I tug on my winter boots as Mayhem walks into the hall. She's eating an enormous bowl of ice cream covered in caramel sauce, hot fudge, whipped cream, sprinkles, and what looks like crushed Oreos. I'm immediately jealous. Oh to have a nineteen-year-old metabolism again.
“Where ya going?” she asks before shoveling a mouthful of her snack into her mouth.
Mayhem is the tallest woman in our family at five foot ten inches, but much more slender than one would expect for a woman who wears between twenty-five and fifty pounds of goalie gear every day. She’s the second Garrison to become a goalie, and she’s better at her position than any of us are at ours. I’ll gladly tell anyone who asks.
“Mac’s shift ends soon and her car was frozen solid this morning and didn’t start. I gave her a lift in so I’m going to pick her up,” I explain and pull open the door to the hall closet to grab my jacket.
“Oh. So that’s where you went at the crack of dawn this morning,” Mayhem notes. “You drove her to the hospital?”
“You heard me leave?”
She nods and swallows down more ice cream. “You’re into her?”
My brain flashes back to the kiss. How good it felt and the way my whole body came to life with something other than anxiety and dread when I lifted her off that bar stool and she wrapped those long legs around my waist.
“If I could be into someone, I would likely be into her,” I confess because, of anyone in my entire family, I trust Mayhem the most with my secrets. It’s weird because we’re so far apart in age, and despite taking pucks to the face for a living and spending far too much time with sweaty vile male hockey players, and the misogyny they hurl at her on the daily, she's a very girlie woman. A T-Swift, Barbie, romance novels, frilly skirts, and blown-out hair type of girl. She's also an introvert and I've always been the family's biggest extrovert. I have three male cousins closer in age you'd think I'd be tighter with… but Mayhem is my go-to with secrets and fears and all of that.
Now, she takes that admission in stride and swallows another heaping spoonful of ice cream before asking. “And why, exactly, can’t you be into someone?”
I stare at her. She genuinely doesn’t get it. “What the hell do I have to offer someone right now?”
Mayhem’s face goes slack. “Conner, you can’t be serious.”
“I am, and if you give me a pep talk like Mama C or Dad, I will leave Silver Bay and possibly never come back,” I warn her. “At least not until this whole bullshit is settled.”
“You are so much more than your career, Con,” Mayhem tells me, completely disregarding my warning. I glare. “Sorry. I’ll shut up. You just go and pick up the pretty girl you would be interested in if you hadn’t tied your whole self-worth to a sheet of ice and a rubber disc.”
I blink. She smiles, like she's an oblivious, sweet child and then she holds up a spoonful of ice cream, caramel sauce dripping from it. "Wanna bite? You have no reason to stay in shape now. Farm team is basically a beer league. Fuck it. Get fat."
“You’re…” I can’t even think of an expletive or adjective to explain how infuriating she is right now so I just shake my head. “Bye.”
I storm out of the house. Mayhem stands at the open door and yells after me. "Love you loser! I can't believe I finally get to call you that and you won't argue. Merry Christmas to me!"
I know she’s not serious. It’s a Jedi mind trick. She’s calling me a loser so I’ll argue with her and pull myself out of this vat of self-doubt and misery. Well, I’m not falling for her tricks. I don’t even acknowledge her as I get in my car and drive away. Fucking family.
It’s an easy commute to the hospital and I’m only in the parking lot ten minutes when Mac steps out of the front doors. She’s all bundled up with a thick scarf wrapped around her neck and the bottom half of her face, gloves on her hands, and a knitted toque shoved on over her curls, which are pulled back into a low ponytail.
She starts along the sidewalk that skirts the parking lot all the way to the road. Is she really going to walk to the barn? It's a good six miles to that place, and the road to it is basically all uphill, with no sidewalk and likely still coated in ice. I pull out of the spot I was in and drive into the oncoming lane to pull up beside her. My window goes down as she looks over. "Your chariot awaits, Ms. Larue."
“You’re here for me?”
“You don’t have a car,” I remind her.
“No, but I have legs,” she counters.
I look up through the windshield at the solid gray sky stuffed full of clouds that are slowly dropping flakes. The sun has set and if it weren’t for the parking lot lights it would be pitch black. The narrow, hilly road that takes her to the farm doesn’t have a single street light. “Are you seriously going to make me go all alpha asshole on you and order you into the car? I hate being that guy, but if it’s your jam…”
She smiles and I can tell she wishes she hadn’t. “I grew up on the streets of New York, Conner. I can handle an alpha asshole in my sleep. I can also walk myself home.”
“You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met,” I declare. “Too bad for you I’m chivalrous to a fault and have decided I’m spending this Christmas as your knight in shining armor so if you don’t get in this car right now, I’m going to drive next to you, slower than a sloth if necessary, all the way back to your place.”
Mac stops and folds her arms over her chest. Her big blue eyes are like icicles and not just because of their uniquely pale color. She's trying to murder me with her stare. Oh well. I give zero shits. I'm driving her home. She finally seems to realize that and, with a huff of disdain, opens the passenger door.
