Mac had asked her not to go. Had told her he was scared. Had begged her to let him be part of this.
And she'd gone anyway.
Rachel unlocked the door, her hands shaking, bracing herself.
Mac was sitting on the couch, Puck in his lap, staring at nothing. An untouched sandwich sat on the coffee table beside him, she recognized it as the turkey and swiss from Sophie's café, Mac's usual order. He hadn't even unwrapped it.
He looked up when she walked in, and the expression on his face wasn't anger.
It was hurt. Bone-deep, exhausted hurt.
"How did it go?" Mac asked quietly.
Rachel set down her purse and sat in the chair across fromhim. Not beside him. The distance felt necessary, even though it made her chest ache.
"He apologized. Admitted everything, that I wasn't the problem."
Mac nodded slowly, his hand still absently stroking Puck's fur. "I'm glad you got what you needed."
"Mac—"
"I'm not angry, Rachel." Mac looked at her, and she saw something worse than anger in his eyes. "I'm hurt."
"I needed closure—"
"Maybe you could have included me somehow?" Mac's voice cracked. "Had let me drive you there and wait in the parking lot?"
"I needed to do it alone—"
"Why?" The word came out raw. "Why do you always need to do the hard things alone? I'm supposed to be your partner, Rachel. When are you going to let me actually be one?"
"I didn't mean to hurt you—"
"But you did." Mac set Puck aside carefully and stood, his movements slow like he was moving through water. "You knew I was worried. You knew I was scared Brad would manipulate you or that seeing him would send you spiraling. And instead of letting me support you, you shut me out completely."
"I wasn't trying to shut you out—"
"What would you call it?" Mac's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Rachel, there's a difference between independence and treating me like my feelings don't matter. Like I'm not really part of this relationship."
Rachel opened her mouth to argue, but the words died in her throat.
Because he was right.
"I didn't think about it that way," she whispered.
Mac grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door, the one with the Eagles logo she'd bought him last month. "I need some… space. A few days. To think."
"Mac, please don't leave—"
"I'm not breaking up with you." Mac stopped at the door, his voice hollow. "But I can't be here right now. I need to figure out if I can keep doing this; keep fighting for someone who won't let me in. I feel like you’ll never trust me."
"How long?"
"I don't know. A few days. Maybe a week." Mac's hand trembled on the doorknob. "Rachel, I love you. But I can't keep standing outside your walls forever."
The door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded like finality.
Rachel stood alone in their apartment; the half-unpacked boxes still stacked in the corner, Mac's hockey stick leaning against the wall, his coffee mug still sitting in the dish drainer from this morning.
