Chapter Twenty-Two

Will

It’s been a long bloody week. And it’s only Monday afternoon.

I lean back in the chair, but the knots in my shoulders are from more than being hunched over a desk all day.

Mac will be settled back in Oxford by now.

Unbidden, my glance falls to my phone. I haven’t deleted her number. Don’t know why. It’s not as though I’ll ever use it again.

Jesus, this fucking sucks. It was shitty two years ago, when she told me on New Year’s Eve our hookup had been the biggest mistake of her life. After I’d searched for her at that party to find out if she was okay. She hadn’t returned any of my calls or texts that week.

But yeah. She was fine. Blew me off, flirted with every guy at the party, and our friendship was trashed.

I got over it. Mostly. Not sure I will this time.

It’s crazy. I want to talk to her. Tell her about the call from Adam earlier today. He told me they’ve managed to hold off the sponsors for another week, to give me more time. But what’s a week? Not enough for me to change shit around, that’s for sure.

No. But I can set things in motion. Let Mum know the countdown is on. We haven’t spoken about my leaving the company for over a year. No point, when I know the score.

But with a date set in stone, it’s something to focus on.

It’s almost ten before I get home that night and the flat feels weirdly empty.

For fuck’s sake. Mac was with me for less than a month. How can a girl so completely take over my life in a matter of weeks?

She’s not just a girl. She never was. The last few weeks were the best of my life.

Not just because the sex was fantastic. I got one of my best friends back.

A pair of her flip-flops lays discarded in the hall, and one of her sweaters is tossed over the sofa. Good job Lucas didn’t recognize them.

Guess I should box up all the stuff she left here and return it. How was this place less claustrophobic when she was here when I got home from work?

An hour later I’m sitting on my bed, pillows stacked behind me, as I call Mum. We spoke last week, and she’s having a great time on the cruise, secure in the knowledge I’m overseeing the company. A thread of unease stirs deep in my gut.

You’re not the only one who could do that.

She picks up, and we discuss the usual things, including a brief update on work. My gaze roams around my room, and halts on the portrait Mac did of me. She calls it a sketch, but it’s so much more than that, and it’s now framed and hangs on the wall.

She nearly died when she saw it. But I think it grew on her.

I stifle a sigh and drag my mind back to the conversation. “We’ve not talked about this for a while, but I’m giving a formal date of my resignation.” I give her the date. Twenty-two months, three weeks and four days from today. It’s been over three years since I took over Dad’s position, but I’ve never given her a firm date before. Amazing how good it feels.

“Darling, I’ve been meaning to discuss this with you. The complications with the Gowan account are an ongoing concern, as you know.”

Yes, I know. And I don’t know why she’s bringing it up now. “I’d like to focus this discussion on my formal resignation.”

I can tough it out with anyone in the boardroom, but it takes a special kind of brass balls when dealing with your own mother.

“With all the upheaval lately, it’s imperative we maintain a stable position in the marketplace.” By “upheaval,” she’s referring to Dad’s death and her own stroke. My glance snags on Mac’s artwork, but it’s not my profile I see. It’s hers. I’ll always see her when I look at it.

“Will?” Mum’s voice is ear-gratingly polite.

“I understand that.”

“Good. Because we do need to firm up some long-term strategies. I’ve had some thoughts on this I’d like to run by you, but we’re looking at a five-year commitment here.”

Another five years? It’s a punch in the gut, and I can’t even speak, while she outlines her ideas. That’ll make it eight years I’ve invested in the company. I’ll be over thirty fucking years old by then.

Mac’s voice fills my mind. You had to put your dreams on hold.

She said that to me in Wales. And I threw virtually the same comment back in her face on Saturday. Except she was being supportive, and at the party I was a total fucking dick.

The stricken expression on her face grinds through my head. Like I’d betrayed her in the worse possible way.

Go away, Will.

That’s why she stalked off. Because I accused her of being afraid. Of using her mum as an excuse.

Because I’d used her confession against her.

Will Hamilton, you’re a despicable arsehole.

