by Nikki Winter
Strong hands suddenly came down on his shoulders and jerked him backwards. “Let go, son,” Maurice softly commanded behind him.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Ashleigh,” Mackenzie’s father tried again. “This is a different path. One that you don’t want to walk, understand? You kill him and there will be no escape. There will be no more Braxton or Hayden. No more of that boy with the red hair and the Christian name. There’ll be no more Mackenzie. You hear me? No. More. Mackenzie.”
Hands loosening slightly, Ashleigh breathed dazedly, “No Mac?”
“You want that? You want a life spent in a cage like an animal?” Maurice prodded. “Because it doesn’t have to be that way. You can have something different. A family. You can have us, Ash. All you have to do is let go.”
He swallowed, thought about the sweet sound of Mackenzie’s laughter and the innocent brush of her lips. He couldn’t lose that. Not when he had nothing else in this world aside from a few small joys.
Ashleigh’s hands released and he fell backwards as his father dropped fully to the ground, gasping for air. An inhuman sound twisted up and out of his chest, forcing its way past his lips. His eyes felt like they would overflow any moment but he resisted, sucking down gulps of air in a poor attempt to fight the agony.
Matthew rolled over with a groan and got to his feet, staggering back towards his truck while Ashleigh watched through glassy eyes.
“You don’t come back to my fucking house!” his father shouted. “You got me, boy?! You don’t come back to my goddamn house ever again! You don’t live there anymore!”
A door slammed and then tires were kicking up dirt and spitting rocks as they sped away.
“I don’t live there anymore,” Ashleigh murmured in a barely perceptible voice. “I don’t live there anymore because he wouldn’t leave me alone.”
One large arm curled about his shoulders and pulled him into something he’d rarely had before Mackenzie—a hug.
His voice broke when he asked again, “Why can’t he just leave me alone?”
Soft steps stopped in front of him and he looked up to find Mackenzie standing over them both. Maurice squeezed him and that sound ran past his lips again. Her eyes filled and she dropped to her knees. The softest palm he’d ever known gently swept the side of his face and something in him simply broke. A sob came this time, followed by more that he couldn’t stem. His mouth wouldn’t close. His eyes wouldn’t dry. He wanted them to. He wanted to stop it. With everything in him he wanted to stop it but he couldn’t. Not with the way she laid her cheek to his temple and wrapped her arms about him before whispering, “Stay.”
That was all he wanted to do. Just say with her for—
“Sir, have you decided which rental you’d like?”
Ashleigh’s hands had practically crumpled the pamphlet resting in his palms. He cleared his throat a few times, searching for the ability to speak. “Yeah. This one,”—he held the paper up and pointed to a luxury four-door sedan—“would be perfect.”
“We’ve also got a coupe if you’d prefer that.”
He placed the paper down and rubbed his hands together. “No thank you. I’ve got plans with my daughter and her mother. Can’t fit a booster seat into a coupe and her mother…she’s long legged like me. Doesn’t really care for smaller cars.” He was rambling and knew it.
The attendant smiled and nodded. “Excellent. Did you need anything else before we bring that around for you?”
He nodded and asked, “Do you know where I can find a good jewelry store?”
As far as he was concerned, before the end of his vacation was up, Mackenzie’s current ring would be replaced.
Eight
“Wait, wait, wait. What were his exact words verbatim?”
Mackenzie rubbed the bridge of her nose and freed up her hand so that she could play around the stem of her wine glass. Into the phone, she said, “I don’t know if we want the same things. I don’t know if you want me. What I do know is that something is wrong here, with us. I’ve been invited to shoot in Milan for the next few weeks and I think it’ll do us some good. Maybe the time apart will help you realize what you have here at home. Maybe then this hold Ashleigh seems to have on you will fade some and I can at least leave my toothbrush over without a meltdown following.”
Nala kissed her teeth from the other side of the line. “Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick.”
“Are you done?” Mackenzie queried, feeling languid because she was on her second glass of Riesling and tonight’s dinner choice had been crazy, amazing bacon mushroom burgers with melted Swiss on brioche and Parmesan truffle fries. The food had settled nicely and she kept attempting to blink the heavy-lidded drop of her eyes away, but after the last few weeks, her exhaustion was expected.
