“I heard she spent a ton of money fixing up that old place.”
How the fuck do they know where I’m staying?
I hold up my hands, which are dripping with water and mud and…probably some parking lot oil.
“It’s great. Really comfortable and clean, and the view is gorgeous,” I grit out, a migraine firing up behind my left eyeball.
“Let me get that for you, Mac.”
I turn, and right at my shoulder is, of course, the one person I don’t want to see me this way.
“Hi, Kinley,” I croak as she reaches behind me to grab my cane from the foot well.
She pauses before handing me the cane, raising her brow. “Don’t get Kinley, huh?”
I flush, still aware that people have their phones out. Kinley tracks my line of sight and snarls her pretty lips.
“Diana! Girl, what the hell are you doing? Put that phone away. I better not see a video of this on Insta or any of your other socials. Now, I told Mac here that this would be a great town for her to recover in, and she wouldn’t have to worry about paparazzi or nothing. Don’t be one of those vultures.”
Chastised, Diana puts her phone away. “Sorry. I…wasn’t thinking.”
Kinley’s brows arch, and Diana takes a step back. I chuckle under my breath, begrudgingly grateful for Kinley’s bossy way. Though, calling her bossy seems a little rude, considering she’s carrying several bags of groceries, one of which seems to contain my favorite granola.
Once we’re mostly alone, with Ed sorta hanging around awkwardly in the background, she shakes her head. “I was coming by today with your groceries. You’re supposed to be resting.”
I saw my bottom teeth along my upper lip. “Oh. I…uh. I really like the granola you get me and may have gone to town on it. Just thought I’d get a little fresh air, but…I seem to have caused a stir.”
Rolling her eyes, Kinley orders Ed, “Get her back home. I’ll take care of the groceries.”
“Yes, ma’am. Will do.”
Facing me, she continues, “I was going to come by later anyway to see if you would let me into your fortress of solitude so I can make sure you’ve got everything you need.”
I open my mouth to protest, but then again…I might not mind a little of her company. “Fine. I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.”
“Mm. That’s what I thought.”
This time Kinley helps me into the cab by pushing on my ass, and I don’t mind it so much.
The ride back to the cabin is uneventful, and, bonus, really old F150s are kinda impervious to mud and whatever else was in that slushy puddle. I even let Ed help me out of the truck and up the stairs, which makes him unaccountably happy.
I try to apologize, but he waves me off. “You’re recovering from a hard thing, sweetie. Just try to be nicer to the town folk. They’re really rooting for you.”
Hello,my name is Mackenzie Nash,and I am officially the world’s worst human.
“Thanks, Ed. I really will.”
I wave as he drives off, and I send an extra two hundred through his Cash app for dealing with my trifling ass.
Going inside, I strip out of my dripping, muddy clothes, then stand under the hot shower, scrubbing up with the local handmade soap Kinley left for me. Afterward, I get dressed in some comfy sweatpants and a T-shirt, and I take a nap, exhausted from the day's efforts.
* * *
Waking a few hours later,I put my feet on the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed. My first thoughts lean on how I treated everyone I’ve encountered these last few days. Suffice it to say, I’m not proud of myself.
I’ve gone on rants about the assholes in the music industry who treat people just like I’ve been doing. Yeah, I think the brain shit is affecting my mood, but I’m reminded of what Pete Davidson once said, “Being mentally ill is not an excuse to act like a jackass.”
Ah, hell. If Pete Davidson is starting to make sense, I might need to look at my life choices.
