Us, Again

by Elle Maxwell

  Then a week ago things escalated. I started getting text messages from a blocked number with photos attached, straight up surveillance style photos like you see in the movies. It’s so cliché that at first I wanted to roll my eyes, but when I looked closer it stopped being funny at all. The pictures are of me, and they’re not all from the past few weeks … they seem to go back months. A shot of me leaving the bank. One of me inside the grocery store taking a box of cereal off the shelf. Filling my car with gas. Leaving Target with a bag that had Layla’s birthday presents inside.

  The red x’s drawn over my head in all the pictures—probably done in Snapchat or some phone app with someone’s finger—are loud and clear. He wants me dead, and he knows where to find me. There are no words included, but none are needed. They are watching me, clearly following me, and I never even noticed. Thankfully, Mackenzie never shows up in the photos, which all appear to be taken in the Westwood area.

  I’ve gotten paranoid, always watching the cars around me trying to figure out if I’m being followed and taking ridiculously out of the way routes every time I drive to Mackenzie’s place in Brighton. I was actually grateful when Mackenzie went on a yoga retreat for some sort of teacher training because I didn’t want to add to all the lies I’ve already told her. But she’ll be back tomorrow.

  I scrub my hands over my face as I finish telling Doc all the gory details. I even admit to lying to my parole officer just the other day.

  “It’s just so fucked up because things with Mackenzie are amazing, and at the same time this shit is happening. But they’re totally separate, two different lives … the way it was before.”

  Doc nods slowly, brows furrowed a bit but face still calm.

  “And this is about revenge? You’re certain he found out that you gave testimony against his brother?”

  I nod at her. Eli hasn’t exactly been subtle, what with keying “SNITCH” onto my car and leaving the rat. Message received. I’m a snitch, a rat, a narc.

  Yeah, I’ve heard the whole “snitches get stitches” shtick, but that’s not my code, not my world. I never swore any type of loyalty to Curtis. I wasn’t part of his “crew,” and I certainly owe nothing to his psycho little brother. I honestly don’t regret helping Curtis get the maximum sentence and being locked up for life. The way I see it, Curtis is a bad guy, and he did bad things. I watched him sell to minors, and met him at his warehouse once where he kept every type of product imaginable … not to mention how he fucking shot a guy in the head while I was standing right next to him. I did my time (and then some) for the illegal shit I did, and he’s having to deal with the consequences of his own actions. Now I just need to get his little brother off my back.

  “I’m glad you recognized yourself sliding into old unhealthy patterns and came to see me. Next time, we can talk through the reasons you feel the need to lie to Mackenzie. But as for these threats to your safety, that’s a problem I’m afraid I’m not qualified to help you with. You need a different type of professional. Have you called your lawyer?”

  “Not yet,” I tell her with a shake of my head.

  “You should. The situation sounds serious, and I’m worried for you. Please don’t try to handle this on your own or open yourself up to more danger.”

  Far too soon, my hour is up and it’s time for me to leave. Shady gives me her warmest smile and clasps my hand as we both stand up. I reach inside my back pocket and pull out the envelope I’ve been carrying, handing it to her. On the outside I’ve simply written her name. Inside is a check made out to her for five grand.

  “What is this?”

  “I figure they can’t pay you nearly enough at the prison, so I wanted to give you something for everything you do and all the help you gave me.” I don’t understand how she does it, having to counsel some of the guys at the prison who are the scum of the Earth and still keeping her cool. I admire the hell out of her.

  “This really isn’t necessary—”

  “You saved my life,” I cut her off, voice dead serious. “You remember what a mess I was … I don’t know where I’d be without you, and I mean that with my whole heart. This is the absolute least I can do. It’s yours. Use the money to help more people if you want, or take a vacation that you really fucking deserve.”

  “Thank you, Graham.” I nod and take her hand again. She squeezes it briefly to emphasize her final words. “Be safe.”

  27. TACOS AND FUCKBOYS

  Graham

  I’m staring at the television without really seeing it, chilling on the girls’ couch waiting for Mackenzie to return from her yoga retreat. (I have my own key now, which Marisa pretty much threw at me one day with a comment about stopping with the “sad puppy dog porch troll thing—presumably referencing the way I used to wait for Kenz to get home by sitting on their front steps.) I’m both psyched to see her, because I’ve missed the hell out of her this week, and anxious because I don’t think I can hide all this Eli shit from her much longer.

  I jump up as soon as I hear her car pulling up the driveway and go out to meet her. When I hear the click of her doors unlocking, I grab her duffle bag out of the backseat before she can. She walks around the car to my side and shoots me a grateful but tired smile before balancing on her tiptoes and giving me a quick close-mouthed kiss. I follow her inside, smiling a little to myself. I’d probably lose my Man Card if I ever admitted this to anyone, but sometimes I think I cherish those little “hello” pecks even more than our deep tongue-filled kisses. Those little pecks are a milestone of sorts, a sign that we’ve reached a place where being together is just a normal part of our lives. We can show quick affection now because there’s no hurry; we both know there will be a later. It’s amazing. A place I dreamed of reaching with her but doubted I’d ever get to experience again.

