16. Mav
SIXTEEN
MAV
“Your shit caught up to you this time,” Derek chuckles as he hugs me and slaps my back. “How’s it going, Mav?”
I pound my fist into his back twice before releasing him. “It’s going.”
“Kenny cooking you dinner and giving you back scratches?” he jokes, knowing that Mckenna Byrne doesn’t do shit like that.
Reign drops onto a barstool and takes a swig from his takeout coffee cup from Java House.
“Mckenna is avoiding me like I’m gonna give her herpes,” I admit.
Derek tosses his head back and laughs. The sound is jarring because Derek Reiner was not a laughing, joking, bro-hugging dude a handful of years ago. He was aloof and caustic and moody as fuck. This new version still surprises me sometimes.
I sigh. “But A must be cooking and giving you back scratches.”
He grins and quips, “Allegra and I are in a good place.”
“Good for you, Reign. I mean that.” I point at him. If anyone in the world deserves happiness, it’s Allegra Rousell. The fact that she found that with Reign is an act of God, but it still counts.
“Yeah. Listen, we’ve got reservations at The Ivy tonight. Kenny is in.”
“Allegra convinced her,” I guess.
Derek nods. “And she’s under contract.”
I snort. Fucking contract. Girl signed on to be my fake chick for education funds. Witnessing her sitting in Aiden’s law firm, her shoulders slumped, and his arm around her pummeled my conscience. It twisted my stomach into icy green tentacles that had my jealousy soaring. It made me feel shit I’ve got no right to feel. Emotions I don’t want.
The lady of the hour enters the kitchen, her auburn hair twisted away from her face and fastened with a clip. She’s in baggy jeans and a basic T-shirt and looks beautiful. Fresh-faced, peaches-and-cream skin, and electric blue eyes. She smiles and throws a one-armed hug around Reign. “Derek! How are you?”
Derek wraps an arm around her waist and gives her a squeeze. “Good, girl. How are you doing? The place okay?”
“Perfect. Thanks again for letting me stay here,” she says, her voice low with embarrassment. Her cheeks turn pink. “You and Allegra really saved my ass.”
I avert my gaze, feeling like an interloper. I made numerous assumptions about Mckenna and hate that she felt the financial pinch as hard as she did.
“Anytime, Kenny,” Derek says sincerely. He slips from the barstool and swipes up his coffee. “I’m going to pass by the studio.” He points between Mckenna and me. “See you both tonight. The Ivy at 7 PM. Try to show up together.”
I scoff, and Mckenna rolls her eyes.
Derek fucking grins. “Later,” he grunts. He pulls the front door closed behind him.
The house falls silent with his departure. It stretches and twists between Mckenna and me. She fixes herself a coffee and takes Derek’s vacated barstool. I continue to shuffle around the kitchen, searching for something to say. It’s been two days since Whole Foods, and Mckenna and I have barely spoken.
She sighs. “Derek’s right; we should show up together.”
I nod, grinding my knuckles into the top of the butcher block island as I roll back and forth on my heels.
“What do you…like for breakfast?” Mckenna asks.
I give her a sardonic look.
She shrugs. “I’m trying, Mav.”
I sigh because, so am I. But I pull out a barstool and sit across from her. “Doughnuts.”
Mckenna bites the corner of her mouth like she’s trying not to laugh. “Oatmeal.”
I groan. “Stop. No one actually likes oatmeal. People only pretend because it fits their healthy lifestyle brand or makes them feel like grown-ups.”
Mckenna raises a hand sheepishly. “I really do.”
“You would,” I scoff. “Okay, beach or lake.”
“Beach.” She looks personally affronted. I forgot she spent her childhood summers on Cape Cod.
“Lake,” I toss back.
Mckenna sits up straighter. “Road trips or flying.”
“Road trips. Hands down.”
She rolls her lips together and flicks her hand. “Flying.”
I snort. “Do you have any ink?”
She rears back, and my smile grows. Mckenna sips her coffee and points at me, making a wide circle with her finger. “How many tattoos do you have?”
“Fifty-three.”
“Fifty-three!” she shrieks. “Are you serious, Mav? There’s no way they all mean something to you. Is this something you do when you’re drunk or bored?”
I chuckle. “They all do mean something to me and…sometimes.”
Mckenna shakes her head and wraps both hands around her coffee mug, pulling it into her chest as she leans closer. “What’s your most meaningful tattoo?”
I scrape a hand over my chin. Narrowing my eyes back, I mentally weigh how honest I want to be. When girls ask me this question, I usually flash them the burning clover on the back of my left bicep and talk about the band.
But Mckenna is my girlfriend and my roommate, and she’s trying…
I exhale slowly and stand. Lifting the hem of my T-shirt, I twist my torso and show her the right side of my ribs.
Mckenna leans closer, her eyes studying the intricate, detailed, cartoonish character who laughs when I do.
“His name’s Warren Willoughby,” I supply.
Her eyebrows shoot up, and her lips part. Surprise ripples across her face, but she doesn’t say anything.
I sit back down and gauge her reaction, but she’s waiting for my explanation.
Relief flickers through me.
