The Day He Kissed Her

by Juliana Stone

  “And you’re staying for the summer?”

  Mac thought of Lily. “Planning on it.”

  He was planning on a lot of things with the blond, starting tonight.

  “Hmmm.” Mr. Daley shoved the sandpaper and tools into a bag. “And how’s your mother these days?”

  “She seems good.” Mac hadn’t actually seen her yet, but she was always the same—apathetic, a little sad, and weighed down by the choices she’d made. All of the shit he never ever wanted to feel.

  Mr. Daley paused, his face serious. “And Ben?”

  Mac ground his teeth together and shrugged. “Still inside as far as I know. I don’t ask and I don’t care.”

  Mr. Daley nodded but said no more. Everyone knew that Ben and Mac didn’t mix. Heck, most of the town thought that Ben Draper was a no-good son of a bitch…and they’d be right.

  After Mac signed his receipt, he scooped up his tools, grabbed his cans, and stowed them in his truck. He’d stored his Mercedes in New York and bought a used, red Ford F150 for the trip out. He sure liked his slick silver car, but there was something about a truck that made him feel like a kid again.

  He smiled at a sudden memory of riding in the back of Jake Edwards’s beat-up Chevy when he was about seventeen, heading out to the lake with a couple of girls for a day of fishing and whatever else they could fit in. Him, Cain, and the Edwards boys had been inseparable, and even though his younger years were filled with its fair share of brutality and darkness, there were still a hell of a lot of good times that had gotten him through. The Bad Boys were the main reason for that.

  Mac cranked the radio and blasted some old Led Zeppelin as he pulled out of the hardware store, waving to Mrs. Avery, the flower lady, and grinning like an idiot when she winked at him.

  He was still in a good mood by the time he reached his mother’s house, and he eyed up the fence, thinking it would take more than the weekend to get it looking half-decent. He’d just set the cans onto the front porch when the door swung open and a kid peeked out at him.

  Mac straightened, brows furled as he studied the boy.

  The kid was blond, with longish wavy hair, big blue eyes, a skinny frame, and knees that were dirty and scraped. He was tall for such a young-looking boy, with wide shoulders that he’d need to grow into, and his T-shirt, an ode to Superman, hung off him. His jean shorts were on the short side, and his feet were bare.

  “Are you Uncle Mac?” The kid didn’t sound insolent…not really, but there was something about his tone that got Mac’s attention.

  Surprised, Mac took a moment. He had more than one nephew, so whose kid was this?

  “You don’t look rich,” he said.

  “You’ve got some serious attitude, kid.”

  The boy shrugged and Mac thought he muttered, “whatever” under his breath. The little shit.

  “I’m Liam.”

  Ah. Liam. Becca’s kid.

  Maybe. Or was he Dara’s?

  “I didn’t know you were visiting. Where’s your grandmother?”

  Liam shrugged. “She left an hour ago. I think she went to church or something.”

  Figures. His mom had more time for church than any lady he knew besides Mrs. Lancaster, and since her husband was the pastor, she didn’t count. He’s always thought she used to go there to escape the house, but maybe it was more for her soul after all.

  “We came in the middle of the night.”

  That surprised Mac, and he glanced toward the door.

  Liam nodded. “I think we scared the shit out of Grandma.”

  “Your mom know that you curse?”

  From the looks of it, Liam didn’t care. Huh. He was going to take a wild guess that this was Becca’s kid. Had to be. The eyes were uncanny. Mac wasn’t sure what was going on. He hadn’t seen Becca in a few years, though they kept in touch via email.

  He tried to remember the last time he’d seen Liam, and the only thing he came up with was the kid’s baptism. Had it really been that long since he’d seen his sister? He’d been out to visit her in Iowa—once—but for the life of him, he didn’t remember much about his nephew.

  God, he was a sorry excuse for an uncle. He didn’t even know how old Liam was, though if he had to guess, he’d say around ten…maybe?

