The mention of Dad catches me off guard. We don’t talk about him much. “Yeah?”
She nods, a wistful smile gracing her lips. “Aye. Like you’ve found your home. Your heart.”
Well, damn. What do you even say to that?Thanks for the soul-crushing sentiment, Mum? Or maybe,excuse me while I go rethink my entire life?
I swallow hard. “I have,” I admit. “Don’t worry. I’m making it right.”
She reaches across the coffee table and pats my hand. “That’s the MacKenzie curse, love. You’re all stubborn fools until you find the right person to knock some sense into you.”
I can’t help but chuckle, even though it makes me hurt. “Is that what happened with you and Dad?”
Her eyes twinkle with affection, and for a second, I see the spark of the woman she used to be. “Oh, aye. Your father wasthe biggest fool of them all. Took me years to straighten him out.”
“And here I thought it was love at first sight,” I tease.
“Love, yes. Sense, though? That took a wee bit longer.”
I should talk to her about Dad more often. He died when Knox, Lucy, and I were so young. Most of what I know about him is secondhand. But sitting here, watching the way her face lights up when she talks about him, I’m catching a glimpse of the man I never got to know.
“Did he ever get it together?”
“Oh, eventually. He made plenty of mistakes, but he loved us fiercely. That man would have moved mountains for his family.”
There’s a pause, but it’s not uncomfortable. Finally, she speaks again, her voice quieter.
“You’re like him in that way, you know.”
I shift, wincing as the pain lances through me. “Aye, well, let’s hope I make fewer mistakes along the way.”
Her hand lands on mine. “It’s what you do after that counts. And you, my boy, are doing just fine.”
The knot of guilt that’s been tied tight falls away a little, the weight lifting just enough to breathe easier. “Thanks, Mum.”
Her lips curl into a knowing smile, the kind she’s perfected over the years. “Now, stop feeling sorry for yourself and focus on getting better. You’ll be back to your foolhardy self in no time.”
I chuckle, the sound strained but genuine. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint.”
“Good lad.” She squeezes my hand and rises, smoothing her skirt as she does.
The room goes quiet again, but it’s…nice. For the first time in days, I don’t feel like I’m one wrong move away from an aggressive lecture. Progress.
forty-one
BREE
Islept for hours this afternoon, and I thought I’d be refreshed but…nope.
I’m pacing the bedroom, gripping the phone tight. My parents’ voices drift through the speaker, warm and familiar, laced with concern.
Mom’s voice comes first. “How’s he doing, sweetheart?”
“He’s… He’s okay,” I say, forcing the words out, but they wobble at the edges. I clear my throat, trying to smooth them over.
There’s a pause before Dad speaks, his usual gruffness softened in a way that makes me want to cry. “And what about you, kid? You holding up?”
His words hit harder than I expect. Because the truth is, I don’t know. I don’t know how I’m holding up. I don’t even know if Iamholding up.
“I’m fine.”