As she slips into the car I notice Heather is standing by the bushes, at the edge of the overhang by the front doors, smoking a cigarette and watching us like a hawk. A health professional who smokes seems ironic in the worst possible way, but whatever. I pretend I don’t see her and as soon as Mac’s butt is settled in my heated passenger seat, I lean in. I cup the back of her head to hold her in place. I can feel the muscles in her neck tense with confusion and shock until I whisper in her ear. “Heather is watching. Time for that A-game of yours, princess.”
And then, I move my mouth to hers. The back of her head presses into my palm, as it takes a second for her brain to process what I told her. But as soon as it clicks, God bless her, she kisses me. Her lips press into mine, her right hand comes up and cups my cheek, and her mouth opens just enough for her tongue to tease my lip and wake up my cock.
She starts to pull back but my hand keeps her in place. I’m not done yet. I open my mouth and she takes the hint and deepens the kiss. When our tongues meet I swear it’s like medicine. I feel better, at a cellular level. And so I kiss her longer and harder than I need to for the charade. When I finally let her go we’re both breathless and her lips are pink and swollen. Her eyelids flutter open slowly.
I pull my eyes from her in time to catch Heather glaring at my car as she flicks the end of her cigarette into the snow and disappears back inside the hospital. “Judging by the annoyed look on her face when she went back inside, she saw us.”
“Oh. Okay. Good,” Mac mutters. She runs a thumb along her plump bottom lip and I bite back a smile. I love how flustered it makes her to kiss me. “So we’re still going through with this farce?”
“Why wouldn’t we?” I ask as she reaches for her seatbelt and I pull away from the curb. “Did you call someone to take a look at your car?”
“Yeah. Tenley,” Mac replies and settles back into her seat. She pats at her hair like I might have ruined her ponytail during our make-out session but I didn’t. “She said it was just the cold. She jumped it and kept it running a bit then moved it into her garage to keep it warm. Should be fine tomorrow.”
“If not, call me again,” I tell her.
“Why are we still going through with this?” Mac asks. “I mean, Beckett thinks we’re together, and that I cheated on him, that’s good enough. We don’t have to double down by actually going to that party.”
I glance at her as I slow to stop at a stop sign, pumping the breaks in case it's still icy out there. "Honestly? I don't think we've done him enough psychological damage. He deserves to see more of you happy, moved on, looking gorgeous, and with your new and improved boyfriend who happens to be from the family his family hates. Because the Garrisons are just plain better than the Echolls."
“I won’t argue that last point,” she says as a smile flickers across her face again. “Except for Mallory. She’s actually kind of great. The only one I bonded with in the years I used to have to go to Echolls family events with Beckett.”
I scour my brain for exactly who Mallory Echolls is. “That’s Beckett’s youngest sister? I think she’s the same age as Tate.”
Mac nods. “She’s living abroad right now as a nanny. She messaged me when she found out about the break-up. Told me that she thought Beckett was an asshole. Anyway, back to this, I’m not really into inflicting psychological torture. I’m a psychiatrist, remember?”
“Not for a few months,” I counter, turning slowly onto the main road that will take us through the center of town. It’s the longer route home, but the one that will likely have been plowed the best and have been salted. “Right now you’re just a woman who deserves to live well. And rub her cheating ex’s face in it.”
"My God, Conner and I thought Tenley was the dramatic, shit-stirring Garrison." She laughs a little and looks out the window for a moment at the snowy landscape. "But seriously. I'm going to officially let you off the hook."
“I was never on a hook, Mac,” I reply and clench my jaw in frustration. “I’m the one who hooked you into this situation.”
I guess she really meant what she said and she wants nothing to do with me. That moment we shared, that almost turned into something I thought would be epic, she thinks was a mistake. A dodged bullet and that's almost more humbling than losing my spot on the Barons.
So yeah, the last thing I need. I pull onto the road that leads to the farm. “How about I let you off the hook? You don’t have to go to the party with me.”
“O… Okay,” Mac says with no confidence or relief in her voice, which I guess saves my ego a little bit. “I mean, I guess… thanks. No hard feelings or anything?”
“No. Never,” I reply and force out a smile. The barn is in view on the crest of the hill just to the right. I can see the lights on in the farmhouse just to the left of it. And two vehicles out front. Tenley’s and Tate’s trucks are there now too.
“How was your day? With your situation?”
I glance at her and she seems genuinely interested. She's a psychiatrist. Of course, she's interested. I'm one hell of a case, I guess. But I don't want to be her case study so I just shrug. "Sucked, but in an unsurprising way. No need to talk about it."
"Well," she begins as I roll to a stop in front of the barn. Someone has shoveled out a nice, straight path to the door for her. I'm guessing Tenley with a snow blower. Or maybe Tate. "Thank you again for coming to my rescue. I'll… see you around."
“Yeah. Sure.”
I have so many things I want to say instead, but I don’t. I just let Mac Larue get out of my car and walk into her apartment without another word.