Chapter Fourteen. Mackenzie
chapter fourteen
MACKENZIE
Weirdly, if you Google “things to pack for an impromptu road trip to your not-boyfriend, not-ex-boyfriend’s estranged father in Boston,” the results are less than helpful. Which is why I’m only just zipping my duffel by the time there’s a knock at my door.
“Just a sec!” I call, but then the door opens. It’s Hannah, chic as ever in a pair of black trouser shorts and a pale cream mock neck tank.
I glance down at my light wash jeans and crew neck. “Shoot. Did we have plans?”
“No, I just wanted to drop these off,” she says, dangling the new Hannah Says–branded kitchen pans in various shades of pink. “Definitely wouldn’t be mad if they happened to make it into an Instagram story.”
I lift them up to admire them. “Bold of you to think I can cook.”
“Bold of you to be hooking up with Sam Blaze.”
I nearly drop the pans on my feet. “Did someone see us?”
It would be my own damn fault if someone did. As committed as we’ve been to keeping our fun under wraps, it’s easier said than done. My hands drift to Sam instinctively now that I’ve come dangerously close to forgetting to keep them to myself when we’re not alone.
But Hannah’s eyes widen, incredulous. “I was bluffing, but damn.”
I let out a breath of relief. I’ve got my artistic integrity to worry about, but that’s nothing compared to what Sam’s got on the line. A huge part of our working together is to make sure the media focus stays off Ben. If the press thought we were sneaking around, it could start a field day.
“Well, I can only assume from the moony eyes you had opening the door that he’s on his way over.”
My cheeks burn. “We’re taking a road trip for the album. And we’re not—it isn’t serious.”
Hannah turns abruptly, putting both of her tastefully bejeweled hands on my cheeks and holding me there. I brace myself for her to ask why things didn’t work out with Grayson, but her eyes are surprisingly stern.
“That man broke your heart, Mack. I don’t know the details, but that seventh song made it sound like it messed you up big time.”
I can’t deny it, especially now that Serena’s brought it up. Still, we’ve been so focused on trying to lock Serena down that I was hoping Hannah would let that slide.
“Well—it worked,” I say. “Writing the song, I mean. I’m over him.”
Over him and on every side of him and just short of under him. If anyone finds my last shred of self-control somewhere out on the streets of New York I hope they let me know.
Or maybe I don’t.
“Then why aren’t you posting it?” she asks.
A fair question. Posting the last song was meant to give me closure, to end the story of what might have been. Only now I’m looking back and wondering if maybe I had the story wrong this entire time.
This could be a hell of a lot more than fun . The words are playing on repeat like their own song, one I can’t get out of my head.
The scary thing is that Sam means them. Or at least he thinks he does. It’s what could make him more lethal than any of the guys who came before him, if I let him in. The other guys knew they were playing me, but Sam—he doesn’t even know how fast he’ll lose interest, once the rush is over.
I’ve seen firsthand how much he loves the thrill of a chase. He’s never even dated anyone long enough to be in a relationship. I’m ridiculous if I think that whatever we’ve got going on right now is going to magic him into wanting one.
So I’ll have my fun. Take a page out of Sam’s old playbook, and not let my feelings get tangled in it. Whatever Sam thinks he’s feeling will pass before we go and wreck the perfectly good friendship we have now.
Hannah pulls her hands off my face. “Sam aside, you’ve got half of Tick Tune in a frenzy,” she reminds me.
I wince. I had to hide the notifications from the app so Sam wouldn’t see them flooding in, all of them asking Seven why the last song is overdue.
“Well, it’s finished,” I tell her. “I’m posting it. Ending the whole saga.”
Hannah crosses her arms. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“Then behold,” I say, pulling my phone out of my pocket. In the app there’s a draft of a clip teasing the final song, and then the actual recording of it. The one I was working yesterday morning, when I lost track of time and Sam overheard through the door.
I finished it after he left. It’s less about what might have been now, and more about what could be. Less about Sam, even, and more about me.
It’s not like Seven’s other songs. It’s still guarded, but hopeful. No matter what my feelings are for Sam or any other man, I have learned from all the hurt that led to Seven. I’ll never be so reckless with my heart again.
Hannah raises an eyebrow at me. I meet her eye, then tap “publish” on the teaser.
While it loads, I wait for that quick burst of relief.
My heartbreak has been a pressure valve building for years, and every one of these songs has been letting a bit of the air back out, letting me breathe.
But when the video posts all I feel is a flutter under my ribs.
Like maybe it took something this time I didn’t mean to give.
I pull in a breath, tapping the other draft and scheduling it to go up in a few days.
“There,” I say. “Done.”
But Hannah’s looking at her own phone now, her expression pinched. I get the text a moment later—it’s from Isla:
Hey girlies! Thought I’d let you know before the news breaks that Serena has decided to go a different direction with her management. Love you all to pieces. Catching a flight now but around to chat this weekend!
I blink at the message. “Serena… fired Isla?” I manage. “Why on earth would she do that?”
Hannah knows as much as I do, which is nothing at all. Serena was so cagey at Hannah’s apartment yesterday that we barely got two words out of her. At one point she fully pulled out her laptop and started typing in Hannah’s office.
