That memory was the most pervasive of them all. It was the one that had been the hardest to shake during my adult years. Sometimes late at night, I still imagined his long, lean frame laid out on a blanket on the floor, one arm folded behind his head. I talked to him. Laughed with him. Some days it was like we never left that small bedroom. “That’s not gonna work for me.” Drew had come too far to go back, especially for me.
He pulled back, straightening his body to his full height, which was well over six feet. His brows shot up. “Fine,” he sighed. “That just leaves one option.”
My pulse jumped. “Which is?”
“We share the bed.” He said the words like it was nothing. “We’ve done it plenty of times before.”
Yeah, we had but that was when we were kids. Before I’d learned there were worse things in the world than two drugged out parents with a craving for violence. “True, but it’s been a long time since those days.”
His jaw tightened. “Mace, you’re gorgeous. But I’m not a fucking animal.” His voice dropped, hard and certain. “After everything you’ve been through, I would never—” He raked a hand through his hair, something I realized he did when he was stressed.
I cut him off with a raised hand. “I know Drew. It’s not that.” I swallowed, looking away. “I’m not the same girl I used to be.” I didn’t tell him what that meant and he didn’t give me the chance.
Drew softened at my words. It wasn’t pity, which I appreciated, just recognition and understanding. “I’m not the same either,” he insisted. “But in the ways that matter? I still am. Your safety comes first and then your happiness.”
I laughed. “Why not the moon and the stars?”
“One thing at a time,” he shot back with a teasing smile. “Go set your stuff up inourroom,” he ordered, emphasizing the possessive word on purpose. “Take a drawer or two if you want. Then we can figure out dinner.”
“Bossy,” I muttered.
“Get used to it,” he called after me, his voice grew distant as he walked in the opposite direction. “You’re stuck with me now.”
That shit should’ve scared me, and it did, but not nearly as much as it should have.
Chapter Five
Vandal
Being with Macy had always been easy. Natural. Even now, twelve years since we’d last seen each other, it was like we’d spent a thousand lifetimes together. Like no time at all had passed between us. I stood at the fridge staring at the contents, hoping the ingredients would somehow turn into a meal.
Macy stood in front of the pantry, eyeballing canned goods and boxed food with a pinched expression.
“Should we just grab hot dogs and ramen?” I bit back a grin and looked at her over my shoulder.
Her face twisted like I just offered her rotten meat. “Not unless we absolutely have to. I always had fun making struggle meals with you, but I don’t miss some of our creative monstrosities.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Yeah, me neither.” I pulled veggies from the crisper. “I’m pretty sure some of that shit shaved a few years off my life.”
“At least your parents kept the fridge stocked,” she said, examining a box of pasta salad I didn’t remember buying. “You ever talk to them?”
I snorted, rolling my eyes as I pulled steaks from the freezer. “Fuck no. Haven’t seen them since I told them I enlisted. Dad grunted ‘don’t die’, and that was it.” I poured two glasses of whiskey and slid one across the counter. “After that, I spentmy leave going wherever I wanted. And when I was out, I picked anywherebutGeorgia.”
Macy nodded slowly, eyes drifting off to the past for just a second. “I spent six months in town waiting to see if you would come back and when I finally realized that wasn’t going to happen, I left too. Kept Georgia in my rearview.” Her jaw flexed so hard I thought she might crack her teeth. “My mother died in a car accident about five years ago, I think?” She shook her head as if she still didn’t know what to think about that.
I didn’t sugarcoat shit. Never had. “Shit. I’d say I was sorry but we both know it’d be a lie. I hope that bitch really fucking suffered.”
She let out a shaky breath and an unsteady laugh. “Yeah, me too honestly.”
“You want fries with the steak and vegetables?”
She nodded. “You handle the meat and I’ll handle the rest?”
“Sounds like a plan.” That was as much as we talked about our parents, and then we moved on, cooking together in the kitchen. Chopping and seasoning and laughing as if it was twelve years ago and nothing had changed at all.
We cooked, we ate, and we talked. We caught up on twelve years in pieces, some were funny, some were dark. All of it was real. Macy’s laugh hit me the hardest. It wasn’t carefree like it used to be, but it was still there, low and melodic, buried under the wreckage.
She was stronger than her scars, but she didn’t know it yet.
