The Day He Kissed Her (7 page)

“Why?” His voice dipped again. “Does it remind you of New Year’s Eve?”

God, yes.

“It just…” She blew out a hot breath. “It just makes it seem that we’re a lot more than—”

“Friends?” he said silkily.

Lily nodded.

“Trust me.” He winked. “We’re more than just friends. And that kiss was a hell of a lot more than just nice.”

Why was he doing this to her? Irritated, she frowned.

“Whatever it was, it doesn’t matter. You’re going back to New York, and besides, neither one of us is exactly the relationship type.”

Oh. God. Had she just pulled out the
R
word?

“Bull,” Mackenzie said.

“Excuse me?”

“Sounds like bullshit to me.”

A sliver of warning rushed through her and she eyed him warily.

“The thing of it is, Boston, what just happened between us does matter. It matters a whole lot.” His grin faded as his intense, dark eyes studied her. “I’m thinking that maybe now is a good time for some changes.” He spoke, more to himself than anything, and then nodded. “Yeah, change is good.”

“Change?” Something stirred in her gut. Something that might have been anticipation or adrenaline or plain old fear.

“Summer in New York City isn’t looking all that interesting to me.”

“It’s not.” Mouth dry, she watched him closely.

“Nope.”

Her heart lurched.

“What do you think about that?” he asked.

“I think that you can do whatever you want to do.”

“Bullshit,” he said softly.

The lump in her throat swelled, and Lily couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to.

“I’ll be honest. That relationship thing?” He shrugged. “I think we’re on the same page there. Relationships are overrated for people like us.” He leaned forward and brushed his mouth across her lips. “But that kiss that we shared is sure as hell worth exploring, don’t you think?”

Mackenzie stepped back. “I’ve leaving for New York City on Monday, but trust me…I’ll be back, Boston.” And then he disappeared into the shadows.

Lily’s fingers crept across her tingling lips as she stared into the dark. She stood there for so long that eventually the fireworks ended.

And she still wasn’t sure what the hell had happened.

Chapter 7

June flew by and Mackenzie spent most of it tying up loose ends in the city. He finished up a big project, met with a few clients scheduled for the fall, and ended a casual thing he had going with a wannabe model. The woman, Dru, had kicked up a fuss, and he’d felt bad at the sight of her tears, but hell, he hadn’t promised her anything more than a good time.

He closed up his brownstone, made arrangements for his cleaning lady to check in every few weeks, and had managed to rent the Booker cottage for the entire summer. It was a rustic place, heavy with that Michigan charm, and it boasted a private beach and dock.

The cottage was a large A-frame building made entirely of logs. Open concept, the front was all glass and gave him an unfettered view of the lake, with a massive fireplace tucked into the corner. It wasn’t exactly roughing it, considering the flat-screen mounted above the fireplace, but it had the charm and feel of an old pair of jeans. Not exactly fashion forward, but comfortable.

Mac might be Mr. Armani in New York City, but back here, he was that old pair of jeans, and the Booker cottage was more than enough for him.

At the moment, he was all about worn and comfortable, having pulled on a pair of khaki shorts this morning and an old BlackRock T-shirt that had seen better days. It was the second Saturday in July, a week or so after all the Independence Day shenanigans, and he’d arrived in Crystal Lake the night before.

“Is that all you need, Mackenzie?”

Mac tossed a couple sheets of sandpaper onto the counter along with a scraping tool and frowned at Mr. Daley, owner of Crystal Lake’s one and only hardware store. “I’ve got a lot of fence to cover, but I’m thinking two cans will be enough.”

“Okay, son. I tossed in the brushes you wanted and a few extra stir sticks.” The large, balding man grinned as he peeked over the top of his glasses. “If you need anything else, just give me a call and I’ll get it ready for you. If the timing is right, I can even drop it off at your mother’s on my way home to the missus.”

Mac had to smile. Now that was customer service.

Mr. Daley set about ringing through his order. No barcode scanner here. “I hear you’ve rented the Booker place for the summer.”

“I did.”

“I also hear that you’re working with Jake Edwards on the new development across the lake.”