The summer rush to hem in the last details on her next line for She-Devil combined with Arista’s never ending list of interests, Michael’s grating need for attention and Ashleigh’s newfound affection, were wearing on her. Not too long ago her life had seemed so simple and now…well now she found herself wanting to find a corner and stay there until everyone—with the exception of Arista—went away.
Michael’s knock on her door minutes after dinner had been an unexpected distraction, and the grim set of his mouth when she’d answered told her all she needed to know about where the direction of their conversation would go.
“What do you want from me, Mac?” he’d asked her, leaning against the doorjamb. “From us? Because I know what it is that I want. I’m ready to fully commit myself to you.”
Her brows had arched towards the skyline at that. “Ready to? I thought that had been done when you gave me a ring.”
Looking away, he’d murmured, “You know what I meant. I’m all in here. Despite the fact that I have options; despite the fact that I spend the majority of my days around women who…” His voice had abruptly trailed off.
She’d held a hand up at that. “Despite the fact that you spend the majority of your days around women who are what, Michael? Prettier? Thinner? Whiter?”
“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it.”
“No, actually, I don’t. Because the implication is there that you could find yourself falling face first into the vagina of a twenty-two year old; one whose daily interest consists of when the next season of Teen Wolf starts.”
“I could,” he’d argued. “I really fucking could but I’m not. Dozens of twenty-two year old girls traipse in and out of my studio on a daily basis, and I haven’t touched one of them. They’re there, in my space.”
“Ho-ho! A faithful boyfriend! My God is that a foreign concept! How do you do it, Michael? How do you manage to keep your pants from simply dropping around your ankles the moment the door opens?”
A tic in his jaw had formed and his face turned crimson around his throat and ears. “Fiancé, Mac. I’m your goddamned fiancé. And I’m standing here telling you that I’m willing to set aside literally every other woman in the world for you, only you. All it would take is me crooking my finger and—”
“Do you hear yourself right now?” Mackenzie had interrupted. “Are you honestly listening to your words? Because I have to tell you, I am, and I’m beginning to get the clawing urge to just smack you.”
The argument had stopped there and he’d quietly informed her of his trip to Milan along with telling her what he thought she needed. That was two hours ago and she still hadn’t gotten over the utter gall he had.
“Can I say dick a few more times?” Nala queried, cutting into her thoughts. “Then I’ll be done.”
Mackenzie sighed. “You’ve got thirty seconds. I’m timing you. Get it all out of your system.”
And the other woman did, calling Michael more than a dick. If it had been anyone else, Mackenzie would have stopped him or her. She would have been unwilling to facilitate the comfortable habit of insulting the person she intended to spend the rest of her life with, but in this instance…
“Okay,”
her friend breathed out once done. “I feel cleansed.”
“Pretty sure that can only happen with Baptism and a religious figure from every origin of worship.”
“Are you trying to imply that I’m unholy?”
“Nah,” Mackenzie answered, taking another sip from her glass. “I’m not trying to imply anything. I’m outright calling you a daughter of the deceiver.”
Nala snorted, bringing a reluctant smile to Mackenzie's face. “Mac,” she said softly. “Michael’s obnoxious behavior aside, is there another reason you seem so intent on keeping your distance?”
She walked through the swinging doors of her kitchen and towards the comfortable setting of her family room. She could hear the sound of Arista’s television belting out “Frozen” from inside her own bedroom, competing against the slosh of rain against her windows.
“Turn it down, Ari-bear!” Mackenzie called on her way past the stairs, continuing to the large, dove gray barinteen sofa covered in oversized throw pillows. She sunk into it and stretched her legs out onto one arm. “No idea what it is you mean,” she told Nala, finally answering her question.
Thunder cracked across the sky as if punctuating the fib.
“Right. So we’ve forgotten the six-foot-seven male with the large muscle mass. The same male who you allowed to shoot up the club on enough occasions that it resulted in the world’s next dictator.”
