Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Holt
“Mookie, cool it!” I shout over her manic barking. The thing has gone absolutely batshit crazy because of a knock on the door. I swing it open to reveal the one woman in all of North Carolina I’d prefer not to speak to.
Macy Bechtol.
Sadly, she’s actually Macy McGrath. She never changed her name back after we got divorced. Not even when she got remarried. Which I can’t really blame her. What a headache to have to change your last name and all connected documents.
“Macy?”
Her gaze dips down to take in my shirtless torso. I came straight home from Sunny Shores and was two steps away from climbing in the shower to get ready for my date with Maple when the loud knock on the door happened.
“My eyes are up here,” I snap.
Macy rolls her eyes, but she quits checking me out. “May I speak to you?”
I lean into the door and squint my eyes, wondering what exactly this could be about. We haven’t had a private conversation in years. Mostly because they devolve into shouting (her) and too much stimulation (me), which leads to bad outcomes for both of us.
“Please, Holt.”
It’s the please that gets me. I’m not a mean person, normally, and Macy is not known for asking for things nicely. So I push off the door and let her into the cabin. Mookie snarls and pounces at Macy’s feet like she’s an attack dog guarding the castle. I stoop and pick her up, careful to keep teeth and claws away from me.
“Just a second.” I hustle out of the living room with the seven pounds of fury and deposit her into the bathroom and shut the door. The sooner Macy talks, the sooner I can get her out of here.
When I come back out of the hallway, she’s had a seat on the couch. Seeing her just inches away from where Maple and I sleep makes me realize how wrong this woman was for me. Other than growing up in Anchor Lake, we have absolutely nothing in common.
“So, what’s the problem?” I ask, sitting on the couch armrest and folding my arms across my chest. I refuse to fully sit down. Anything that might give Macy the impression I prefer a lengthy chat.
She lifts a dark eyebrow, but doesn’t comment on my gruffness. “I’m getting married.”
I find I don’t really care. “Wow. Um, congratulations?”
She smirks, bowing her head like a queen accepting tariffs from her peasants. “Thank you. It’s rather sudden, I know, but one of the things we have in common is a divorce, or two, in our pasts. We’ve decided to go to marriage counseling to make sure we get things right this time around and our counselor has suggested that I have unfinished business with you that needs to be resolved.”
I rack my brain, thinking maybe I still have one of her books? Or a bottle of nail polish that somehow got boxed up in my things during one of my moves? What unfinished business could we possibly have?
“It’s been eight years, Macy,” I say incredulously. Eight glorious years.
She dips her head again and breaks eye contact. “I know. But when I told the counselor why we didn’t work out, she pointed out that those reasons were all things you did wrong. She wants me to talk to you and find out, from your point of view, what I did wrong.”
I grin, which somehow she must know because her gaze snaps back to mine, thoroughly irritated.
“Be serious, Holt.”
I throw my hands up. “I am! I was just thinking how much I like your counselor.”
She gives me a familiar death glare that’s only sharpened over the years. I feel a momentary pang of sympathy for the guy she’s marrying, but we’re all fully grown adults here. He can watch out for himself.
“Okay, okay. Um, if I had to pinpoint what went wrong, I’d say we got married too young. I realize mid-twenties is when many couples get married, but I was still pursuing my graduate degree and building my business, so that was a significant focus for me that didn’t help our marriage. Secondly, we have, like, nothing in common.”
She scoffs.
“Seriously. I love to hike, you love the gym. I love surprises, you loathe anything that’s not under your control. I’m a morning person, you stay up late and do things with bright screens.”
“All of that seems like things that can be overcome in a healthy marriage,” she argues.
A headache is blooming. Having a deep conversation with my ex-wife was not in my plans for today, but apparently that’s what we’re going to do.
“You really want to know?”
“I really want to know.” She rolls her shoulders back and lifts her nose in the air like she’s ready to take a fist to the face.
“I spent my whole life having my mother make digs at me for my lack of concentration. I’m late to things, I have rambling conversations, I got good grades only because I was smart, not because I had any kind of consistent work ethic. And I don’t like loud, flashy places like most twenty-year-olds. Being diagnosed with ADHD was the best thing that could have happened to me. It gave me a reason for why I behaved the way that I did. It took the shame away and let me walk through life with my head held high for once. And then you came along, picking up where my mother left off and banging me over the head with a heavy dose of shame for each and every offense. Instead of helping me, understanding my diagnosis, or just having some fucking patience, you belittled me. And pretty soon, every comment chipped away at whatever love I had for you until it was gone. That’s why we got divorced.”
She blinks at me, her dark eyes staring in shock. I realize then that I should have told her all of this much sooner. Instead, I stuffed it down deep where it clearly festered over the years as I tried to rebuild my self-esteem on my own.
“Huh,” Macy grunts, mind still reeling.
