchen with me?” she directed the request at me.
I scrambled to my feet and followed her into the adjacent room. She closed the door behind us, and it was eerily quiet.
She grabbed my shoulders. “Tell me you haven’t slept with him.”
My eyes widened. “What?”
“Tell me it hasn’t gone that far.”
I shrugged her hands off. “I am not talking about sex with you!”
All the color drained from her face. “Oh God. You have, haven’t you?”
“Mom! It’s none of your—” I broke off and shook my head. “If this has to do with Joe—”