I’ve always prided myself on being a straight talker. What you see is what you get and all that crap. Yet when it comes to the girl who means more to me than anyone else, I’ve been the biggest fucking hypocrite.

At least my mother is still alive. I don’t have to battle a ghost. How could I have been such an arrogant bastard?

When Dad died, there was never any question that I’d step in the breach. Just for a couple of years. Mum knew it was temporary. Knew what my dreams were, even if she never took them seriously. And then, after her stroke, I stayed. No way I’d abandon her.

Only until things were sorted out. But somehow that deadline extended way past my original expectations.

Neither of my parents understood the driving need inside me to succeed on my own merits. I never wanted to inherit a ready-made company or navigate daily cutthroat politics where my name and age were two strikes against me.

I’m no longer a kid, forever playing catch up for all the things my parents tried to protect me from. I don’t have to prove anything to anyone.

“I’m sorry, Mum.” Just tell her. “I love you, you know that, don’t you?” It’s not something I’ve said to her that often. Not since I was a kid.

Doesn’t make it less true, though.

“Of course, I do. I love you, too.” There’s a small hitch in her voice, and I feel bad about letting her down.

You’re not letting her down.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to your dad and me.”

I clear my throat. This is even harder than I imagined. “I don’t want to sound like a spoiled prat, but the company’s always been your dream, not mine.”

“It’s our legacy to you, darling. And don’t forget, I’m resuming my position on the Board early next year. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

I rake my fingers over my head. It’d be so much easier to agree. Sign up for another five years.

And then another five.

“You don’t need me to work at the company. You’ll do a much better job than I ever could. Plus, it’s time I concentrated on my own business. I’d like to share my plans with you so you can understand what I’m doing.”

“We’ve discussed this before, Will.”

And then it hits me.

“No, we haven’t.” They didn’t take me seriously when I first told them, way back when Oakland was still a dream. And although they knew I was following it through, and Mum’s always been aware I’m a partner, she doesn’t know any of the details.

For the first time, I acknowledge how much I’ve learned about business strategy over the last three years, working at the company. Knowledge I can use for Oakland’s advantage. I should tell her that, and explain exactly what I hope to achieve.

She doesn’t interrupt once as I outline our plans for expansion, and when I’m done, I exhale a long breath. Everything’s on the table. I hope she understands, but if not, this is still something I need to do.

There’s a long silence, which is a good sign. If she was going to disregard everything I said, she wouldn’t be taking her time thinking about it first.

“When I get back home,” she says at last, “I’d like to visit Oakland.”

Yes. “Anytime.” There’s something else, too. “Truth is, I’d value your opinion. As a consultant.”

We talk for a bit longer before ending the call. Strange, I’d never considered asking her to share her expertise before, but it makes so much sense. Not just because of her business acumen, but also her phenomenal skills when it comes to networking.

Freedom. I’ve waited so long for this moment. I should be on the phone to the guys, letting them know there’s no need to find anyone else to head up the expansion. But instead of excitement that my dreams are finally within my grasp, it’s like there’s a black hole inside my chest, sucking me dry.

None of it means much if I can’t share it with Mac. Why did it take me so long to see how much I want her in my life?

Because you’re a blinkered prat.

I can’t stop replaying our last conversation.

Yes, I was a complete wanker, and usually I’d never fling anything like that at her. But her strangely cold dismissal of the reason why I’d forgotten about her art exhibition on that rotten Boxing Day touched a raw nerve.

Reminded me of Jenna’s reaction when our plans changed after my dad died.

Mac isn’t anything like Jenna.

I was a wreck the year after leaving Uni. Coping with Dad’s sudden death, the responsibility of taking over the company, and getting over my ex. And who stuck by me through all the forgettable one-night stands and drunken nights where I tried to find oblivion?

Mac.

She was always there and didn’t care if I was recovering from a hangover or being an unsociable git. When I needed her the most, she never let me down.

I’ve known her forever, and she can be as sarcastic and cutting as anyone. But she’s not mean, and if I hadn’t been so gutted with the way things were falling apart Saturday night, I would’ve guessed.

She had no idea I was referring to my mum’s stroke when I told her I forgot. All she heard was I didn’t think she was special enough to remember something so important to her.