Mac smiled. There were things about Crystal Lake that would never change—like the gossip wheel that constantly turned. “That’s right. Jake hired me to help with the design, so I’ll be starting on Monday.”

“And you’re staying for the summer?”

Mac thought of Lily. “Planning on it.”

He was planning on a lot of things with the blond, starting tonight.

“Hmmm.” Mr. Daley shoved the sandpaper and tools into a bag. “And how’s your mother these days?”

“She seems good.” Mac hadn’t actually seen her yet, but she was always the same—apathetic, a little sad, and weighed down by the choices she’d made. All of the shit he never ever wanted to feel.

Mr. Daley paused, his face serious. “And Ben?”

Mac ground his teeth together and shrugged. “Still inside as far as I know. I don’t ask and I don’t care.”

Mr. Daley nodded but said no more. Everyone knew that Ben and Mac didn’t mix. Heck, most of the town thought that Ben Draper was a no-good son of a bitch…and they’d be right.

After Mac signed his receipt, he scooped up his tools, grabbed his cans, and stowed them in his truck. He’d stored his Mercedes in New York and bought a used, red Ford F150 for the trip out. He sure liked his slick silver car, but there was something about a truck that made him feel like a kid again.

He smiled at a sudden memory of riding in the back of Jake Edwards’s beat-up Chevy when he was about seventeen, heading out to the lake with a couple of girls for a day of fishing and whatever else they could fit in. Him, Cain, and the Edwards boys had been inseparable, and even though his younger years were filled with its fair share of brutality and darkness, there were still a hell of a lot of good times that had gotten him through. The Bad Boys were the main reason for that.

Mac cranked the radio and blasted some old Led Zeppelin as he pulled out of the hardware store, waving to Mrs. Avery, the flower lady, and grinning like an idiot when she winked at him.

He was still in a good mood by the time he reached his mother’s house, and he eyed up the fence, thinking it would take more than the weekend to get it looking half-decent. He’d just set the cans onto the front porch when the door swung open and a kid peeked out at him.

Mac straightened, brows furled as he studied the boy.

The kid was blond, with longish wavy hair, big blue eyes, a skinny frame, and knees that were dirty and scraped. He was tall for such a young-looking boy, with wide shoulders that he’d need to grow into, and his T-shirt, an ode to Superman, hung off him. His jean shorts were on the short side, and his feet were bare.

“Are you Uncle Mac?” The kid didn’t sound insolent…not really, but there was something about his tone that got Mac’s attention.

Surprised, Mac took a moment. He had more than one nephew, so whose kid was this?

“You don’t look rich,” he said.

“You’ve got some serious attitude, kid.”

The boy shrugged and Mac thought he muttered, “whatever” under his breath. The little shit.

“I’m Liam.”

Ah. Liam. Becca’s kid.

Maybe. Or was he Dara’s?

“I didn’t know you were visiting. Where’s your grandmother?”

Liam shrugged. “She left an hour ago. I think she went to church or something.”

Figures. His mom had more time for church than any lady he knew besides Mrs. Lancaster, and since her husband was the pastor, she didn’t count. He’s always thought she used to go there to escape the house, but maybe it was more for her soul after all.

“We came in the middle of the night.”

That surprised Mac, and he glanced toward the door.

Liam nodded. “I think we scared the shit out of Grandma.”

“Your mom know that you curse?”

From the looks of it, Liam didn’t care. Huh. He was going to take a wild guess that this was Becca’s kid. Had to be. The eyes were uncanny. Mac wasn’t sure what was going on. He hadn’t seen Becca in a few years, though they kept in touch via email.

He tried to remember the last time he’d seen Liam, and the only thing he came up with was the kid’s baptism. Had it really been that long since he’d seen his sister? He’d been out to visit her in Iowa—once—but for the life of him, he didn’t remember much about his nephew.

God, he was a sorry excuse for an uncle. He didn’t even know how old Liam was, though if he had to guess, he’d say around ten…maybe?

“Liam, is that Mackenzie?”

His sister Becca appeared behind her son.

Becca was a cute little thing except that at the moment she had a black eye and her left arm was in a sling.

They’d come in the middle of the night.

Mac’s jaw tightened, and his hands fisted as all the good vibes he’d had going on evaporated like raindrops on hot pavement.

