Chapter Twenty-One

Will

The persistent banging in my head doesn’t fade when I open my eyes. My face is squashed against the sofa cushion, and my feet are dangling over the far end. No wonder every bone in my body aches. I didn’t even make it into the bedroom when I crawled into the flat in the early hours of the morning.

I roll onto the floor and stagger into the hall before my mind catches up with my brain, and I come to an abrupt halt. Why the hell did I agree to hang out with Lucas today?

He’s the last person I want to see when all I can think about is Mac. I press my forehead against the wall and screw my eyes shut, but she’s still there. Gorgeous, tempting, and untouchable.

Go away, Will.

The banging starts up again. There’s no getting out of it. Christ, this is so fucking messed up.

I pull open the door and squint in the blinding sunlight.

“You look like shit,” Lucas says with a grin, handing me a takeaway coffee.

I grunt, take the coffee, and shuffle back along the hall. He shuts the door, and we end up in the sitting room, where I sprawl again on the sofa.

“Surprised you didn’t bring a chick back with you,” he says as he makes himself at home on the other sofa. “What happened? Losing your touch?”

I chug down the coffee, relishing the caffeine as it floods my bloodstream. “Didn’t feel like it.”

“That’s a first.”

Why does he sound so fucking cheerful? And just for the record, it’s not a first. I glower across the room at him. “I’m not talking about my sex life.”

“This got anything to do with your mystery girl?”

Jesus, he won’t give up on that, will he. “There’s no mystery girl.” It comes out between my teeth. Not even lying. One last fling before she went back to Uni. Don’t know why that burns me so much. She told me she wasn’t looking for a relationship before we even went to Wales.

She wasn’t talking about me then.

I don’t fucking do relationships, anyway.

In that case, why do you feel like shit?

“Bollocks. I know that look, bro. You’ve fucked up. Am I right?” He tosses another grin my way, and I fight the temptation to give him a black eye.

I’m in danger of crushing the takeaway cup, so I put it on the floor for safety.

“You’re a fucking wanker.” I lean my head back against the sofa and shut my eyes. It doesn’t stop the dull pounding in my brain.

“That might be true,” he concedes, “but at least I’ve got Violet.”

I make a gagging noise, but it’s half-hearted. He does have Violet. And I don’t have Mac.

“Why aren’t you with her, then?” I already know the answer—she’s spending the day with her mum—but it’s the only deflection I could think of.

He ignores my diversionary tactic. “Did I ever tell you what Harry said to me when I fucked things up with Violet?”

He didn’t, and I don’t want to know. “I don’t need second-hand dating advice from your brother.”

The smirk on Lucas’s face says it all. Bloody idiot. I’ve just admitted he’s right.

You just admitted you were dating Mac. And not in the casual fake-dating way we discussed when we were in Wales, either.

It’s never been casual with her. Not even that Christmas night when I lost my mind and took her to bed. I was over my ex by then, and Mac’s always meant more to me than any other girl, even before we first slept together. Why didn’t I see that before it was too late?

“Your call,” Lucas says, sounding way too smug. “If you change your mind, let me know.”

After Jenna, I swore never to get involved with another girl. I couldn’t risk having my heart crushed again after having the person I trusted most in the world turn her back when I needed her. But whenever I thought of the future, Mac was always there.

I was serious, all right, and didn’t even realize.

And Lucas is the last person I can take advice from. A strangled groan escapes, and I slump forward, my head in my hands. I broke the bro code, big time, and this is karma’s payback.

“You’ve really got it bad, haven’t you?” He still appears to find the whole thing funny. “I’m gonna give you Harry’s advice for free.” He leans forward on the sofa, and I have a freaky, fatalistic conviction that whatever he says will straighten out this clusterfuck. Without the nuclear meltdown.

“The only way to get her back,” my best friend says, “is to grovel.”

I wait, sure there’s more, but he lounges back on the sofa and proceeds to finish his coffee.

Grovel? That’s the golden advice Harry gave Lucas? What a crock of steaming shit.