  “Liam, is that Mackenzie?”

  His sister Becca appeared behind her son.

  Becca was a cute little thing except that at the moment she had a black eye and her left arm was in a sling.

  They’d come in the middle of the night.

  Mac’s jaw tightened, and his hands fisted as all the good vibes he’d had going on evaporated like raindrops on hot pavement.

  Becca whispered something into her son’s ear, and Liam rolled his eyes at Mac before disappearing into the house, leaving Mac alone on the porch with his sister.

  “What the hell happened to you?” he asked as soon as the door closed behind his nephew.

  Becca’s eyes shimmered, and he felt like an asshole as a tear slowly made its way down her cheek. She shuddered and opened her mouth to say something but then closed it without saying a word. There was no need really. Her face pretty much said everything.

  Along with the black eye, her bottom lip was split, and there was bruising along the top of one of her cheekbones.

  Becca’s eyes fell to his fists, and he forced himself to relax them, running his hands through his hair instead as he stared at his sister.

  Jesus. Fuck.

  Rebecca was two years younger than Mac, but she looked worn, sad, and—it hit him like a punch to the gut—Christ, she looked just like their mother.

  “Did David do this to you?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral because he wasn’t good with tears and emotion. He didn’t need a shrink to tell him it was a direct result of his screwed-up childhood.

  Becca wiped at her eyes with her good hand and dropped onto the lone chair on the small porch.

  “It’s a long story,” she said softly.

  “Story?” Mac snorted. “It looks more like a fucking nightmare.”

  “Keep your voice down, Mackenzie, and please watch your language. I don’t need Liam to hear any of it.”

  Mac stared down at his sister. He had no words. He wasn’t close with her husband, but he had thought that David was one of the good guys. But then, growing up, he wondered how many neighbors had thought that the Drapers were a picture-postcard American family. They sure as hell had looked the part, all those blue eyes, blond heads, and perfect features.

  It wasn’t until Lila started showing bruises that people began to whisper, and when the kids started showing up to school with obvious signs of violence, word had quickly spread.

  Mac knew firsthand that what you saw on the outside didn’t mean shit. What happened behind closed doors mattered.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  His sister’s light brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her skin was so pale that she looked sick. She’d always been a golden, tanned, outdoors kind of girl. All the Draper kids had loved the outdoors. Being outside meant they weren’t in the vicinity of their father’s toxicity—or flying fists. To see her like this made him sick.

  His hands clenched again at the thought.

  “David’s always been a little…” She paused and sighed. “Physical.” She glanced up at him, her expression fierce. “But it was nothing I couldn’t handle, and sometimes I pushed him. It wasn’t always him.”

  Mac didn’t say a word. He’d heard that line of bull before—hell, he’d lived it.

  “It got worse last year when he lost his job. David’s a proud man, and it ate at him that he couldn’t find anything, you know? He hated that I had to go back to work, and then he started drinking.”

  “Jesus Christ, Becs. He’s a carbon copy of Ben.”

 
; She winced at that but didn’t offer up anything more.

  “So, you’re here because he put you in the hospital?”

  “I was only in emergency for a few hours, and I left…” A sob escaped. “I didn’t want the police involved, so I left.”

  “Oh.” Mac threw out his hands. “Because the police are such a bad thing when someone beats the shit out of you.”

  “Don’t,” she whispered harshly. “Just don’t, Mac.”

  He studied her closely, watching how she twisted her hands nervously in her lap. “What did you tell Liam?”

  She took a few moments, and when she spoke, her voice was tremulous. “I told him that I slipped and fell.”

  “Classic.”

  She whipped her head up. “What do you expect me to tell him?”

  “I don’t know,” Mac shouted. “Maybe try the fucking truth? Do you really think that your kid believed you fell down the goddamn stairs? Did you believe every lie that Mom fed us? Hell, by the time I was five years old, I knew that it was only a matter of time before he came after us, and I was right.”