“Shoot up the…Nala, be honest with me here. How good is your mental health?”
“Good enough to know when someone is in complete self denial. And ma’am, you’re in more denial than a bottom who says he visits West Hollywood restrooms just to socialize.”
“Would you be terribly offended if I asked you to kindly never call this residence again?” Mackenzie queried. “Because I’m about to do so. I’m about to do so right now.”
“Mac, I think it’s time that we reach some realizations about—”
Ding. Dong.”
Sitting upright, Mackenzie put her sock clad feet to the floor. “Pause your insanity for a minute, someone’s at the door.”
“Stay on the line until you know who it is,” her friend warned.
She snorted and headed through the foyer. “I live in a gated community. Anyone who’s shown up here has the code and has to know Burt the security guard. Otherwise they wouldn’t have gotten past him and his bean bag gun without a shot to the crotch.”
“Is he still doing that to people?”
“Hey, don’t judge his tactics. He’s a soldier, protecting the neighborhood.”
“Doesn’t matter. Stay on the line anyway.”
Mackenzie rolled her eyes as she unlocked the door and began to swing it open. “You sound just like,” her head came up, her eyes rounded slightly and she squeaked, “Ashleigh.”
“Of course he’s making sure you’re not answering the door for people who possibly want to take your fingers and toes as trinkets to hang from their rearview mirrors,” Nala said.
“No,” Mackenzie murmured. “Ashleigh’s standing on my porch. Grinning at me.”
He had to actually duck down slightly to do so. Covered in rivulets of rainwater, the father of her child seemed completely oblivious to the fact that his clothes had become a second skin due to the storm he’d trudged through. His stark white t-shirt was molded to his barrel chest and huge arms, the now opaque fabric revealing a multitude of carefully etched artwork. They included newer pieces she hadn’t seen because their last physical encounter had been months ago. Jersey shorts stuck to strong thighs and gave her an outline that she quickly lifted her eyes from because…inappropriate! His sneakers were muddy and caked with rocks. Hair that he typically kept short had been allotted to grow a few inches above the usual. It was curling slightly under the moisture that was running down the sides of his face, trickling over his lashes and curving about his beard covered jaw.
She blinked, felt her nipples tighten under his silvered stare and said into her phone, “Calling you back later.”
“Already gone,” Nala answered, disconnecting.
Mackenzie’s hand dropped to her side and she didn’t move for several long seconds.
“Hi,” Ashleigh greeted, his voice settling over her skin like velvet. Insanely, ridiculously deep. That was his tone; had been since they were sixteen and awkwardly growing. His voice had become a man before he did. Even when she wasn’t quite sure why, it had managed to pull a response from her that she didn’t believe would ever cease. Like the bass of a drum it was; resounding and strong and sensual without much effort.
“Hi,” she whispered, unable to really process why her wet, giant of an ex was standing in her doorway with his hands braced on the molding above it as he leaned forward just a bit.
They stared at one another for another stretch of seconds before he asked, “Can I come in?”
Come…in? Where, exactly, are you coming? My home? My vagina? Are we talking about my vagina? Oh God, I’m really not sure if we’re discussing my vagina!
Mackenzie took a step back and cleared her throat. “Yeah…sure…sorry. I just didn’t—”
“Expect to see me so soon?” he finished for her, moving through the doorway and stopping to kick off his shoes so he didn’t track dirt through her house.
She bobbed her head and questioned, “Why is that? I mean…we said next week. At least I think we said next week. Wait…is it next week?” Turning to rush towards the calendar in the kitchen, she only halted when a large, surprisingly warm palm caught her by the shoulder and tugged her back.
“Plums,” Ashleigh said softly. “You’re rambling.”
“I’ve asked you not to call me that,” she reminded him for what felt like the thousandth time. “But you keep calling me that. Why? Why do you keep—”
He swung her around and stepped closer, gazing down into her upturned face with a serenity that made her fairly uncomfortable…and kissed her.