Mac doesn’t want anything more to do with me. And making a prat of myself in front of her won’t change that.

Better get used to it.

…

Mackenzie

My life is a total disaster.

I sit on the edge of my bed and survey the crap spread across the room. I’m supposed to be packing for Uni, but that’s turning into a disaster, as well. I don’t even know where to start.

The low-level dread pulsing in my chest like a malignant fog is something I’ve become used to before returning to Uni, but it’s so much worse this time.

I let out a shaky breath, and my listless glance rests on the photo of Mum I keep next to my bed. I pick it up and study her face, so like mine, but different.

I miss you so much. If she were still here, would I be able to tell her about Will? I used to tell her everything before I hit fifteen and turned into the biggest bitch ever.

It’s only midmorning, and Dad said he’d be back at lunchtime, before I leave for Oxford. Might as well stick to my original plan, since there’s no way I’ll be going in the morning with Will.

Don’t think about him. He was in my head all night—the reason I couldn’t get to sleep, and the tormentor of my fractured dreams when I did manage to drop off.

My fingers tighten around the photo frame, and before I can stop myself, I’m making my way downstairs to Mum’s old study.

With a deep breath, I push open the door, and my heart aches in that bittersweet, familiar way. Nothing much has changed in all the years she’s been gone except that Dad gave a few pieces of her antique Queen Anne furniture to Harry and Lucas when they turned twenty-one.

For my birthday last year, he gave me the choice of whatever I wanted from this room. But I couldn’t take anything. And not just because I don’t have my own home like my brothers do.

It’s because, deep in my heart, it feels like sacrilege. This was her room. It’s still her room. I can’t even count how many times I’ve slipped in here over the years, when nobody knew, just so I’d feel closer to her.

I place the photo on her desk, and a pang grips my heart at how bare it looks without all her papers and journals. And then I curl up on my favorite chair, the one I always used to sit in while Mum worked late into the night.

When I was little, I’d spend hours in here with coloring books, drawing, or reading. Later, she’d discuss what she was working on, and I found it fascinating. I always enjoyed knotty problems and working things out. Sounds crazy, but it was almost like a hobby for me, a way to stretch my mind in another direction than my first love.

Art.

No wonder everyone assumed I wanted to follow in her footsteps. It was just one of those strange, unspoken things that happened, and I went along with it because why wouldn’t I?

When I was nine, I wanted to be just like her when I grew up.

You can’t keep blaming your mum because you’re too afraid to go after your dreams.

Will’s accusation’s been haunting me all night. I want to hate him for saying it. For twisting my deepest confessions and tossing them out like soiled rags.

Except I can’t.

Even Brooklyn, who knows practically everything about me, has never accused me of being afraid.

Am I, though?

It’s hard to face, but in some fucked-up psychological way, is he right? Am I clinging to the old and familiar because it’s safe, because it’s what everyone expects? Because if I deviate from that path, I’ll be going into the terrifying unknown?

But you’re not happy, are you? She wouldn’t want that, Mac. You know it.

“Get out of my head.” I grind the words between my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut. But he’s still there, gorgeous, sexy, condemning.

He has no right to judge me. I feed the spark of resentment that flares into a brief, acidic glow, but it’s no use. It fades and dies, leaving me chilled both inside and out.

Despite my delusional insistence that our fling was only a casual fuck-buddy arrangement, I always knew it was going to be hell when it ended. Sometimes I hate being right.

There was never any chance we’d stay friends afterward. But now, I’m not sure I’ll even be able to keep up the masquerade I’ve perfected over the last two years.

I wrap my arms around my legs, and my head drops to my knees. Not going to cry. But my eyes water, anyway, scalding my cheeks. Sod it…

“Mackenzie, sweetheart.” Dad’s alarmed voice penetrates my stuffed-up head, and I turn away, so he can’t see my red eyes. I hate being caught snuffling. He wasn’t due back for another couple of hours. Please don’t let Margo be with him.

