But my gram insisted she had it, that he was her son and she was going to care for him. That it wasn’t my job.
I knew she was getting older—she is in her eighties after all—but I hadn’t known it was this bad. I didn’t know they were eating TV freaking dinners every night. I hate myself right now for the way my head has been buried in the sand. I haven’t been checking in the way I should, and I’m angry at myself, and even though it’s not rational, I’m really freaking angry at Lincoln.
He is living here. How is he okay with this? Isn’t he supposed to be taking care of them? Isn’t that what Gram said? That he’s been helping?
“I’m going to the store,” I tell Dad. “Don’t eat that crap.”
“Macey—”
“No. I’m making you a home-cooked meal, and you aren’t going to argue.”
Dad chuckles and puts both hands in the air in mock surrender. “Okay, no argument here.”
I grab the keys to my gram’s Honda Civic off the counter and my purse off the back of the chair before heading to the door.
“Don’t forget to get enough for our guest!” he calls out at me as I pull the door open and step outside.
“How could I forget Lincoln?” I murmur to myself. After all, it seems he is the new town golden boy. My, what a change from the troublemaker he’d been in high school.
I press the start button, and the car hums to life. I’m pulling out of the drive when my gaze travels over the front of my house to my open bedroom window where a very naked Lincoln stands, his back to me as he shrugs into a shirt, covering a strong back that’s still red from his shower.
My mouth waters, and I slam on the brakes as I stare at him.
The thin boy is gone, replaced with a well-muscled man, and in that moment, I nearly forget who I am looking at.
Nearly forget…that the sexy bastard is the same one who broke my heart.
He turns to the window and sees me, a grin spreading over his face. Immediately, I lift my middle finger and wave it out the window at him. I may be closer to thirty than twenty, but for some damn reason, he makes me regress, and that is just one more reason to be pissed at him.
Macey
I walk into the house, holding four large grocery bags in my arms.
“Need help?” Lincoln asks, getting up from his seat at the table.
“No.” I set the bags down and turn back to the door, but Lincoln is already walking out. “I said—”
“Macey,” my dad scolds. “Let him help.”
I glare at my dad. He knows how broken up I was after that party. He’d been the one who’d come and gotten me since Lincoln had driven me in the first place.
So to have him come to his defense—it wounded me.
“It was a long time ago,” he murmurs as though he’s read my mind. “Some things aren’t worth holding on to.”
The words mimic the ones he’d said to me after my mom bailed. When I’d been so angry I’d told him I hated her, that I hoped she’d never return. I still feel that way even if I hide it better. And her betrayal somehow hadn’t stung as much as Lincoln’s.
My heart stammers as Lincoln walks into the house, carrying four more grocery bags in his hands.
“Here you go,” he says, setting them on the table beside the other bags.
“Thanks,” I grumble and start unpacking.
“Macey, we didn’t need all this food.”
I spin to my dad. “You had a moldy block of cheese and rotten apples. Yes, you needed real food, Dad, real produce, real fucking protein. Not some mush you heat in the oven.”
His lips purse, and I realize I’ve broken my rule by cussing in front of him. But I can’t help it. I’m so ashamed of myself for not keeping better track of them, for not checking in and making sure they were okay.
That they were happy and well-fed.
Between the shambles that is my gram’s once five-star café and the horror scene inside the fridge, I can’t take much more.
Dad must see the exasperation on my face because his scowl softens, and he nods. “I really appreciate it, Macey.”
“I love you, Dad,” I say and lean down to kiss his cheek. “Now, get out of my kitchen before I kick your booty.”
“Have to reach it first,” he quips, and I smile. It’s his typical response to my joke and one we’d played out many times over the years.
Lincoln watches us, his eyes almost longing, and for a moment—a brief moment—I feel sad for him.
His mom died when he’d been fourteen. Her steady decline coupled with the endless hospital stays is what pushed my once best friend onto the self-destructive path he’d been moving down when he headed for California. It didn’t help that his dad went from asshole to major dickbag when she got sick. It was almost like Lincoln lost him too.
“All right, if I have to say it again—” I say, and my dad’s grin widens.
“Come on, Linc, we’d better get out of here before she whoops us.”
“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Lincoln’s gaze locks with mine in such a way that tells me he’d actually welcome the challenge.
I know I’m being a bitch, but he could be saving kittens from a tree, and it would still piss me off. He brings out the worst in me, and every time I’m around him, I find myself lashing out, desperate to hurt him like he’s hurt me. So, I stare right back, unwilling to give in despite the way my body heats in response. Asshole.
Lincoln
“That was probably the most delicious chicken parm I’ve had in a long time.” I lean back in my seat, plate empty, my stomach full. It has been a long time since I’ve had anything but TV dinners or takeout, and I have to admit—Macey is a damn good cook.
“It was amazing, Macey.”
“Thanks, Dad.” She beams at Maax, and he reaches over to pat her hand.
They’ve always been the best of friends. Even when we were little—before her mom left—she’d always been a daddy’s girl. Laurie Romano bailing had only strengthened their already unbreakable bond.
“It really was,” I say, wanting her to look at me with anything but anger. I don’t know why. It’s not like we owe each other anything. Hell, we aren’t even friends, but I want that joy aimed my way if only for a moment.
She doesn’t cave though, not even bothering to spare me a glance when she grumbles, “Thanks.”
I stand and grab my plate before reaching over and lifting Maax’s. When I grab the edge of Macey’s, she gets to her feet and pins me with a glare.
“I can clean up my own plate.”
I release it. “Fine.” I walk to the kitchen and turn on the water in the sink, letting it run for just a minute to warm. I soap up the sponge and start washing the plates before setting them up to dry in the rack beside me.
As soon as they are clean, I reach for the pan. Macey’s hand brushes mine for a moment, and I look down at her, the intensity of her stare making my stomach churn. She is so fucking beautiful, ethereal, and I can’t help but let my gaze fall to her full lips.
“I can clean up after myself,” she snaps, breaking the spell.