  Which isn’t to say I wouldn’t be down (or, more accurately, up) for some naked affection right about now.

  I watch as she kicks off her little hipster canvas slip-ons at the door and slumps onto the couch. I look her over: zero makeup, hair up in a bun she obviously didn’t spend ten minutes arranging to perfection, gray spandex leggings that end mid-calf and leave absolutely nothing about her toned legs and ass to the imagination, and a white tank top that’s open in the back to show off the straps of her light blue sports bra (just one from her collection of hundreds. I swear these new sports bras are on my list of the craziest changes that happened while I was out of touch. Each one seems more complicated than the last, with overlapped crisscrossed straps in the shape of a spiderweb or some shit. Like normal sports bras weren’t already hard enough to take off a girl.) She’s Natural Yoga Girl right now and this side of her, like every other one, is perfection.

  “I’m so exhausted,” she declares, as though her posture on the couch and drooping eyes aren’t enough of a giveaway. “It was amazing, don’t get me wrong, but we were up with the sunrise every day and they worked our asses off. I swear I burned 3,000 calories just during this morning’s session. All I want is to eat and go right to bed.”

  “I’ve got Anna’s Taqueria for you. Let me grab it.” I head to the kitchen where the food I recently ordered for her is waiting.

  “Bless you,” she nearly moans as I put her beloved tacos, chips, and guac onto the coffee table in front of her. “You have no idea how badly I need this. All the food there was super healthy vegan stuff. I’ve been starving for days.”

  I sit down next to her while she digs into the food. Her phone, sitting face up on the coffee table right in front of us, starts vibrating. The word “Mom” flashes across the screen above a photo of Mrs. Thatcher.

  “You gonna get that?” I ask carefully.

  “Nope,” she replies, stuffing chips into her mouth as though emphasizing her answer.

  I hold back a groan. I hate that she isn’t speaking to her parents and hate even more that I’m the cause. Her dad is the silent stewing type, as his daughter can sometimes be, and hasn’t reached out since that clusterfuck at the diner, b
ut her mom has been calling consistently for weeks. I keep trying to encourage Mackenzie to talk to them. Her solidarity is sweet, but I don’t want her to freeze them out on my account. But one look at her tired face tells me that conversation will have to wait for another day.

  When she’s finished eating, she sits back with a contented sigh. I run my hand up and down the part of her back that’s not pressed against the couch.

  “Missed you,” I murmur as I place a kiss to her temple, then one farther along her jaw. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen or talked to her. That place is no joke. They even take away cell phones so the yogis at the retreat can be fully “in the moment” or whatever without distractions from the outside world. Mackenzie gives me another tired smile and lifts her hand to run it through my hair.

  “I missed you too. But I’m even too tired for sex right now. I swear if my libido were on the outside like yours, I’d be sporting one seriously limp flag. Closed for business.”

  “That’s fucking disturbing,” I groan, trying to banish the image from my mind. I also have to send some signals to my own ‘flag’ to chill the hell out because after more than a week without sex, all I want to do is take her right here on the couch.

  “Sorry.” She laughs at whatever expression is on my face right now. “Just let me sleep, like, seven hours, and I’ll try to be horny for you in the morning, babe.”

  I chuckle and start cleaning up, gathering the empty bags and food containers.

  “I’ve got this. You go shower or whatever you need to do and get into bed.”

  “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want. You could just go home since you’re not getting any sex tonight,” she calls to me while beginning to move toward her room.

  “Hey, who are you talking to, Kenz?” I ask, prompting her to turn and look at me. “It’s me, babe. I’m not just here for sex, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Right, sorry,” she concedes, face flushing slightly before she darts down the hallway.

  I shake my head a little at her retreating back. Every now and then I have to remind Mackenzie that I’m not one of her little fuckboys and not to treat me like one. (Okay, so I confess that I have no idea what “fuckboy” actually means, but I heard Marisa say it once and it cracks me up, so I get a kick out of using the term to describe guys Kenz dated while I was gone.) When it happens and she slips, I see how different she was with those guys, always keeping them at a distance, staying in control by setting and maintaining clear lines. Basically, from what I can gather, in these “relationships” she dated wimps of the Jimmy Boy variety, who she had wrapped around her little finger. Not that I encourage this particular topic of conversation—I seriously don’t enjoy hearing about her with other guys, who as far as I’m concerned don’t even count—but occasionally we can’t help but avoid them in conversation. I’ve collected each little tidbit and filed it away, until I now have the lineup figured out.

  According to Mackenzie, after I was arrested, the male population of our high school basically treated her like a pariah the rest of senior year. She said she figures half of them saw her as damaged goods, slapped with an eternal “recently dumped girl” label, and the other half thought if they touched her, I would somehow murder them from prison. I can’t exactly say I’m mad about it. At least my reputation was good for something.