He drags Mum’s chair from behind her desk and sits right in front of me and takes my hand. My nose twitches, and it’s no use. I give a big, pathetic sniff.

“Talk to me,” he says softly, and I have the terrible urge to do just that. Tell him everything. But I can’t.

Why not?

I hitch in a ragged breath, but it doesn’t make that question disappear. I can’t tell him the truth because…

Because I’ve never really told him anything since Mum died.

The truth slams through me, an icy, prickly realization of how little I confide in him. I’ve always told my friends how close my family is. How we pull together. All that shit. But if I can’t tell my own dad what a fucked-up mess I’ve made of things, what does that say about my so-called tight-knit family?

He’ll be devastated.

More devastated than if he finds out the truth years from now?

He won’t find out. If I never tell him, how could he?

You’re just going to carry on living a lie?

“I’m…” The words lock in my throat. I drop my gaze to my knees where he’s holding my hand, so I don’t witness the regret in his eyes. “I’m not sure medicine is for me.”

I literally hold my breath as my stomach churns, waiting for his response. His fingers tighten around mine, and I brace myself for his disappointment.

“I’ve wondered that for a while. I didn’t know how to ask you about it.”

Disbelief spirals through me. He guessed? How could he have guessed? He’s brilliant, but he’s not what I’d call attuned to emotions.

Maybe you’re the one who’s not plugged in, huh?

“You—” I don’t even know what I’m trying to ask. “You’re not shocked?”

His smile is sad and hurts my heart so much my eyes sting. “The last year or so, it was as though your light dimmed whenever the holidays ended. I didn’t know for sure what the problem was. Your mum was the one who could talk about things like that. I don’t know where to start with it.”

“I’m sorry.” The words come from a place so deep inside, it’s like I’ve sacrificed the bloodied remnants of my hypothetical soul.

“No, sweetheart.” His voice is firm. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for. I only wish I’d said something to you before.” He heaves a sigh. “Talking about things that really matter isn’t my forte, I’m sorry to say.”

“But I’d feel so bad about, you know, dropping out.” Even saying those words make me nauseated. I’ve never dropped out of anything. It’s alien. Scary.

“Nonsense.” He peers at me over the top of his glasses. “If this is what you have to do, then you must do it, Mackenzie. You can’t waste another term doing something that doesn’t excite your spirit.”

I’m strangely lightheaded, as if my blood pressure has suddenly dropped, and I sag against the side of the chair. This is how relief feels. The hard knot in my chest eases, and I exhale a long breath. “I thought you’d be so upset.”

A slow frown creases his forehead. “Why would I be upset?”

I’m not sure what he means. “Because I was always expected to go into medicine. Like Mum.”

“God,” he mutters, and shock reels through me. Dad never swears, and although God isn’t what I’d call a curse, coming from him, it’s as profane as the f-word. “I tried so hard not to screw it up after your mum passed. I didn’t do a good job there, did I.”

Is he asking me a question? I’ve no idea what he’s talking about. “Dad?”

He lets out a defeated sigh. “I blame myself. But I’m so proud of all three of you. Your choice of careers has never concerned me as much as your happiness does. I just”—he hesitates for a second—“I don’t know how to show it, that’s all.”

He’s talking about my brothers, as well as me. I mean, sure, I know Mum and Dad expected Harry to go on to University and were kind of bemused when he didn’t. And they never quite got Lucas’s obsession with his football.

But that’s different, isn’t it?

Is it, really?

I give his hand a little shake. “Hey, it’s not all you. I could’ve said something. But I just got caught up in it all and thought…” Am I really going to tell him this? In for a penny… “I thought I had to be the one to go to Uni.”

I regret my confession as soon as Dad winces. I shouldn’t have told him that. He looks so hurt.

It had to be said. No more hiding behind silent, death-bed promises and trying to be something I’m not.

Don’t be afraid to go after your dreams.

“This is something I should’ve asked you a long time ago.” He gazes at me, and a funny little shiver races over my arms as though I know what he’s going to say. “What do you want to do with your life, Mackenzie?”