Chapter 9
MACKENZIE
The sunlight slipped through the cracks in the blinds, gold slashing across the thin cabin walls, painting Max in sharp, holy light.
I peered up at him. The sun carved shadows down his chest, tattooing his body in needle-like lines.
God. He was warm against me. We were still face-to-face, our lips so close to each other. His arm looped low around my waist, fingers twitching in his sleep, and I felt them under the hem of my shirt. His palm pressed to my stomach, fingers splayed over my ribs. He held me like I was his.
I hadn’t slept next to someone since I was five years old. But now that I had, I never wanted him to go back up to his bunk.
I lifted my head slowly, memorizing him. His mouth was slightly parted, his hair rumpled, his lashes dark against his cheeks. He looked so painfully beautiful and peaceful. Pain had never found him. Not like it had for me. Pain had scarred me.
I pressed my fingers to the scar on the back of my neck, tracing the raised knot of skin where the staples had been. It didn’t feel like a badge of survival. It felt like a weight I would never shake.
Jackson’s voice slammed into my thoughts.
“If you scream, I’ll kill you,” he had said as he pressed the lit end of his cigarette into my skin.
That had always been my punishment for doing something he disliked.
He always looked at me like I was an annoyance, a nuisance he didn’t want to deal with. But at the same time, I was something he wanted to conquer.
Max looked at me differently. He kissed my scar last night. No one else had ever done that.
When he kissed me, it felt as if he was trying to transfer his soul into my body. I wanted to do it again. I felt the butterflies when he kissed me, and I wanted that feeling back.
It made me forget everything—even the darkness. I wonder what he’d do if he knew how badly the darkness torments me.
His eyes fluttered open. He blinked, dazed, and then gave me a slow, lazy smile that knocked the air out of my lungs.
“Hey,” he rasped, his voice rough with sleep.
“Hey,” I whispered back, my head propped on my hand.
We were still tangled, his leg draped over mine, his hands on me as if he had no intention of letting go.
His gaze lingered on my face, dropped down, and came back up again.
Hunger bled through the cracks in his composure.
It wasn’t just his fingers tightening on my waist, or the way his breath hitched when I licked my lips.
It was in his eyes, heated glances, a barely contained growl in his voice when I adjusted my bare leg against his.
I could feel him hardening against me. His desire wasn’t quiet or polite. But he was holding back, waiting for permission.
Jackson never waited. Jackson took. Max would be wild too, but not in the same way. He’d rage like a storm, yes, but he’d let me choose to step into it. He’d want me to feel every second of it. He’d like me to take control.
“What?” I teased, feigning coyness.
His smile was small. “First time I’ve seen you in the morning like this.”
“You’ve seen me all the time,” I rolled my eyes.
“Not like this. Not the first thing. Lying next to me.” He bent close to me and whispered, “In my clothes. You’re beautiful.”
He shook his head slightly, as if he couldn’t believe he had said that.
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
I was really starting to like that gesture.
He did it often. I smiled at him, and he paused, studying me so intently I almost flinched.
Those aquamarine eyes were open, unguarded.
He wasn’t just looking at me; he was truly seeing me.
He looked at my lips, and I knew he wanted to kiss me again. Suddenly, nervousness took over my chest. It rippled through my core in tight waves. My breathing quickened.
I liked him too much. I was falling. Too fast. We were supposed to be pretending.
He must have sensed my anxiety because his hand gently moved up to my arm and stayed there, steady, warm, comforting. My breathing slowed, and I suddenly blurted out, “I want to get a tattoo.”
His brows rose. “Oh, yeah?”
I nodded, chewing the inside of my cheek. “Over my scar. I’m tired of knowing it’s there.”
“You sure?”
I nodded again. He watched me, his eyes hooded, and then he said, “Alright. Let’s go.”
It was so decisive, it startled me.
“Wait, what?”
He didn’t ask why. He didn’t try to fix me. He just stood, pulling a dark shirt over his head, jeans half-buttoned, hair a mess from sleep, morning light kissing the curve of his back.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
He meant it. No hesitation, no judgment, just support. The ache in my chest cracked open.
He hadn’t asked me once about the nightmares.
He didn’t need to. He was my anchor when I drifted, steady when I spun.
And here he was—anchoring me back to my course.
But still, the fear coiled. He didn’t know why I had the scar.
He was going to actually see it. What if he looked at me differently then, like I was broken? Like I was a monster? Was I a monster?
I swallowed, tearing my gaze away. But when I glanced back at him, he was already watching me; his gaze warm, his smile gentle, and my paranoia subsided.
“Come on,” he grinned. “We’ve got a tattoo to get.”
I dressed quickly, and I followed him to his truck. Our campers didn’t arrive until tomorrow, which meant, for once, it was just us.
The drive into town felt like a dream. Max had the windows rolled down, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on the console between us. I moved my hand close enough that our pinkies brushed.