No wonder she told me to fuck off.

I know her studies come first. But I can’t leave things like this between us. I’ll go see her at Oxford and try to fix our friendship. Tell her if she’s willing to give me another chance, I’ll wait for her until she graduates if it means we can be together.

Looks like I’ll be taking Lucas’s advice, after all.

Grovel.

…

Mackenzie

Thank God for the weekend.

And not just because tomorrow is my birthday and I’m going clubbing with Brooklyn and some of our friends to celebrate.

It’s because I’ve spent the last few days disentangling myself from Uni.

The official side wasn’t a hassle. It was mainly explaining to Mum’s friends from her Uni days why I’m going in a different direction. Not that they condemned me. I was so stupid to ever think they would. But I just felt I owed it to them, for all the help and support they’ve given me over the years.

Brooklyn and I sit cross-legged on my bed, the way we used to when we were teens. It’s the first time we’ve got together all week.

“Have you made a shortlist of universities?”

That’s another thing I never thought would happen. My talk with Dad was a real eye-opener in more ways than one. When I suggested looking at local colleges, he told me to check the universities. It turns out the bursary from Mum’s work will cover a wide range of university degrees, not just the sciences.

How did I never know that?

“I’m doing that next week.” And then I sigh because who am I trying to kid? “One of my top three choices is in Wales. Awkward, much?”

“Hmm.” Obviously, she knows all about the breakup with Will. We had a major discussion on the phone about it on Sunday night. And although I haven’t told her about his mum’s stroke, because that’s confidential, I did share about his stake in Oakland after my weekend away. “That shouldn’t be a reason for you to cross it off your list.”

Even if I’m accepted by Aberystwyth, it’s not like the university is right next door to Oakland. The chances of us bumping into each other there are about the same as they are here.

Zero to none.

I pick at the frayed cuff of my vintage sweater. I’ve been so busy this week I haven’t had much time to obsess over Will.

Liar.

I might’ve been able to push him to the back of my mind during the day, but night’s a different matter. And not just because I miss having his ripped body next to me in bed. Or being able to snuggle in his arms every evening. Or the crazy conversation we’d have while eating or watching TV or…

Fuck it. I miss every bloody thing about him. Even the annoying things.

Did he have any annoying habits? I can’t think of any right now. I let out a defeated groan, and Brooklyn pats my hand.

“You fell hard, didn’t you, babe?”

There’s no point denying it any longer. “I never got over him the first time.”

“I’ve been thinking about everything you told me about what happened at the party. And honestly, I don’t get it. I mean okay, so it was kind of rude of him to say that about your degree, but the point is he was right, wasn’t he?”

My best friend isn’t supposed to be taking Will’s side, except I can’t disagree with her. “Suppose,” I mutter.

“And then he was really nice about your art. Like, I don’t know, he really believes in you.”

I can’t deny it. It was a nice thing he said. “You’re really not helping.”

Brooklyn ignores me. “So how did you go from that to him bringing your mum into it? It doesn’t make sense. Like he went off on a tangent or something.”

That’s because I left out the bit where I mortified myself by dragging up the past to him. I might as well tell her. It seems stupid not to, now. “That’s because we were supposed to meet up the day after we first slept together. And he stood me up. I know it’s dumb to hold a grudge for so long, but…” I slump forward, defeated. It is stupid and immature of me, but the way he callously shrugged off the fact he’d forgotten about it hurt. A lot.

“Oh.” Brooklyn sounds faintly pissed off now. Great going, Mac. “You’ve never told me that.” She sniffs, and there’s an uncomfortable silence that I don’t know how to break. Then she turns to me. “Still doesn’t make sense. What’s standing you up got to do with your mum?”

“Nothing.” Seriously, why can’t she just let it go? It’s not like it’s important. He forgot about our date. End of story. “Apparently shit happened.”

Repeating those words that he basically spat in my face makes my chest ache. He couldn’t even be nice about it—which actually doesn’t make sense, now I think about it.

