11. Mckenna
ELEVEN
MCKENNA
I wake up to mayhem.
Loud voices, beeping horns, and a bellowing screech that splits my head in two.
What the hell?
I sit up in bed, squinting around my room. Nope, I’m still at the brownstone.
I didn’t drink last night. I shake my head to clear the noise, but the mundane sounds that usually fill these quiet back streets is drowned out by the chaos unfolding outside my window.
Slipping from my bed, I glide to the window and carefully pull back the blackout shades that Derek swears by.
“Holy shit.” I drop the shade instantly as the swarm of people—paparazzi—camped out front, littering the sidewalk and hanging over the iron gate, point and shout.
“Who is she?”
“Is it her?”
“Come back, sweetheart!”
Their voices follow me as I cross my room and swipe up my phone.
A message from Mom stops me in my tracks.
Mom: Mckenna, when you speak with your father, please tell him this month’s alimony check was a day late.
Mom: Also, I’m in Boston for Christmas this year.
I shake my head. How out of touch with reality can a woman be? One, I barely speak to my father. Two, the last thing I would do is share anything regarding her alimony check. And three, is there an invitation in that cryptic Christmas text?
Desperate for a connection to her, even though logically, I shouldn’t care, I message back.
Me: Want to have Christmas dinner together?
I hold my breath as I wait for the message to send and—it bounces. Undeliverable. Ugh. Why do I do this to myself?
The loud voices from outside reclaim my attention and I stride to my bedroom door, about to grab the doorknob and demand Mav tell me what the hell is happening.
Before I can do so, he barrels into my room, colliding directly with me.
“Shit!” he says as his bare chest presses against me.
Mav wraps his arms around my waist to keep me from toppling, but it’s too late. I’m half asleep, and his frame, tall, large, too muscular for his own good, is strong. I tip over like a domino, taking him with me.
“Oof,” I wheeze as my breath is pushed from my lungs.
“Jesus, Mckenna.” Mav pushes off me quickly, his expression horrified. His eyes are wide and unblinking as he gently tugs me into a seated position. One of his hands cradles the back of my head as the other runs down my arm, the side of my body, checking for injuries. “Breathe, just breathe. You’re okay.”
His voice, rich, deep, and soothing, is nearly as startling as his presence in my bedroom.
I gulp for oxygen. As my mind clears, my lungs catch on, and I inhale a deep breath, letting it out in a whoosh. My hands run over the sides of my head, pushing the tangled strands of my bedhead away from my face.
Beside me, Mav is still. Unspeaking. He releases me but remains seated on the floor, his arms dangling in between his long legs, bent at the knees.
Jesus, did something happen?
I frown, recalling our last communication. I texted him to say I’m sorry and he…never replied.
My eyes snap to his, and when I note the direction of his gaze—settled on the flimsy, satin sleep shorts and tank top I sleep in, I blush. I cross my arms over my chest even though it’s too late to conceal that I’m braless. And my nipples are pointing toward him like a homing beacon. If anything, all I do is create the illusion of cleavage.
At my movement, his eyes meet mine. He ducks his head in a half-assed apology and clears his throat.
“What’s going on?” I ask, shifting to stand.
Mav stands beside me, and not for the first time, I note how tall he is. How long and lean and— gah! Stop thinking about Mav like this.
I must be sleep deprived.
Maybe I’m still drowning in the emotional turmoil that caused me to cry myself to sleep last night. Or my financial woes?
God, I hope I’m not having a mental break or?—
“I fucked up.” His voice interrupts my thoughts.
I roll my lips together to keep the snarky words, my default around him, at bay and plop down on the edge of my bed. If anyone can understand fucking up on a monumental scale, it’s me. Wiping sleep from my eyes, I try to put the pieces together, but nothing clicks into place. “What? What do you mean?”
Mav heaves a sigh and sits beside me. It’s weird, sitting this close to him in the intimacy of my bedroom. Our hands, his tanned and tatted, mine pale and slender, resting in the space between us, close enough to touch.
“Fuck, I fucked up so goddamn badly,” he admits.
I look at him, noting the shame and—is that regret?—that twists his mouth and darkens his eyes.
Something in me, maybe just the recognition that he’s hurting and I’m so achingly low, has me reaching out. Moving my hand. Placing it gently on his thigh.
His head whips toward mine. The tattoos along his rib cage twist. “Mckenna.” His voice cracks as if he’s scared of what my kindness means. How sad is that? He doesn’t trust my intentions because I’ve never shown him anything but snark. Attitude.
“What happened, Mav?” My voice is low. Partly it’s from sleep, but it’s also layered with understanding. One broken person to another, even though I have no idea who broke Mav.
He slips his hand from the space between us and lays it down on mine. His palm is warm. His fingertips are callused. The hand of a musician—tough skin with a gentle touch. He can beat a drum as skillfully as he can coax a reaction from my body.
“I—” he starts to speak, but before he can get the words out, the bedroom door flings open, and we both jump.
I nearly fall again, tripping over my feet, but Mav’s hand darts out and wraps around my upper arm, keeping me in place.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Jameson, Mav’s brother, crowds the doorframe.
“You know?” Mav sounds horrified, but something keeps me in place.
