"That's efficiency," Jamie countered.
The banter continued as they finished changing, but Mac's mind was elsewhere.
On Derek's words. He needed to talk to Rachel. But part of him was afraid of what she might say.
Rachel
Rachel came home to find Mac already there, he'd used his key, sitting on her couch with his phone in his hand and an expression she'd never seen before.
Hurt? Confused maybe? Trying to stay calm.
"Hey," Rachel said, setting down her bag. "I didn't know you were coming over."
Mac didn't smile. He looked up at her, and the expression on his face wasn't anger. It was something closer to panic.
"We need to talk," Mac said.
Rachel's stomach dropped. "About?"
"About Monday morning." Mac stood up, his movements agitated. "Derek found me at practice. He showed me this."
He held out his phone. The hand holding it was shaking slightly.
The photo on the screen made Rachel's blood run cold. It was her. Monday morning at The Grind. Her gray cardigan, and her laptop. Sitting across from someone whose back was to the camera.
"He said you two met for coffee," Mac said, the words tumbling out fast, like he was trying to exorcise them. "He knew what you were wearing, Rachel. He said you guys talked for an hour."
Rachel looked at the photo, then at Mac. She saw the fear in his eyes, the terrified belief that maybe, just maybe, Derek was telling the truth.
"Mac," she said, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart. "I was there. But I was alone."
"Then how did he get this angle?" Mac gestured wildly at the phone. "It looks like he's sitting right across from you. Why didn't you tell me you went there? Why wouldn't you tell me if you ran into him?"
"Because I didn't run into him! I sat in the corner booth with my laptop. I didn't speak to anyone."
"He knew details, Rachel! He knew exactly how you take your coffee!" Mac ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small living room. "He looked me in the eye and told me you're unhappy. And now I see this photo, and I don't know... I don't know what to think. Please, just tell me he's lying. Tell me why it looks like this."
"He's lying about the meeting. But he's not lying about being there." A cold clarity washed over her. "Mac, look at the photo. Look at it closely. Does that look like a meeting? Or does it look like surveillance?"
Mac stopped pacing. He looked at the phone again, but the panic didn't leave his face. "I want to believe that. God, I want to believe that. But why does he know so much."
Rachel stepped back. The hurt hit her chest like a physical blow. "You think I'm lying?"
"I don’t know, I'm spiraling here, Rachel. I need you to help me understand this."
"I told you I was alone," Rachel said, her voice hardening. "I told you I didn't meet him. If that's not enough for you, if you need me to prove I'm not a liar because he got into your head, then we have a bigger problem than a photo."
"I'm not calling you a liar! I'm—"
"You're doubting me," she interrupted. "You're taking the word of the man who assaulted me over mine because he played on your insecurities. I can't do this, Mac. I can't defend myself against your fear." She pointed to the door. "I think you need to leave."
Mac froze. He looked at her, the fight draining out of him, replaced by the realization of what he'd done. "Rachel—"
"Please. Just go."
For a long moment, Mac didn't move. He stood there, keys in hand, looking at her like he was trying to memorize her face. Like he knew this might be the last time.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
