Chapter 5
five
MAC
“What the hell was that?” I demanded when I reached Abby.
He sighed. “Just some toxic masculinity and unwelcome realizations.”
I frowned. “Why did Brady go after Connor like that?” And why did I get the feeling it involved me?
Abby glanced at Jase, who shrugged before resuming his seat.
“Mac, I don’t need another fight on my hands. I’d rather not tell you what was said.”
I flung an arm in the direction Connor had gone. I was pretty sure I could see the taillights of his Mercedes bumping over every gopher hole in the field as he fled the scene. “Connor is gone. He hightailed it out of here. I’m not going to kill him.”
This was the first time I’d seen the guy since we were teenagers. I’d avoided him tonight on purpose. I didn’t want to end up in jail, either.
Back at Kirby Falls High, Connor Pritchard had been one of the popular crowd. At sixteen, I’d been shocked that he’d wanted anything to do with me. But I’d learned pretty quickly that he only wanted to get in my pants. When I’d asked him to slow down one night, he’d told the whole school I was a tease. The guy had made an enemy of me for life. And he’d made me feel like there was something wrong with me for not wanting to lose my virginity in his parents’ basement with a neon Coors Light sign hanging over my head.
So, yeah, there was no love lost between us. I sure as hell wasn’t pining for the idiot. I just wanted to know what had gone down on the other side of the bonfire. I was nosy, and I didn’t like other people in my business if what had happened did, in fact, involve me somehow.
“And Brady’s gone too,” I said. “I won’t be causing any trouble tonight. Come on, Abby. Tell me what happened.”
Abby released a breath, clouding the air between us, before wincing and repeating what Connor said about my tits. I mean, he wasn’t lying. I did have great boobs, but they hadn’t joined the puberty party until I was almost eighteen. Connor was still a pig, though.
“And Brady reacted how Brady does. We told Connor to shut his mouth and grow up. He slunk away in embarrassment rather than face any sort of consequences or facilitate personal growth.” Abby shrugged like what can you do?
I felt my brows narrow as I pieced the altercation together. “So Brady ... like ...”
“Defended your honor,” Jase supplied helpfully without glancing up from his cell phone.
“Defended my honor,” I repeated dumbly before meeting Abby’s gaze. “But why?”
“I don’t know, Mac. Why would Brady do that?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly, like the answer was obvious.
I swallowed awkwardly. Maybe it was because of last Friday. Maybe he felt sorry for me. That could explain why he’d been acting so weird when he first got here. I could tell he was waiting for me to bring up my drunken escapades from last weekend. But I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.
There was also the fact that I couldn’t really remember what had happened. That knowledge burned. I knew he’d found me out by the barn and that I’d nearly fallen over, but he’d helped me to the ground. Being on the receiving end of Brady’s assistance chafed a little around the edges. Humiliation threatened, but I wasn’t going to let him see that .
In my fuzzy memories, I thought he might have sat with me for a while until I fell asleep. I couldn’t recall what our conversation had been about or if we’d even talked at all. Knowing Brady, there had been plenty of talking. I could vaguely remember the scent of Axe body spray. That was probably why I’d been so nauseous, not the six-pack I’d put away on my own in a relatively short amount of time.
Damn Larry for trying to parent me. At the time, it had seemed important to prove a point.
And I’d proven it all right. I was almost thirty years old, and I could not hang. My hangover had lasted two days. Hence, the water I’d been drinking tonight and for the foreseeable future.
I’d been fine abstaining. I’d actually been having a good time until that almost fight had broken out and made everything weird.
Because, apparently, Brady had stood up for me.
Stranger things had happened, but I sure as hell couldn’t think of one right this minute.
My attention drifted to all the vehicles parked in the distance. I hadn’t heard two leave. Maybe Brady was still here.
He needed to know that Mac Clark could take care of herself. I didn’t need him, of all people, rushing to my aid. The idiot who thought I’d vandalized his property. The man who goaded me every chance he got. My nemesis since diapers.
I shook my head, fully intent on giving Brady Judd a piece of my mind.
“I don’t know,” I said, finally answering Abby’s question about why Brady had done what he’d done.
Abby hung his head in response.
“But I’m going to find out.”
His gaze snapped up. “That is a great idea.”
I gave him a nod and a wave and headed in the direction of the field, but then I spun back around, remembering my manners. “Oh, and, Abby? Thanks for carrying me out of here last week. Sorry for getting so wasted. ”
He gave me a look that my grandmother pulled out sometimes. It very clearly said, Bless your heart, you sweet little idiot .
I scowled. “What?”
“I didn’t carry you anywhere.”
“But—Larry said?—”
Abby smiled, his dark eyes sparkling with humor from beneath the bill of his Flyers hat.
“Then who ...” I trailed off as the horrible realization swallowed me in increments like quicksand.
“You’re getting there,” Abby said happily. “I always knew that A/B honor roll would come in handy for you someday, Mac.”