  “David didn’t…” She swallowed and shook her head, and a fresh batch of tears slipped down her face. “David wouldn’t hurt Liam.”

  “I’m sure Mom told herself the same thing. Didn’t stop Ben, did it?”

  The siblings stared at each other for a long time before Becca broke the silence. “I can’t take your judgmental attitude, Mac. I just can’t.”

  She broke down, and Mac knelt in front of her, gathering her into his arms and feeling like a jerk for making his sister cry. He awkwardly patted her back, not really knowing what to do but feeling the need to do something.

  It was a miracle that he was able to keep it together, because inside, the blackness swirled, feeding his anger, and if David were in front of him right now, he’d put the bastard in the hospital himself.

  Or he’d kill him.

  Eventually the sobbing subsided and Mac leaned back, arms still around his sister’s shoulders. “So what are your plans? What are you going to do?”

  She sniffled. “I’m staying with Mom for the next little while. She seems happy about it.”

  “That’s because she’s lonely as hell. She let Ben Draper take her away from everything and everyone that she knew years ago, and now he’s gone, locked up where he should be, and she’s left with nothing.”

  Becca blew out a long breath. “God, I never thought I’d be home again. Not at thirty-three. I just…I had nowhere else to go.” She looked at him. “I’m glad you’re back in Crystal Lake for the summer. Maybe we can—I mean, Liam could maybe spend some time with you. I’ve told him so much about his Uncle Mackenzie. We’re all so proud of everything you’ve accomplished, but he was starting to think you were a ghost.”

  His mouth tightened, and he stepped away. No way was he going there.

  “I’m not here for a vacation, Becca. I’m here to work. A lot of stuff needs to be done around this place, and I’m working on a project for Jake. I don’t think I’ll have much time for your kid.”

  “His name is Liam, and he’s your nephew.”

  “Yeah, well. I’m not real good with kids.”

  “Or family,” she shot back.

  Mac shrugged. “Or family.”

  Becca got up from the chair and reached for the door. “You want everyone to think you’re this guy who doesn’t care much or that you’re incapable of getting attached to anyone, but…” She turned the handle. “We both know that’s a load of crap. You’re still the brother who brought home that bird with the broken wing, the one that we tried to heal. You’re still the brother who cried with me when it died and then buried him in the woods with the little cross we made from twigs. I just saw that same compassion inside you, Mackenzie. Just now. You feel as much as anyone else, but you’ve just gotten a lot better at hiding it.”

  Becca opened the door. “Liam will help with the fence and anything else that needs to be done around here. It will be good for him, so when are you starting?”

  Mac had planned on starting today, but he was no longer in the mood. Hell, he could barely contain the heat and anger inside him. He needed to expel all of it, and he thought a hard run should do it.

  “Tomorrow,” he answered. “I’ll be here early though.” He paused. “Tell Mom I’ll be back.”

  “Okay,” Becca said softly. “It really is good to see you, Mac. I just wish…”

  “Yeah,” he said eventually.

  Becca’s lower lip began to tremble again, and with a quick nod, she disappeared inside.

  Mac swore all the way back to his truck, and by the time he reached the Booker cottage, he’d worked himself up into a state. He changed into his running shoes and shorts, grabbed his iPod, and headed out for a run.

  The direction? Hell, he didn’t know. He just put one foot in front of the other and tried to forget all the shit that seeing Becca brought up.

  Yet more than an hour later, he paused at the edge of a clearing, his sides heaving and his head soaked from sweat. He’d removed his T-shirt about halfway through the run, though it was stuck in the back of his shorts. He reached for it and used it to wipe the sweat from his brow as he looked across the clearing at a plain, stone cottage.

  Flowers surrounded the pathway, pink, purple, and white petunias. Two large baskets hung from the wide porch, filled with red geraniums. A BMW was parked in the driveway and though the grass needed to be mowed, the place looked quaint. Lived in.