Mookie barks from the bathroom and I hear her, the anger I felt previously evaporating in an instant. I jump to my feet, patting my pockets for my phone. I must have left it in the bathroom when I was getting ready to hop in the shower.
“What time is it?” I ask, worry rising in my throat.
Macy shakes her head and looks at her watch. “Seven thirty or so. Why?”
“Shit!”
Macy climbs to her feet, actual concern on her face. “Are you late for something? I can go.”
The front door bangs open and Maple stands in the doorway, looking incredible in a dress I haven’t seen before. She looks like a goddess with her hair lit from behind by the last rays of sunlight. She’s the woman I want to spend the rest of my life impressing. The one I want to shower every ounce of love I have in my body onto.
Except her gaze is furious, and it’s locked on Macy.
In a flash, I realize what this must look like from her point of view. I see everything crashing together in one spectacular misunderstanding of epic proportions. Before I can utter a single word, Maple spins on her heels and dashes out of the cabin.
I rush after her, nearly pushing Macy over in my hurry to get to Maple.
“Maple!” I shout, getting to her car in time to see the frenzied look in her eyes through the windshield. She backs up, weaving wildly down the driveway. I call after her again, my hands in my hair, my heart in my throat. I curse under my breath, concerned for her safety driving like that. I’m also concerned I’ve fucked everything up.
Her car tires squeal as she turns sharply at the bottom of the driveway. She puts it in drive, peeling out down the road and out of sight.
I drop my hands, incredulous. Has this really happened? I’ve lost track of time before—many times, if I’m being honest—but none has had such devastating consequences.
“I’m going to take a wild guess that everything’s not okay here?” Macy’s drawl sounds like nails on a chalkboard. “Did I screw something up?”
Anger, disgust, and heartbreak all mix together. “Just go, Macy,” I snap.
She mumbles under her breath about maybe I need the counselor more than her, but I ignore the comment. My mind is spinning and I need silence to figure out what to do here. I was supposed to meet Maple at seven at the restaurant, and I clearly blew it. Then she walks in on me and Macy talking, which was perfectly innocent, but I know her history. I know what her fiancé did to her. And I want to punch myself in the face for putting that doubt in her head.
I run inside and let Mookie out. She dashes around the cabin, sniffing out Macy and only calming down once she’s assured herself that woman is gone. I find my phone and call Gracie, making a guess that Maple is headed there. She answers after three rings, my grandpa’s voice in the background.
“Holt! I thought you’d be at dinner still.”
“Yeah, listen, Gracie. Maple’s probably on her way to your place right now, and I need you to talk to her.”
There’s a long pause before Gracie answers. “Oh, boy. What’s going on and what can I do to help?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and feel blessed I have a good relationship with Maple’s grandma. I spill the story the best I can while my brain is still a jumble. Pretty sure she gets the gist of it because she hisses when I get to the part about Macy being here.
“I know she’s hurting right now, Gracie, but I need her to know that nothing was going on here. Nothing. I love Maple so much it hurts.”
Gracie’s soft voice feels like a pat on the back. “I know you do, Holt. And she loves you. She’s just sensitive because of that asswipe Dexter.”
I nearly choke on a laugh, stunned I can even attempt laughing right now.
“Give her some space to calm down and think things through. She’ll probably need to sleep off the mad before she comes to her senses. I suggest you use that time to come up with a plan and have your butt over here first thing tomorrow. Understand?”
“Yes. Thank you, Gracie. Really. Thank you so much for being there for her.”
“Nowhere else I’d rather be. Now get to planning, Romeo. You have a girl to woo tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I hear her hoot and then call to Grandpa before she hangs up. “I just got ma’amed!”
I shake my head at her antics and hang up the phone.
Collapsing onto the couch, I stare at the far wall and wonder how this evening got so messed up. I lost time at Sunny Shores, I lost time here at the cabin, and now Maple is paying for my inabilities. That voice in my head is back, the one that tells me I’m not cut out for serious relationships. That I’ll always fuck them up.
Then my gaze falls on the journal Maple bought me. The pages where I’ve anchored my thoughts over the summer. I remember how much she believes in me. I remember that I’m human and I make mistakes. And if Maple loves me even half as much as I love her, then she’ll hear me out tomorrow and know that I’d never ditch her for Macy or any other woman.
What I need to do is exactly what Gracie told me. Come up with a plan for in the morning and make sure Maple knows how much she means to me and how sorry I am for embarrassing her by standing her up. I think of her in that gorgeous dress, sitting by herself at a table at Dock & Dine and I’m back to wanting to punch myself in the face.
“Make a plan,” I say out loud. Mookie comes running over, so I scoop her up and deposit her into my lap while I think.
I have a note on my phone with all the things I plan to do and hope in my heart that everything will be just fine. Then I pull out my phone, go to the text string with Maple to see that she tried to text me when she was at the restaurant.
Me: I’m so sorry, Maple. What you saw is absolutely not what you think. I love you.
She doesn’t respond all night, and I toss and turn on the floor without her.