  So, it wasn’t until she went to college that she started “dating.” The first guy was Stefan, an international student she saw for a couple of months before she broke things off because (as told by Marisa) he was “pretty” but “couldn’t tell a clit from his own asshole.” Loser.

  Next, she was with some kid named Earnest (I shit you not) for over a year. Earnie was a med student, and from what I can gather, I think the thing lasted as long as it did mostly because he was too busy to spend much time with her, so the “relationship” was low maintenance. They went on seeing each other a few times a month (even though he also sucked in the sack) until he graduated and got placed at a program in Iowa. When he asked Kenz to move there with him, she responded by giving him the old “hell no” heave-ho.

  She went on dates with some guys who didn’t make the cut for a while before meeting Bobby, who Marisa describes as being “boring as khaki pants.” Piecing together the little tidbits Mackenzie has dropped here and there, it seems she used him as a prop more than anything else, a little cardboard “boyfriend” stand-in … her built-in date for awards banquets, someone to drag to parties she didn’t want to attend, a safe suitor to bring home to meet the parents. Easy, uncomplicated, dull. They were together until he apparently fell in love with her, a crime for which she set him loose.

  Most recently there was an older guy named David, a business executive of some kind, who came into the picture at the end of her senior year and lasted through the start of grad school. Mackenzie’s too classy to say it outright, but I get the impression he had a big bank account and a small dick.

  So, four. Four guys I’d honestly enjoy wiping from the planet, but I suppose I’m ultimately grateful to them for keeping her busy but uncommitted until I came back. Good riddance to them all. I chuck those thoughts, along with the last of the taco remnants, and head back to the bedroom.

  Even though it’s only 9:00 PM, I crawl onto the bed beside my freshly showered girl, tucking my body around hers and inhaling the scent of shampoo clinging to her damp hair.

  “Love you,” she mumbles. Her body melts against mine and her breathing evens out, asleep before I have a chance to say it back. But she knows.

  * * *

  My phone vibrates from the back pocket of my jeans, waking me. I’m not sure what time it is; I don’t even remember falling asleep. I slowly pull away from Mackenzie’s sleeping form and step out of the room before retrieving my phone and unlocking it so I can see the contents of the message. It’s from a blocked number, which means it’s Eli. A familiar little bubble of dread rises in my stomach while the photo loads, and I wonder what he’s got for me today. In an instant that bubble bursts and I am flooded by fear.

  I struggle to wrap my mind around what I’m seeing, because this photo isn’t of me. It’s Mackenzie, hair up with some books in her arms as she walks past a building I recognize as part of the Boston College campus.

  Fuck. Fuck. This can’t be happening. I bend at the waist, taking in a deep breath as the terror threatens to take over me. Focus. Think.

  I really never thought Eli would turn his attention to Mackenzie. I’m the one he has the grudge against, the one who snitched. I’m an idiot. I press the heels of my hands to my eye sockets, digging in so hard it’s almost painful. What do I do? I’m waiting for a lawyer to return my call—not the one I used before, but a close friend of my dad’s, the guy I should have called in the first place back when everything happened—but I need to do something now.

  I click out of the text message, find the right contact, and press “call.” The sound of ringing has my hand clenching around the edges of the phone. Please be awake. Please. Unable to stay still, I walk through the house and out the back door into the humid warmth of the night.

  Finally, a curt voice answers. “Yeah?”

  “You have any contacts in private security?” I ask without wasting time on preamble. “I just got another text, but the photo is Mackenzie. He’s watching her.”

  “Fuck,” Griff growls quietly. I hear shuffling, and I imagine him moving through their house, trying not to wake Shaina who is now almost nine months pregnant. “Yeah, I know a couple people. I’ll text you the info. Graham …”

  “I know. Fuck, I know.”

  I nearly hold my breath until his text comes through, and then I start making calls.

  28. SEVENTY-YEAR PLAN

  Graham

  “Babe, I’m pretty sure we’ve passed that exit twice already. Are you sure you know where you’re going?”

  “Of course. Just keeping you on your toes.” I shoot Mackenzie a wink and a grin that I hope looks cool and cas
ual.

  Of course, I have to be in love with a woman who’s not only beautiful but also smart and observant. Though there’s really no way I could hide or justify that the trip from her place to our destination in Newton, just a little over two miles, is taking forty minutes in the middle of the day. I have to tell her—and soon—about the situation that’s making me drive like a guy who’s paranoid as fuck. We’re in Mom’s Beemer again, which I explained by claiming to be “giving the engine some exercise,” but really, I’ve just been rotating vehicles constantly trying to make myself harder for Eli and his guys to follow. In addition to my attempts at evasive driving, which Kenz just noticed.

  Not that I know the first thing about spotting a tail, but I’ve been keeping a vigilant eye on the road, and I don’t think anyone is following us. I haven’t even seen the private security guy whose team I’m paying to keep eyes on Mackenzie 24/7, and I can’t decide if that makes me more impressed or worried. I did specify that I want him to be discreet so Mackenzie doesn’t catch on, but I wonder where he is.