His sunglasses were crooked, his hair wild from the wind, and still he looked maddeningly relaxed. Happy. Free. And the strange part was, I felt the same. I wasn’t looking over my shoulder for once.
“How far is this place?” I asked, propping my feet up on the dashboard, my anklet shining in the sun.
He smirked without even looking at me. “Twenty minutes. Less, if you stop distracting me.”
“Distracting you?” I tilted my head, feigning innocence as I fiddled with his phone. I couldn’t download any apps to mine, so he had set up a playlist on his Spotify for us.
“I’m just sitting here. Being an excellent DJ.”
“11 a.m.” by Incubus broke through the speakers.
“You’re sitting there looking like that,” he muttered, eyes flicking down my legs, before darting back to the road.
I laughed. “Hmm. You like what you see?”
He gave me a look that said he wanted to say something filthy back, but he bit his tongue. His fingers were gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white.
“I’m not going to respond to that, Trouble.”
I was a bit disappointed. This wasn’t like Max. He usually told me whatever was on his mind. But now, he was holding back the part of himself I loved the most. I wanted him to be bad. I wanted his restraint to falter a bit.
I didn’t know why he was hiding from me.
“Why? You acted like you liked it last night.”
I wanted to see what made him tick, and apparently, it was me. His jaw twitched, and a soft look of challenge flickered across his face.
“You’re staring too,” he said after a moment, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
“I’m not.”
“You are,” he countered easily. “I think you like what you see.”
I rolled my eyes, heat creeping to my cheeks. But I was relieved his brief absence of Max-isms was over. “You’re so cocky.”
“All 8 and a half inches would agree.”
His grin stretched smugly across his face when he saw my mouth drop open. He cranked up the music.
We pulled off into town, and instead of heading straight to the tattoo shop, Max parked in front of a tiny corner diner.
“I’m starving,” he said. “And you need food, otherwise you get… moody.”
“Moody?” I arched a brow, getting out of the truck and meeting him on the sidewalk.
He mimicked me, sticking his bottom lip out in a dramatic pout. “Max…” he whined in a high-pitched voice. “I’m so hungry, I’m shaking.”
I shoved his shoulder, laughing, but he caught my wrist and spun me into him.
For a second, we were too close. Chest to chest. His gaze dropped to my mouth, lingered, and for one second, I swore he might actually—
He cleared his throat and stepped back, releasing me. “Come on, baby. Pancakes.”
He mimed an eating motion, and I stared hungrily at the way his arms flexed with the movement.
Baby. He had called me, baby.
Get a grip, Mackenzie.
His hand squeezed my waist on the way inside, just enough to make me squeak. I needed to start calling him dangerous, because he was making me feel things I had never felt before.
The diner was washed in sunlight, and the booth was too small for someone his size.
He grunted as he tried to get comfortable.
We sat side by side, despite the tight squeeze, practically on top of each other.
His thigh brushed mine every time he shifted, and though my mind pretended not to notice, my body did.
We were too entuned to each other. It was hard not to react. I could feel his restraint rippling through his movements, too. We were both trying to behave, but we didn’t want to.
“Want a milkshake?” I asked, clearing my throat and flipping open the laminated menu.
“It’s 10 a.m.,” he said, looking down at his menu.
“So? Afraid it’ll ruin that perfect body of yours?” I teased.
His head tipped back slowly, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips as he draped one arm across the back of my chair, his thumb resting provocatively close to my shoulder.
“That’s the third time you’ve mentioned my body, Trouble,” he said. “I’m starting to think you’ve got an obsession.”
His tone was cocky, but his eyes softened, like he liked the idea of me wanting him. Like it made him weak in ways he’d never admit.
The soft click of the jukebox cut through the chatter in the diner. “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac began to play, and I let my gaze drift over to Max. His knee bounced under the table, jittery, fingers toying with the napkin holder. He was nervous.
A slow, wicked sort of confidence unfurled inside me, settling in like I’d just been handed the next move in the chess match.
“Maybe, I do.” I bit my bottom lip between my teeth, my eyes dragging over his shoulders and the veins in his forearm. “Or maybe, I just haven’t decided what I want to do with you yet.”
The words tumbled out before I could stop them. I didn’t even realize how breathless I sounded until the words came out. The thrill hit me low in my stomach. I’d never flirted like this with anyone.
And definitely not with Max.
He blinked. His mouth opened, then shut. No sound. Nothing. Not one damn word. Just a low, soft grunt that told me everything I needed to know.
I could see the red blush forming under his skin as the color crept up his neck.
His fingers curled against the table like he needed something to hold onto.
His jaw flexed, and his knee bounced hard under the table, like his whole body was wound too tight, and the only thing that would cure the ache was me.
“Christ,” he muttered, almost a growl. His voice was thick with heat. “You’re gonna make it real hard to finish breakfast.”