Ashleigh had no right. He should have kept his goddamn mouth to himself but…he couldn’t. It had been three long years since he’d allowed himself this pleasure. Every encounter had been brief and cordial; had always about Arista and her needs, her visits and her health. The touching distance remained minimal, and the only thing that ever proved to get them in the same room together for more than five minutes was their daughter. They’d developed an efficient system for airport pick-ups and road trips, holidays and daddy-daughter activities, treating each instance like a weapons exchange. But this time would be different. This time would consist of Ashleigh devoting every waking moment to making them a family again. Nothing else existed. Nothing else mattered.
From the moment she’d quietly informed him that Frost had proposed to her and she’d accepted, his life had been in an upheaval, sliding through his fingers like water. Denial, swift and hard, had come along with stubbornness, and an unwillingness to admit what her choice had done to him. It left him empty and listless, grasping at small joys just so he could breathe. He’d listened to the mocking of his siblings, Noel and his own internal voice, telling him that he was stupid. He’d ignored each and every one. But something had shifted that he couldn’t be rid of and every day that had passed since Mackenzie became engaged a little over seven months ago, he’d spent time combing through every memory. He'd reviewed every recollection of her smile, the sound of her laughter and the sensation of her dark, soft skin. None of these things wandered very far from his mind. Once the dreams had begun, he knew there was no possible way he could stand by and watch as she married another man.
And so here he was, dripping all over of her hardwood floors. His palms were skating along the naked expanse of her back beneath the worn, oversized t-shirt covering her, and he was coaxing her to part her lips under his own with the lap of his tongue. She did and a groan rolled out of his chest. Ashleigh’s arms tightened about her and he crushed her to him, enjoying the bittersweet taste of Riesling that greeted him when he swept into her mouth. The brush of hard nipples made his dick tighten behind h
is damp shorts and boxer briefs. He’d been hard from the second she opened the door in the t-shirt, small cotton shorts and tube socks reminiscent of the thigh-highs she seemed so fond of wearing now. However, the feel of her palms clamping down on his shoulders as a small whimper whipped from her made his cock jump against her thigh. He knew the second she felt the swell of his erection, because she suddenly went stiffer than his member and shoved away from him.
“No, no, no, no,” Mackenzie gasped. “Absolutely not. Absolutely not.”
Ashleigh couldn’t tell if she were speaking to him or herself.
“Plums—”
She held up a hand and shook her head quickly. “Quiet. Just…quiet.”
He closed his mouth and rocked back on his heels, his heart thumping in his ears as he fought to keep himself from snatching her up again and kissing her in far more places than where he just had.
“I don’t know what that was or why,” she announced. “But it will not happen again.” Her eyes lifted, darker than their normal hue of cinnamon and dancing with fire. “You have no right to kiss me. No right to touch me.”
Swallowing the sharp response hovering on his tongue, Ashleigh thrust his hands into his pockets and nodded once. “I don’t. I’m sorry. I’m just…happy to see you.”
Re-twisting her locs into a the bun that had fallen in the midst of their kiss, Mackenzie took another step back from him and said, “There’re other ways to express that, Ash. Like just…saying it. Say you’re happy to see me. Don’t put your tongue in my mouth.”
He narrowed his eyes on her flushed faced, noticing the creep of rouge. “Trust me, plums, your mouth is the least of all the places I’d like to put my tongue.”
If at all possible, her doe eyes got bigger and another step backwards was taken. The fast paced rise of her chest told him all he needed to know. Anger wasn’t behind that, lust was. The scent of peppermint, lemon, almond oil and vanilla played over his senses and he knew that she’d recently spent time meticulously going through her natural hair care regimen. It was something that he used to watch her do adoringly. Purely for selfish reasons since he enjoyed seeing the hems of his pilfered shirts rise over the plumpness of her ass while she leaned over the bathroom sink. The smells that lingered on her skin and hair afterwards had him reaching for her within seconds of her returning to bed. Sometimes she never even made it out of the bathroom; especially not when he could watch himself fuck her up against the cool marble through the wide mirror above it, his hand fisted in the neatly twisted, multicolored ropes of hair that she’d been growing for the past ten years.