Forcing Mac to rest for the majority of the day is impossible. Her parents and friends have been visiting on and off since we finished breakfast, so she got nothing done regardless.
It’s late afternoon and she’s in the shower when Jared puts in an appearance. I’ve avoided her brothers since the night of the kidnapping. My tolerance for them is zero, and I can’t see that increasing any time soon. So when the knock comes at the door and I open it to find him on the doorstep, my blood pressure hits the roof.
His brows wing up. He’s surprised to find me here. Perhaps he was hoping to avoid me too. The duplex we live in houses the six of us, though Mac, Evie, and Henry live in this side; Frog, Cooper, and I live in the other. It’s basically the same set up we had in Melbourne, except we’re two joined houses on one property with a shared back deck and yard. It’s the perfect arrangement, except for times like now when I have to face Jared standing at the door with the expression of a guilty chump.
“What do you want?” I growl for the sole purpose of being difficult. It’s clear he’s here to see his sister.
Jared flicks his sunglasses up and rests them on his head. His green eyes are worn, the skin beneath them bruised from apparent lack of sleep. “Can we talk?”
“Is there anything left to say?”
“Yes.”
I grind my jaw. “You mean there’s more you’ve kept from me?”
“No. There’s nothing else we’ve kept from you.”
I turn and walk into the kitchen, leaving the door wide open. It’s a clear indication that he can come in without me having to be solicitous about it. He steps inside and follows, dumping his keys, wallet, and sunglasses on the kitchen counter while I help myself to a beer from the fridge. I don’t offer him one. It’s his sister’s place. If he wants a drink, he can get it himself.
He notices the slight with an audible exhale through his nostrils. Good. My emotional position has been made clear. I’m still angry.
Using the bottle opener, I flick the top from my beer and toss it in the bin. Tipping it up, I take a hell of a long sip before I acknowledge him with my eyes.
“Talk already,” I mutter when I’m done, realising that drawing this out is making the situation more strained than it already is.
“I want to apologise,” he says.
“Is that it?”
“I understand why you’re angry.”
“Good for you.”
Jared’s brows snap together. “Dammit, Romero.”
“You want me to make this easier for you?”
“I just want to explain what happened.”
“No, you just want to come here and say you’re sorry to make yourself feel better,” I point out. “But apologies are just an acknowledgement that you stuffed up. They don’t fix shit.” My mind goes to the child Mac and I made together. Was it from the first time we made love? We had argued. Then she told me she belonged to me before laughing in my eyes as she peeled off her dress. It’s the best memory ever. So wild, unpredictable, and incredibly beautiful. To think of losing a child, a son or daughter, just like her makes me ache in the most painful way possible. It’s torture. “It doesn’t bring back what was lost,” I whisper hoarsely, unable to hide the onset of grief.
I need to share it with Mac. I want to wrap my arms around her and just hold on while I howl because the pain is too much.
Jared breathes in deep, his expression clearly distraught. It doesn’t stop me saying what needs to be said. “I think about how I feel right now, and then I think of what Mac must have felt when it happened. And to not be given the opportunity to cry with her, grieve with her, and hold her through the worst of it kills me. It fucking kills me,” I choke out. “You took that from us and that’s something you have to live with.”
“I don’t know how to explain how sorry I am.” Jared swallows, but he stands strong, holding my eyes as he bumbles through his apology. “We lied to you by not saying anything. By telling you to stay away from Mac. And we lied to Mac by telling her you knew about the accident, and losing the baby, when you never knew at all. It was a horrible mistake, and I—”
There’s a sharp intake of breath behind us.
We both turn.
Mac is standing on the bottom stair, feet frozen and face stripped of colour. A beat of strained silence falls before Jared takes a step toward her.
Mac moves back in response and fumbles as she hits the stair behind her. “What did you do?”
Her voice is a low accusatory sound that rips my chest wide open. A shaky hand comes to her mouth and her eyes seek mine.
“Princess,” I mouth, my vision blurring.
“They never told you?” she croaks.
Mac’s gaze follows me as I walk toward her. She’s on the step above when I reach her side and it brings us to eye level. “No, sweetheart. I didn’t know. I found out the night you were kidnapped.”
Her jaw trembles.
My voice comes out a harsh whisper. “We lost a baby.”
She nods, her lips pressed together as if she’ll lose it by speaking.
The ache in my heart is heavy as I stare at the girl who’s been through hell and yet stands tall and strong in the face of it. My insides feel like flimsy glass ready to shatter. How has she not broken like the way I feel I’m about to? “I’m so sorry.”
“Why didn’t you say anything when you found out?”
“It was the last thing you needed to hear under the circumstances.”
Fire sparks in her eyes. “Fuck the circumstances,” she snaps, holding her jaw tight to stop the trembling. Her eyes cut to Jared. “And fuck you.”
Her brother tucks his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. “Mac, we thought—”
“You don’t get to speak,” she hisses, her body vibrating with anger. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to talk to you. I want you to leave. Now.”
MAC
The fire of betrayal burns my skin to ash. My fingers curl into my palms, the sharp nails digging into my skin. It keeps me from falling apart as my brother closes the front door softly behind him. My gaze returns to Jake. For the first time I notice the dark circles that lie beneath his eyes.
“How much did you hear?” he asks.
I run my tongue along my lips. They’re dry and in desperate need of lip balm. “Enough,” I tell him, stepping off the stair and toward the kitchen where my handbag rests on the counter.
“Mac.”
Ignoring Jake, I reach for my bag and rummage through the contents, not finding any. “Goddammit, where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“My lip balm,” I mutter, my chest feeling tight. Why is it so hard to breathe right now? Am I having a goddamn heart attack? “Everyone’s always bloody stealing it,” I gripe. My lungs squeeze as I grab the bag and upend the entire contents over the bench top.
Crap scatters everywhere: bits of paper, lipsticks, pens, tampons, and my current sheet of birth control pills. “It’s not here!” I half-shout, spreading my hands through it all in a frustrated search.