Most people laugh. Most people think Warren Willoughby is something I made up. Got inked when I was wasted. A stupid caricature I pointed at in the pages of a generic binder.
But something holds Mckenna back from making those assumptions. Maybe it’s the tone of my voice, the thread of nostalgia in it. Perhaps it’s because her IQ is higher than I give her credit for.
Whatever the reason, I’m grateful, so I give her the truth.
“Warren Willoughby is a cartoon my pop—my grandfather—used to write. He was a cartoonist way back in the day. But Warren Willoughby is the character he created for me. When I was a kid, he wrote and drew up a world of adventures for Warren. Whenever we were together, he’d fill me in on the latest, and when too many weeks passed, he’d post me a letter with a storyline inside.”
Mckenna stares at me intently, her eyes big and round and breathtaking. She releases a slow exhale as if she knows the story will turn. An impending plot twist.
“Pop and I were boys.” I manage a shaky smile. “Best buds. He was diagnosed with dementia when I was in fifth grade. His mind deteriorated quickly, even faster than the doctors predicted. When I entered seventh grade, he didn’t remember Warren Willoughby. He didn’t recognize me.” My shoulders lift, nearly pressing against my ears. “I got the tattoo on my seventeenth birthday; I had a fake ID. It was my first one and the most meaningful.”
Mckenna’s eyes are shiny with tears. They look like marbles, the glassy blue ones with white streaks and green dots. The ones that make you believe that you hold the whole world in the palm of your hand. Her fingers find mine on the butcher block, and she grips my hand. Squeezes tightly. “I’m so sorry, Mav. I, well, I had no idea. I think it’s beautiful that you and your pop had a relationship like that. It’s thoughtful that you honored him with a Warren Willoughby tattoo.”
“Yeah.” I dip my head and avert my gaze.
Mckenna pulls her hand away and takes another sip of her coffee. “I stole a lipstick once.”
“What?” My eyes snap to hers, and a bubble of unexpected laughter explodes from my throat.
“I’m serious.” She nods as if to prove her point. “It wasn’t even a color I’d wear or expensive. I just…took it.”
“Why?” I drop an elbow to the butcher block to prop up my head. Mckenna is making my mind spin. “You are the last person who would shoplift anything.”
“I know,” she agrees. Her eyes flash. “I think that’s why I did it. I wanted to see if I could. Part of me hoped I’d get caught. I wanted to know how my parents would react. Would they make me apologize and bring it back? Would they cover for me and flip some generic ‘don’t do that again’ warning my way? Would they think it was a cry for attention that required deeper consideration?” She shrugs.
My eyebrows knit together. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she laughs. “Absolutely nothing. I didn’t get caught. My parents never found out. And I still have that tube of lipstick in the bottom of my makeup bag. It’s kind of like this… I don’t know, this act of rebellion. This reminder that I did something bad, and no one noticed.”
I shake my head. “Damn, Mckenna.”
She chuckles. “Not my finest hour.”
“I have a lot of those.”
She grins. “Yeah. Well…” She pushes back from the island. “We can’t all keep up with you, Mav.”
I chuckle. “What do you have going on today?”
She spins her phone on the butcher block island. “My mom’s back from Cabo…”
“Are you going to catch up with her?” My eyebrows pull together as I try to get a read on Mckenna’s family dynamics.
She snorts, confirming that her relationship with her parents is even more complicated than I imagined. “Hard pass. She left me a voicemail to ask if I could tutor some guy’s son for the LSAT. You know, because I have so much time on my hands still being a student in my twenties.” She rolls her eyes and sighs heavily. “I’m going to head to the library this morning. But I was serious earlier; we should go to dinner together tonight.”
I nod, still thrown by her mention of her mom. “Meet you in the living room at 6:30 PM?”
“Meet you in the living room,” she confirms. Mckenna moves to the sink to rinse out her mug.
“If you change your mind, don’t email me,” I warn.
She laughs and flashes me a smile over her shoulder. I freeze, drinking in the sight of her, washing a mug at the sink, tendrils of her hair escaping her clip, her eyes bright and beautiful.
The image of her hits me full-on, and I cough, wheezing along with Warren Willoughby, to hide my discomfort.
“I won’t,” she promises. “If I need to get in touch with you, I’ll text.”
“Or call,” I tack on.
Mckenna nods, her eyes serious, as she dries her hands on a dish towel. “Or call.”
“Have a good day, Mckenna.”
She brushes her fingertips lightly across my shoulders as she walks past. “You too, Mav. I’ll see you later.”
I listen as she gathers her school materials. Make a mental note that she needs a new laptop since I caught a glimpse of her cracked screen the other night. She leaves for campus ten minutes later, but I loiter in the kitchen. The silence feels itchy now that she’s gone. Everything about this morning unsettles me.
Derek’s appearance when he’s usually in LA.
My conversation with Mckenna when she tends to avoid me this early in her day.
This morning, Mckenna and I clicked on a deeper level. We were honest and trusting with each other. The way couples in genuine relationships are.
If our circumstances were different, would I have a shot with a woman like Mckenna?
I snort and feel Warren pinch along my ribs.
The thought is laughable and truly terrifying.