Chapter 19
Nineteen
Delaney
The memorial service is held at a country club that's trying too hard to be cheerful—all beige walls and generic flower arrangements that look like they were ordered from a catalog.
The random Christmas decorations scattered around the room feel aggressively festive in a way that makes my teeth ache.
Lily would have hated every sterile, impersonal inch of this place. She always preferred wildflowers and bright colors, things that looked like they grew naturally instead of being arranged by a committee.
I stick close to Mac as people filter in through the heavy oak doors, recognizing faces from news coverage and social media posts I've scrolled through obsessively since meeting him.
The mix of people is jarring—expensive suits next to college sweatshirts, designer handbags alongside worn leather jackets.
His teammates are impossible to miss. They're the only group of massive men in perfectly tailored black suits, standing together near the back wall like a fortress of muscle and solidarity.
Even in formal wear, they look uncomfortable in this setting, their broad shoulders straining against the fabric, hands fidgeting with ties and cufflinks.
I make mental notes as Mac quietly points out who is here.
There are college friends clustered near the front, family members scattered throughout the middle rows, and people I assume are from Lily's work at the children's hospital grouped together in scrubs, like they just got off a shift.
Mac's father arrives fashionably late with a young woman on his arm who can't be more than twenty-five, her blonde hair cascading in perfect waves and her black dress revealing just enough skin to be inappropriate for a memorial service.
I don't miss the way Mac's shoulders go rigid when he spots them, his jaw clenching so hard I can hear his teeth grinding.
His mother, sitting in the front row with red-rimmed eyes and tissues clutched in her shaking hands, pointedly ignores the father of her children, who seems perfectly unbothered by both the grief surrounding him and the obvious tension his presence creates.
And then there's Stephanie.
Mac's ex-girlfriend and, apparently, one of Lily's closest friends from the hospital.
I'm mentally cursing Lily for never warning me how absolutely stunning this woman is.
Really, Lily? You couldn't have mentioned that your brother's ex-girlfriend looks like she stepped off the cover of Vogue?
Not that she had any reason to prepare me.
Mac had always seemed like an off-limits topic for us, aside from passing comments about his hockey achievements or funny stories about their family dinners.
Either because she knew about my pathetic teenage crush on him, or because she needed our friendship to be an escape from her family's complicated dynamics, I don't know.
Neither of us ever brought up the deeper stuff, the messy emotional undercurrents that ran through the Sullivan family like electrical wires.
Now I desperately wish we had.
Right from the moment she walks through the door, I can see that Stephanie is everything I'm not—tall and elegant with perfectly styled auburn hair that catches the light just right, and the kind of effortless sophistication that comes from having both money and the genetic lottery on your side.
She moves through the room like she owns it, accepting condolences with gracious nods and speaking in the low, cultured tones of someone who went to the right schools and knows exactly which fork to use.
When she spots Mac across the room, her composed facade cracks for just a moment, her face crumpling with what looks like genuine relief.
"Mac, thank God," she breathes, crossing the space between them in quick, purposeful strides. "I was so worried when you just disappeared."
She hugs him like she has every right to, her arms wrapping around his neck with familiar ease, and Mac lets her. Barely. His body remains stiff and unyielding, his hands hovering awkwardly at her waist for the briefest moment before dropping to his sides.
"I'm fine, Steph," he says, his voice carefully neutral.
"No, you're not," she replies, pulling back to study his face with the intense scrutiny of someone who knows every line and shadow.
Her perfectly manicured hands remain on his arms, fingers spread possessively across the dark fabric of his suit jacket.
"None of us is fine. But you look... different somehow. Better, maybe? More rested?"
That's when her brown eyes finally notice me hovering awkwardly a few feet away, probably looking like exactly what I am—a small-town girl who doesn't belong in this world of expensive clothes and practiced grief.
"Oh." Her smile doesn't waver, but something sharp and calculating flickers in her gaze as she takes in my simple black dress and basic jewelry. "You must be the bookshop girl they mentioned."
The way she says 'bookshop girl' makes it sound quaint and temporary, like a summer job or a hobby rather than my life's work.
"Delaney," I say, extending my hand with more confidence than I feel.
"Stephanie," she replies, shaking my hand with the kind of brief, dismissive grip reserved for people she considers beneath her notice. When she drops my hand, she actually holds her fingers away from her body for a moment, like she's touched something unclean.
How is this woman in healthcare?
Now that the introductions are over, she's effectively dismissed my entire existence. She turns back to Mac, shifting her body in a way that creates a wall between them and me, cutting me out of their conversation with the practiced ease of someone who's used to claiming territory.
"Jake told me you've been spending time in that tourist town," she continues, her voice taking on the concerned tone of someone discussing a sick relative.
"Rebecca mentioned she has you doing some kind of publicity rehabilitation?
Are you sure that's the best place for your healing process?
It must bring up so many painful memories of family vacations. "
The way she says 'tourist town' drips with condescension, making Millbrook Falls sound like a roadside attraction rather than a real place where real people live and work and love. Heat rises in my cheeks, my defensive retort sitting on my tongue like a loaded weapon, ready to fire.
But Mac surprises me. Instead of allowing her territorial move to succeed, he counters it by wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me firmly against his side, his hand settling possessively on my hip.
The gesture is warm and claiming, and Stephanie tracks the movement with raised eyebrows, suddenly reassessing me with the sharp focus of someone who's realized they've underestimated their competition.
Something loud and angry in my chest immediately settles at his touch.
"Actually," I say, my voice sweeter than honey-drizzled poison, "Millbrook Falls has been absolutely perfect for Mac's recovery process. Sometimes returning to happy memories is exactly what someone needs to heal."
Mac glances between us, his blue eyes alert and calculating as he recognizes the undercurrent of female warfare happening in polite, socially acceptable terms. "Steph, Delaney and I are..."
"Dating," I finish smoothly when he hesitates, claiming my territory with the same directness she used to claim hers. "We're together."
Stephanie's expression tightens almost imperceptibly, a tiny crack in her perfect composure, but she recovers quickly and forces her smile back into place.
"How nice for both of you. Long-distance relationships can be so challenging, though.
" She looks directly at Mac, her smile taking on the quality of someone sharing an inside joke.
"You were never particularly good at maintaining them, were you? Not with your track record."
"Actually, distance hasn't been an issue," I counter before Mac can respond. "Since he's been staying in Millbrook Falls full-time now."
"Is he really?" She looks genuinely surprised, her perfectly plucked eyebrows rising toward her hairline. "I thought you were just taking a brief sabbatical before the new season starts. Temporary recovery time."
"Change of plans," Mac says firmly, his hand moving to the small of my back in a gesture that's both protective and possessive. The touch sends warmth spreading through my body, though I can't tell if it's genuine affection or just a performance for Stephanie's benefit.
Someone taps the microphone at the front of the room then, the sharp feedback making everyone wince and gradually drawing attention toward the podium.
Mac takes the opportunity to steer us away from Stephanie, murmuring something about finding our seats, but not before promising her that they'll catch up later—whatever the hell that's supposed to mean.
The service itself is beautiful in the most devastating way possible.
Person after person gets up to share memories of Lily: Her infectious laugh that could light up entire rooms, her absolutely terrible cooking that she inflicted on anyone brave enough to visit her apartment, her unwavering belief that everyone on Earth deserved their own happily ever after.
The stories paint a picture of someone who lived with her whole heart wide open, who saw magic in ordinary moments and refused to let cynicism touch her fundamental faith in love and goodness.