I don’t want to witness his hurt. I don’t want to see his anguish. I don’t want to confront Mav falling apart.
It’s too deep. Too messy.
Too close to home.
Jameson rakes a hand through his hair, inky black and nothing like Mav’s. “It’s all over the news!” he bellows as if Mav is dense for even asking. “Derek’s getting on a plane.”
Mav groans.
“Levi’ll be here in a few,” Jameson adds.
Mav swears.
“Aiden, Jess, and Kimberly are on their way,” Jameson continues, talking over my head like I’m not even here.
I try to place those names with faces. I know Aiden—the band’s lawyer. And I’ve met Jess or Kimberly before too, although I can’t recall who. Behind me, Mav shifts. The hairs on my arms stand at attention, and my spine straightens, bristling from his agitation.
I can feel his tension shadowing my frame, and I hate it.
It’s confusing reacting to Mav this way.
“Hope Aid brings bagels,” Mav quips.
Disappointment blooms in Jameson’s expression, and he shakes his head at his little brother.
“It was a joke,” Mav mutters.
“You’ve got nothing to joke about,” Jameson reminds him. “You fucked?—”
I wince at the word.
Mav’s knuckles run along the back of my arm, my elbow.
“It was a mistake,” he cuts in.
“That she’s married?” Jameson taunts.
I wince and lean away from Mav. My body is so tight I feel like I could snap. Break.
My chest tightens, and something pulls in my stomach, like purse strings drawing together, until my organs feel choked.
I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. I clear my throat instead.
“Hope you didn’t fuck him, Kenny,” Jameson points at me before turning narrowed eyes on his brother. “But we all know Kenny has too much damn sense—some fucking self-respect—to do something that stupid.”
I roll my lips together. Half of me wants to defend Mav, which makes no sense. And the other half of me wants to demand who the woman is. As if it would matter. Haven’t I heard his headboard hitting my bedroom wall enough times, enough nights in a row, to know that Mav’s got no issues going from one woman to the next? He acts first and thinks later. Hell, sometimes, like now, I wonder if he thinks at all.
Mav doesn’t say anything, and I sigh. Moving to my desk chair, I pick up a sweater and pull it on. I don’t need to give Jameson a show along with Mav. “So, the husband’s pissed?” I guess, trying to sound chill. Blasé.
Trying to sound like I don’t care that Mav hooked up with a married woman last night while I slept in the bedroom next to his and cried myself to sleep.
Jameson snorts. “You want to tell her?” He flips his chin to Mav. “Because this is gonna be a scandal, Mav. This isn’t some chump from town or?—”
“It was Senator Hayes’s wife,” Mav admits, his voice hoarse.
I turn toward him as surprise rolls through my body. His eyes pierce mine, holding. An apology is written in his irises. But why is he sorry?
Because he got caught?
Because he’s going to mess with band dynamics?
Because, on some level, I feel his distress?
“People say he’s angling for his party’s nomination. He wants to run for president,” I murmur.
Jameson snorts. “Well, not anymore.” He moves next to Mav and clasps a heavy hand on his shoulder, squeezing until Mav winces. “And we got Mav to thank for that. Got Mav to thank for the shitstorm this is gonna kick up in the press, here at home, and all over the fucking country.”
“I didn’t know who—” Mav starts.
Jameson shakes his head. “Save it, Maverick. I’m tired of your excuses. We all are. Now put some damn clothes on.” His gaze softens when it falls on me. “You too, Kenny. Family meeting in fifteen.”
“I, well, I’m not sure I need to be present for that,” I admit.
Jameson gives me a soft smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You planning on moving out?”
With what money? “Not at the moment…” I let that sentence trail off delicately.
“Then you need to be present. Things are going to change around here. Drew called in more security. They’re only letting the band members, the team, and the girls through.” He tilts his chin toward me. “Right now, you’re one of us, Kenny. Get dressed.”
He strides out of my bedroom, leaving the door open.
Mav doesn’t follow right away. Our combined breathing, heavy and uncertain, fills the space for a handful of moments.
“I fucked up,” Mav murmurs, as close to an apology as he’s capable of.
“Yeah,” I admit, avoiding his eyes. “So did I.”
He stares at me for a long moment. Then, he surprises me. “Why’d you text me last night that you’re sorry?”
I work a swallow but hold his gaze. His eyes are intense, studying mine as if he can pick out clues from my expression. “Because you were right. You have tried to be a friend to me. And, for what it’s worth, I get what it’s like to screw up. Badly.”
Mav’s nostrils flare and I can tell he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t reply. Instead, his gaze turns curious. There’s no way he missed the sincerity in my tone even if he questions the veracity of my words.
Mav clears his throat. “Thanks for saying that.” Then, he walks out, closing the door behind him.
I sigh, letting my shoulders drop. I have no idea what’s going to happen, but the fallout is going to be massive. And if I’m living here, my life is certainly going to change.
I dress in leggings and a University of Boston Law hoodie. I pull my hair back into a low ponytail.
My gaze tracks over my busted laptop. The text messages from my friends I don’t deserve. The sounds of the paparazzi outside infiltrate my bedroom.
Right now, Mav and I have more in common than he realizes. And I also hope Aiden—the band’s lawyer who I’ve met a few times—brings bagels.