Chapter Twenty. Sam
chapter twenty
SAM
When I wake, Mackenzie is still in my arms, her chest rising and falling against mine. The sun is streaming in through the window, glowing against Mackenzie’s wild curls, brightening the curve of her pale hip.
I wanted to tell her when she first offered to come to Boston. I wanted to tell her as she was running her fingers through my hair in the shower, staring up at me. I wanted to tell her the day we met, and I want to wake her up to tell her right now.
I love you.
I’ve known it for a long time, but now I know that nothing I do in this life could ever make me stop.
She stirs. I stay very still. I know what last night meant to me. I know what she means to me. But if she still thinks we’re having “fun”—well, I don’t have any idea what that’ll do to me now.
She blinks the sleep out of her eyes. When they meet mine, they’re steady and unsurprised. There’s a smile curling on her lips. It’s still blooming when she tilts her head up to kiss me.
The relief is dizzying. I pull her in tighter, savoring every soft, warm inch of her pressed against me, breathing in that flowery Mackenzie scent. She’s still smiling when we pull apart. I take her chin, tracing her lips with my thumb.
“Something funny?” I ask, hoarse from sleep.
She nods into my palm, grazing her teeth over my thumb.
“I thought I wasn’t a morning person,” she says, hooking a leg over my hip. “Turns out I am if I wake up like this.”
Damn if I don’t know the feeling. Turns out I’m an everything person if it means I’ve got all of Mackenzie Waters in my arms.
We’re slower and sweeter about it this time. She is surprisingly shy in the light of day, but not for long. I was proud of myself last night for finally getting Mackenzie to sing, but I’m a whole lot more satisfied with the sounds I’m getting out of her now.
The sun is casting shorter shadows through the window as I lie back on the mattress, Mackenzie’s head on my chest, my hands in her hair.
The city is coming to life. Cars on the road.
Lawn mowers whirring to life. My phone buzzing with a text, letting me know that Lizzie and Kara will be an hour late getting back with Ben tonight.
I press a kiss to Mackenzie’s temple. “You stay here,” I say. “I’ll grab breakfast.”
“I’ll come with you,” she offers.
I shake my head. “I want you right here when I get back,” I say. “Don’t move an inch, you hear me?”
The August air is balmy and heavy from the storm as I walk out of the Airbnb, but for once my head is clear.
The thing is, I’ve spent most of my life waiting for the other shoe to drop.
When Candy Shard finally made it big, and I was so scared I’d fuck it up for us.
When Lizzie told me about Ben, and I was so scared that I’d fuck everything up for him .
When Mackenzie crashed back into my life, and I realized I’d fucked everything up for myself.
But my feet are firmly planted now. I’ll drive us home after breakfast. I’ll tell Mackenzie how I feel. I’ll close the book on Caspar.
We’ll finish the album, do the showcase, and then—I don’t know. For once, I’m not worried about not knowing. I saw enough of the future in Mackenzie’s eyes last night. Maybe I don’t have the words for it like she does, but I know she’s in this as deep as I am.
But just as soon as I have the thought, the words come. Fast and easy, like a song—one I’ve lived with for so long that it feels less like I’m writing something and more like I’m remembering it. A song that started the day I met Mackenzie, and has been stuck in my head ever since.
I stop on a bench, recording what I can before the foot traffic starts to pick up. I point myself back to Rocket’s cafe and pass the bar where I met Caspar on the way. It’s shuttered from last night. I glance in the window, catching my reflection.
Messy hair, hands in my pockets, public face set on the verge of a smirk. I do it without thinking now. I know how easy it is to be caught by a random camera lens. But for the first time I don’t just resent it because it feels like a lie—I resent it because it reminds me of him .
I stand up straighter. Drop the face. Ease my hands out of my pockets.
And turn to a flash directly in my eyes.
“How do you respond to the accusations that you’re a nepo baby?”
These days when someone puts a camera in my face, it’s usually a fan. But this is a damn pap. The worst kind, too—the kind that gets under your skin to get you to react. When I first found out about Ben, they’d wait outside Sugar Harmony like snakes.
“Do you have other half-siblings, or are you the only secret love child?”
Jesus. There isn’t one pap, but two.
“Why did you lie about being Caspar Quentin’s son?”
The panic doesn’t even have time to set in.
I know the drill by now: Find a restaurant.
Find a cafe. But when I turn and start walking, there’s nowhere to go—it’s too early for anything on this block to be open, and as I walk down the street the paps are shouting at me loudly enough to wake the damn dead.
“What does Ben think about all this?”
My ears are ringing, but my next thought is clear as a bell: There goes the other shoe.