  Raine’s place.

  Seemed as if his feet had known where they were going after all.

  He’d run straight to Boston.

  Chapter 8

  Lily’s breath hitched in her chest when she spied a half-naked man on the edge of the property. The golden head, damp with sweat, the large expanse of naked skin, and those long, muscular legs were unmistakable.

  Mackenzie.

  She’d heard he was due back in Crystal Lake the day before. She’d swung by Jake’s office for lunch—he was out—but she’d overheard his office staff gossiping about the fact that Mac Draper, hottest bachelor in Crystal Lake, was coming home and was going to work with Jake on the developing the new site.

  And here he was.

  Lily had set up her studio in the large back room of the cottage because of the abundance of windows on both the back wall and the side wall that faced the surrounding forest. She took a step back and nearly tripped over her easel as she watched him wipe his forehead and then take a long drink from a water bottle. He paused, looked straight at the house, and she froze, like a deer poised in the wild, glad that she was inside where he couldn’t see her.

  She’d thought a lot about Mackenzie Draper over the past month. A lot.

  Some nights she’d lain in bed and his whispered words, “I’ll be back, Boston,” had played in her ear over and over again.

  Along with the memory of that kiss.

  A kiss that was a promise of so much more, but it was that so much more that made Lily nervous. Mac had been right. She wasn’t a relationship kind of girl, and he obviously wasn’t into long-term commitments, and yet here she was wondering…

  Wondering about things that she shouldn’t be wondering about. Things that might hurt her if she wasn’t careful. Lily had already been down heartbreak road, and she’d promised herself that she would never travel it again.

  But what if… She bit her lip, mouth dry and heart beating fast as Mackenzie shook out his long, wet hair and began to walk toward the house.

  God, what if she embarked on something that wasn’t defined by the boundaries of a relationship? Something that would fulfill the need she’d felt ever since New Year’s Eve, a need to connect and to matter on a physical level without the emotional? Was it so wrong to want that? Especially when she’d pretty much come to the conclusion that love and family weren’t in
the cards for her?

  The night she’d spent with Mackenzie had been a gift. It had shown Lily that she wasn’t some frozen wasteland—that there was still flesh and blood and heat beneath her invisible scars.

  Could she do it?

  Could she grow a set of balls and do what guys did all the time? Could she enjoy a purely physical relationship? Could she have her cake and eat it too?

  Did she dare?

  Before she could change her mind, Lily whirled around and rushed toward the front door, pausing for a second to get her shit together before she opened it. Her hand trembled a bit, and she wiped a damp palm against the top of her skirt before stepping out into the hot summer afternoon.

  The smell of lilac drifted up her nostrils—the entire right side of the property was filled with purple lilac bushes—and she exhaled slowly as she leaned against the railing and watched Mackenzie.

  Acutely aware that she was braless beneath the light pink halter top, Lily bit her bottom lip as her sensitive nipples poked against the fabric. She’d pulled on a simple cotton skirt that morning—one that was on the short side—and her feet were bare. She didn’t have to glance down to know that her toenails were chipped, that the pale pink polish was nearly gone, and that she was in desperate need of a pedicure.

  Her hair hung in wild tangles down her back because she’d not bothered to brush it this morning, and her face was free of makeup. For a moment she hesitated, panicked at the thought of what she must look like. But then Mackenzie started walking toward her, and his long legs ate up the distance between them in no time.

  He stopped at the bottom of the porch, one foot propped on the steps, head lifted as he gazed at her. Damn, but his eyes were electric, and a hint of white showed as he offered a light smile. With several days’ worth of stubble gracing his chin and his long hair hanging in damp waves against his neck, he looked exactly as a man should—hot, sweaty, muscular, and…

  Hot.

  For several seconds, there were no words. There was only the sound of blood rushing through her veins, a heartbeat gone crazy, and the swoosh of air in her lungs as she struggled to remain calm and collected.