“You cooked. I’ll clean.”
“I am perfectly capable of cooking and cleaning.”
I glance back at the table, hoping for some backup from Maax, only to see he’s gone. I’m apparently on my own with her, and that thought shouldn’t be as exhilarating as it is.
“I never said you weren’t,” I snap back, the idea of arguing with her—of seeing that heat—exciting.
Cheeks crimson, she glares up at me. “Let me wash the damn dishes, Lincoln.”
“No.”
I’m really damned lucky looks can’t kill, because if they could, I’d be six feet under by now.
Our gazes hold, and I see it—the moment she gives in—reflected in her eyes. She releases her grip on the pan, and I pull it into the sink, grinning.
“You’re an asshole,” she says.
“Never thought I’d be called an asshole for cleaning up.”
“I don’t need your help. I don’t need anything from you.”
“You’ve made that pretty damn clear.”
“Why the hell are you here, anyway? After the way you treated my dad? You don’t deserve any shred of kindness from him.”
I glare at her, knowing exactly what she’s referring to, and I’m so damned angry that she’s chosen to bring it up.
“I was a drunk, pissed-off teenager.”
“Who referred to the man who hadn’t abandoned him as a cripple. I remember clearly.”
I can’t help myself. I drop the pan in the soapy water, splattering us both with warm suds. I step toward her, and she backs away, pinning her with my body against the counter. But she doesn’t look up at me with fear or frustration. It’s pure lust in her gaze, and it catches me off guard.
I swallow hard. “Do you not think I hate myself for saying that? I’ve done a lot of crap that I’m not proud of, and that definitely tops the list. I’ve begged for forgiveness for most of it. Some people have decided I am worth a second chance.”
Her jaw tightens, and her throat bobs. The guilt at her words clearly reflects in her eyes. But I know Macey. She’s stubborn, and I’m more likely to get struck by lightning than to hear her apologize.
“I’m not one of those people,” she says. “And I will never forgive you, Lincoln Calloway. So if that’s what you’re waiting for—you might as well move the hell past it right now.”
“I’m not interested in begging you, Macey. And I’m not going anywhere.”
I hate to admit it, even to myself, but her words are like razor blades cutting into me. And I finally realize that I was wrong before. I am desperate for her forgiveness. Desperate to have my friend back.
Knowing it will probably never happen makes me want to track down my teenage self and beat the shit out of him.
“Get the hell away from me,” Macey says, her bottom lip quivering.
I step away, and she moves past me, a living, breathing ghost of my past I can’t seem to fucking outrun no matter how far I go.
Lincoln
Thunder roars above me moments before the sky opens and rain pours down on top of my head. I don’t pay it any mind though; it’s fitting for my mood.
I stare down at my mom’s name etched in cool stone, a direct contrast to the warm, loving woman she’d been. If I close my eyes, I can still picture her smiling and happy. Hear her laughter echoing through our house while my dad spins her around in a circle.
I sniffle as grief clenches my heart. Not anymore though. She’d never laugh again, never dance. She’ll never bring me fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies in the middle of the night just because she couldn’t sleep.
My throat tightens, tears slip down my cheeks lost in the rain falling from above. I can’t cry in front of my dad. He’s made it clear how he believes he’s hurting worse than me. The empty bottle of alcohol lying on the kitchen table is proof enough of that. She was his true love, he says, his soul mate. And I’ve only been here for fourteen years.
So what do I know about missing her? Never mind that she was my mom. I clench my fists. And who’s he to talk? I saw what he was doing with Mrs. Atwood. I’m old enough to know he had no business doing it while he was married to Mom.
A scream tears from my throat. I’m too young, she was too young. How could God take away my mom? I’m barely fourteen. I need her.
I sob, shoulders shaking from the force of my grief rather than the chill in Montana’s early spring air.
Arms wrap around me, pulling me into a warm embrace. I don’t need to look to see who it is because I can sense her. My best friend, my only friend.
“I’m here, Linc,” Macey says as she pulls me against her. I sniffle, not embarrassed in the least to be crying in front of her. With Macey, I never have to be embarrassed about anything.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do without her,” I say, my words barely audible over the storm.
“I’m so sorry. It’ll be okay. You can come stay with us if you need to. You and your da—”
“My dad is nothing but a cheating drunk.” I’m so angry, a feeling I’m not used to. But it’s there, a heavy weight on my chest, dragging me down into the dumps.
In the same week, I lost both my mom and dad. Her to a disease they can’t cure, and him to a bottle of whatever liquor he had in the house the day she died. I don’t know what it’s called. He’s never drunk before. The difference in him is so great that I can barely see the man who used to take me fishing. The man who taught me to ride a bike.
“He hurts,” Macey says. She may be two years younger than me, but she has always acted older. ‘An old soul,’ my mom called her.
“I want her back, Mace. Why did He take her?”
“I don’t know,” she answers. “But she’s no longer in pain, Linc. God made sure of that.”
I sniffle, my heart feeling like little more than a muscle keeping me alive. “It hurts so bad, so dang bad, Macey.”
She pulls me tighter.
“Please don’t ever leave me,” I whisper. “Please, promise me.” I need to know that she’ll always be there for me, that I’ll never have to lose another person. Because if I did, I honestly don’t know if I could survive.
“I promise, Linc. I’ll never leave you, I swear it. You’re my best friend.”
Lincoln
I sit up on the couch, drenched in sweat, dry tears on my cheeks. With the sheet bunched at my waist, I have to untwist it before I can toss it to the side.
Fuck. It’s been a long damned time since I dreamt of my mom or her funeral.
I haven’t even gone to her grave since that day. It’s too painful, and as much as I’ve tried to understand, I’m still pissed off about it.
Her getting sick seems like a distant memory, and it’s one I’ve tried my damndest to forget. I run both hands over my face and lean back against the cushion as I try to push the memory away, lock it up like I have so many others.
But Macey’s rain-streaked face keeps clawing its way back to the front of my mind. I’d made her promise to never leave me, and not half a decade later, I turned my back on her. No other person had been there for me like she had those first few months without my mom.