The screen was tilted when I walked in with her wine, enough for me to see that she was working out of a Google doc. Rocket’s name was on it, along with other acts who had opened for her. She slammed the laptop shut before I could see more, and told me to worry about my own act when I asked.
“She still hasn’t rescheduled those tour dates, either,” says Hannah worriedly.
Hannah tried to bring that up yesterday, too.
Serena curtly told her that she was looking at dates in the fall, and not to worry about it.
But her eyebrow was twitching in that way it only does when she hasn’t slept, and her usually immaculate nails were bitten to shreds.
Whenever either of us tried to press, she changed the subject fast enough to give us whiplash.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “We’re her best friends. If she’s not telling us what’s going on, who is she telling?”
The answer, I know, is a resounding nobody . Serena was the boss when she had us as bandmates, but without us she’s gone full lone wolf.
Hannah slides her phone back into her pocket. “I think you’ve got to get her alone, Mack.”
I shake my head. “She’s so angry with me right now,” I say. “She’ll stonewall me if you’re not there.”
“Maybe,” says Hannah thoughtfully. “But I think—the few times Serena ever let herself crack, it was with you.”
The guilt hasn’t gone anywhere, but it sinks deeper.
It took a long, long time for Serena to confide in us about anything—and even then, it was rare.
But I was the only one she’d talk to about her parents not coming to our shows, or her younger siblings hitting her up for money.
I was the only one she’d let watch her practice moves she hadn’t nailed yet, trying to get them just right before rehearsal.
And I was the one who took that trust and threw it in her face.
“I hurt her,” I say. “A lot.”
Hannah surprises me by letting out a terse breath. “You said something shitty. You’re human and you apologized. Whatever grudge she’s holding now about the duo, she’s using it to hide.”
My eyes sting. “Even if she is, I think she really is just—done with me.”
Now that I’ve let the hurt rise to the surface, it’s startling how deep it goes.
I’m worried about Serena. But I also miss her.
She’s hurting herself by pushing me away, but she’s hurting me, too.
There’s so much I’ve wanted to tell her—about Seven, about my voice, about all the little, boring things we used to tell each other because we could.
Now I can’t even get her to tell me what’s wrong .
Hannah puts a hand on my arm. “You two have always been close. That doesn’t just go away.”
Hannah’s eyes drift to the wall and linger. It’s the first-ever Thunder Hearts poster—neon-clad and laughing in a confetti blizzard, Serena dead center with her arms hooked around us, pulling us in. Her head’s turned to one side, though. Looking at me.
“You’re the one who’s going to get through to her,” says Hannah.
I blink back tears before they can fall. Hannah’s right. I just don’t know how. It took time to earn Serena’s trust, and now she won’t even give me that.
And the more of her time I try to ask for, the more it hurts when she shuts me out.
“Yeah. Well,” I say, my throat tight. “I’ll try her again when I get back from Boston.”
As if summoned, Sam knocks on the door. Hannah gives me a quick squeeze before letting me go. I’m fully collected by the time Hannah opens the door.
“Hey,” says Sam, surprised to see Hannah, but not missing a beat. He scoops her into a quick hug and raises his eyebrows at me over her shoulder, eyes glinting with mischief. “Hot off the press—Seven is finally posting that last song.”
I go still in the hallway. Sam has made plenty of offhand comments about Seven the past few weeks, but I didn’t think he was following her that closely.
“Oh, is she?” says Hannah innocently as Sam lets her go. “I take it you’re a fan.”
“Yeah, but our girl here hates her,” he says, winking at me.
Our girl. My face flushes, the kind of heat that starts in my cheeks and works its way down. It’s not nearly as bad as when he said Mackenzie yesterday, but it’s pretty damn close.
“I don’t—not—”
Damn. If there’s a way to defend yourself for not liking your other self, I sure as hell don’t know how.
Hannah, on the other hand, is entirely too pleased by this turn of events. “Really, Mackenzie?” she asks. “I thought you had better taste than that.”
I resist the urge to glare at her. “Who says I hate Seven?” I ask Sam.
“Anytime Rocket turns Seven on at the bakery, you make this face.”
Sam flares his nostrils and frowns so comically that Hannah lets out a sharp laugh. The worst part is, I feel myself making the same face right now.
Part of it is just the weird out-of-body guilt of hearing these songs I wrote in front of the man I’m writing the next one about.
But then there is Rocket. Sweet, ridiculous, talented Rocket, who has been sliding into Seven’s DMs to chat for weeks.
I’ve never answered a DM as Seven and never plan to, so if he’s trying to collab like he has with other Tick Tune artists, he doesn’t know he’s wasting his time.
Sam closes the gap between us. Kissing him is so instinctive that I tilt my head in anticipation, only to get pulled into his arms. Right—Hannah’s here.
But his arms wrap tighter than usual and hold me there an extra beat. Some tender part of my chest cinches. He’s nervous.
Everything comes into sharp focus then. For now, at least, I know exactly where I’m needed.
“We’ll take my car,” I say. “I’m driving.”
“Damn. You’re gonna regret trusting me with an aux cord for five hours on the road.”
Hannah kisses my cheek on her way out the door. “The way Mackenzie drives that clunker, she could be Seven.”