“Shit happened on Boxing Day? What, did he go out and get plastered?” There’s an edge of contempt in her voice now, which should soothe my wounded feelings, but something’s buzzing around the fringes of my brain. Something I can’t quite…

“Fuck me. Boxing Day.” Icy horror ripples over my arms as it all falls into place. His mum’s stroke happened on Boxing Day. I just never connected which Boxing Day he was talking about.

“Huh?”

I can’t betray Will’s confidence, but I have to tell her something.

“He told me the other week there was a problem with his mum. I just didn’t realize…oh shit.”

He must’ve thought I was the most entitled bitch ever. Throwing a tantrum because he didn’t show up, when he’d been out of his mind after finding his mum unconscious.

For the first time in ages, I think back to the next time we met. It was at one of Lucas’s friend’s house, for a New Year’s Eve party. I’d avoided him all night, but we eventually bumped into each other just before the stroke of midnight.

He’d looked exhausted and wasn’t his usual gregarious self. He’d called and texted me a couple of times during the week, and I hadn’t replied because he hadn’t apologized. And when he didn’t even mention why he hadn’t turned up that day, but instead asked me if I regretted what had happened between us, the word vomit just spewed forth in a torrent.

Mac, you twat.

When he’d really needed me, I was as supportive as his cold-hearted ex. And even though I didn’t know the reason why he hadn’t been able to make our date, that doesn’t make me feel any better about the way I behaved.

The time we spent together this month was only temporary, but it was lovely. It’s not his fault my crappy plan to get him out of my system failed so spectacularly.

I want us to stay friends. Even if it breaks the rest of my heart into a thousand pieces.

My phone rings, and I stare at the ID as disbelief washes through me. Brooklyn leans against my arm so she can see. “Wow. How freaky is that? It’s like he knows you were talking about him.”

Any other time, I’d scoff because that’s way too woo-woo for me. Except a spooky prickle scuttles over my head and along the back of my neck.

It is weird. Part of me doesn’t even want to answer.

Just do it. “Hey.”

“Hey, Mac.”

God, I’ve missed the sound of his voice.

“Listen,” he says, “I’m outside right now. I need to speak to you. Can I meet you somewhere?”

He’s outside? I’m off the bed and at my window before he’s even finished speaking. Brooklyn’s right next to me, even though she didn’t hear his side of the conversation.

It’s not dark yet, as it’s only just gone six, and his car isn’t on the drive. A little pang shoots through me. Did he park along the road so my dad wouldn’t see him?

“I’ll be right there. Don’t move.”

I run down the stairs and am at the end of the drive in record time.

Still can’t see his car. Where the hell is he?

“Where did you park? Why don’t just come up onto the drive? Dad’s out,” I add, in case that’s the deciding factor.

There’s a long silence. “You’re at home?”

A terrible suspicion slithers through me. “Yes.”

“Right. I’m in Oxford.”

Oh my God. He drove all the way to Oxford to see me. There’s the most stupid smile on my face, but I don’t care because he can’t see it. “I dropped out. It’s been quite the week.”

“Huh.” He sounds shocked. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, it’s all good.” Even better now you called me. “So, uh, why did you want to see me?”

“I boxed up the stuff you left at my flat. Thought you’d want it back.”

I fall back to earth so damn fast my lungs hurt. It wasn’t me he wanted to see. He just wanted to offload my crap.

That doesn’t make any sense, and you know it. If that were true, he would’ve dumped it here, especially if he thought I was in Oxford.

There’s only one reason why he drove all that way.

Don’t fuck this up, Mac.

“Okay, then.” Do I sound breezy? There are so many butterflies in my chest right now I can hardly even breathe. “Why don’t you come round Sunday afternoon?” Say it. “Or, uh, I could pop round to your flat instead. Save you a journey.”

“Right.”

I can’t tell whether he thinks that’s a great idea or the worst one ever. Before I lose my nerve, the words tumble out. “See you Sunday, then?”

“Okay.”

I hang up and exhale a relieved breath. Two more days and we can try and sort this mess out. I can’t wait to see him again. And then I have one of those total duh brain moments.

Why didn’t I say I’d see him tomorrow?