Becca whispered something into her son’s ear, and Liam rolled his eyes at Mac before disappearing into the house, leaving Mac alone on the porch with his sister.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked as soon as the door closed behind his nephew.

Becca’s eyes shimmered, and he felt like an asshole as a tear slowly made its way down her cheek. She shuddered and opened her mouth to say something but then closed it without saying a word. There was no need really. Her face pretty much said everything.

Along with the black eye, her bottom lip was split, and there was bruising along the top of one of her cheekbones.

Becca’s eyes fell to his fists, and he forced himself to relax them, running his hands through his hair instead as he stared at his sister.

Jesus. Fuck.

Rebecca was two years younger than Mac, but she looked worn, sad, and—it hit him like a punch to the gut—Christ, she looked just like their mother.

“Did David do this to you?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral because he wasn’t good with tears and emotion. He didn’t need a shrink to tell him it was a direct result of his screwed-up childhood.

Becca wiped at her eyes with her good hand and dropped onto the lone chair on the small porch.

“It’s a long story,” she said softly.

“Story?” Mac snorted. “It looks more like a fucking nightmare.”

“Keep your voice down, Mackenzie, and please watch your language. I don’t need Liam to hear any of it.”

Mac stared down at his sister. He had no words. He wasn’t close with her husband, but he had thought that David was one of the good guys. But then, growing up, he wondered how many neighbors had thought that the Drapers were a picture-postcard American family. They sure as hell had looked the part, all those blue eyes, blond heads, and perfect features.

It wasn’t until Lila started showing bruises that people began to whisper, and when the kids started showing up to school with obvious signs of violence, word had quickly spread.

Mac knew firsthand that what you saw on the outside didn’t mean shit. What happened behind closed doors mattered.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

His sister’s light brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her skin was so pale that she looked sick. She’d always been a golden, tanned, outdoors kind of girl. All the Draper kids had loved the outdoors. Being outside meant they weren’t in the vicinity of their father’s toxicity—or flying fists. To see her like this made him sick.

His hands clenched again at the thought.

“David’s always been a little…” She paused and sighed. “Physical.” She glanced up at him, her expression fierce. “But it was nothing I couldn’t handle, and sometimes I pushed him. It wasn’t always him.”

Mac didn’t say a word. He’d heard that line of bull before—hell, he’d lived it.

“It got worse last year when he lost his job. David’s a proud man, and it ate at him that he couldn’t find anything, you know? He hated that I had to go back to work, and then he started drinking.”

“Jesus Christ, Becs. He’s a carbon copy of Ben.”

She winced at that but didn’t offer up anything more.

“So, you’re here because he put you in the hospital?”

“I was only in emergency for a few hours, and I left…” A sob escaped. “I didn’t want the police involved, so I left.”

“Oh.” Mac threw out his hands. “Because the police are such a bad thing when someone beats the shit out of you.”

“Don’t,” she whispered harshly. “Just don’t, Mac.”

He studied her closely, watching how she twisted her hands nervously in her lap. “What did you tell Liam?”

She took a few moments, and when she spoke, her voice was tremulous. “I told him that I slipped and fell.”

“Classic.”

She whipped her head up. “What do you expect me to tell him?”

“I don’t know,” Mac shouted. “Maybe try the fucking truth? Do you really think that your kid believed you fell down the goddamn stairs? Did you believe every lie that Mom fed us? Hell, by the time I was five years old, I knew that it was only a matter of time before he came after us, and I was right.”

“David didn’t…” She swallowed and shook her head, and a fresh batch of tears slipped down her face. “David wouldn’t hurt Liam.”

“I’m sure Mom told herself the same thing. Didn’t stop Ben, did it?”

The siblings stared at each other for a long time before Becca broke the silence. “I can’t take your judgmental attitude, Mac. I just can’t.”

She broke down, and Mac knelt in front of her, gathering her into his arms and feeling like a jerk for making his sister cry. He awkwardly patted her back, not really knowing what to do but feeling the need to do something.

It was a miracle that he was able to keep it together, because inside, the blackness swirled, feeding his anger, and if David were in front of him right now, he’d put the bastard in the hospital himself.