With a growl, I turned and stomped off toward the field. I could see headlights shining in the back row of parked trucks, illuminating the thick trees and undergrowth that surrounded the property.
There was no way Brady was going to get away with riding to my rescue twice in one week. Just who did he think he was?
I’d known Brady my whole life. He’d been my childhood tormentor. My prankster equivalent. The pain in my admittedly great ass. But I’d been all of those things right back.
He’d never once tried to take on this misguided role of gentleman protector. We didn’t do the nice, polite thing. We were real with each other—our most unhinged selves. He was the one person I could count on to not go easy on me.
I relied on his ridiculous sense of humor, his consistent immaturity, and his dedication to revenge. We were supposed to be on the same page. He was not supposed to carry me to my car and make sure I got home okay. Nor was he supposed to stand up to bullies and defend me behind my back without even blackmailing me over it!
Brady had deviated from his role—from our expected outcomes. He’d entered uncharted territory, and I didn’t like it. Not one bit.
Did I owe him now? How could I reciprocate all of ... that ?
And where had this knight in tarnished armor even come from? Just a few weeks ago, he was accusing me of destruction of property. And for the last twenty-five-odd years, he’d been taking every opportunity to get under my skin.
Frustration mounting, I shook off thoughts of the past as I tromped across the dying grass of autumn toward my target.
Brady doing something nice tonight didn’t really matter. We had a history to contend with. And I was good at holding a grudge. Two good deeds didn’t change things between us. It just turned down the volume. We were how we were. We played to win.
Except now, he was trying to change the rules of the game.
I marched right up to Brady’s big truck and peered in the passenger-side window. What I saw had me pausing with my fist raised, prepared to knock and get his attention. But Brady was hunched over the steering wheel, hanging on for dear life and breathing like he’d just run a four-minute mile.
Stunned to high heaven, I remained motionless, watching him heave with panting breaths. He looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack. What the hell? Why would a run-in with Connor Pritchard make him react this way?
I made a split-second decision and hammered my fist on the glass to get his attention, figuring he’d be better off in the long run if I snapped him out of whatever was going on inside that brain of his.
Except Brady jumped a mile in surprise, smacking his head on the top of his truck.
Wincing, I opened the door and slipped inside. “What? You thought I was carjacking you?”
Brady stared at me incredulously. “What are you doing? Trying to give me a heart attack?”
You looked like you were already in the middle of one , I wanted to say, but kept that to myself. “Not specifically, but it was a nice side effect.” I grinned.
He grimaced and looked away. “Please, MacKenzie. Not tonight.”
Stunned, I turned in the seat to face him fully. He never used my full first name. It was always Mac Mac or Big Mac or MacBook Pro or Mac Daddy. Between this fact and the scene I’d walked in on, something was up. Sudden interest had my eyes narrowing. The urge to be nosy threatened, but I’d followed him out here for a reason.
“Listen, Brady, they told me what you did. What you said to Connor,” I clarified. “And while I do not need a man to defend my honor—I can defend my own honor, thank you very much—I still appreciate the effort.”
Brady wasn’t giving me his attention, and I didn’t like it. His focus was trained on the windshield in front of him. The blue glow from his dashboard highlighted the hard swallow he took.
What was going on here? Why was he so visibly rattled, and why had he bothered standing up to Connor in the first place?
Curiosity getting the better of me, I blurted, “So why did you? Do it, I mean. Why did you get in Connor’s face and defend me like that?”
Finally, Brady’s gaze swung to mine. His eyes looked troubled, and his face was tense in a way that was completely unnatural and unexpected. This guy could talk down an irate customer, charm tourists and locals alike, and diffuse nearly any situation. I’d watched him stop a bar fight at Mattie B’s by juggling billiard balls and singing “Sweet Home Alabama” at the top of his lungs. Seeing him without a smile on his face was a rare occurrence. Even when we sparred, he always looked like he was enjoying it.
“I really can’t do this right now, Mac.” His tone was worryingly quiet.
“Do what?” I asked genuinely.
He huffed a quiet laugh that was completely devoid of humor. “Argue. Fight. Coexist in a confined space. Take your pick.”
“I’m just talking.”
Brady’s look said, Come on now . “We never just talk.”
I was sure we’d managed one or two civil conversations in our very long shared history. Probably. And there had been whatever we’d talked about last Friday when I was three sheets to the wind. I didn’t remember fighting with him then. And apparently, he’d carried me to Larry’s car. A fact I’d be discussing with my cousin very soon .
“We’ve talked before,” I challenged. “There was the science project sophomore year.”
“We got in a fight during the presentation in front of the whole class, and you broke the trifold presentation board over my head.”
I winced. Right. I’d gotten a week of detention for that. We’d managed a B minus, though.
“Oh,” I countered. “What about that spring league in middle school where we both had soccer practice at the same time at Tanner Park, and my mom drove us to the field twice a week?” I remembered sitting in the backseat talking about our favorite players and arguing whether the US women’s team was better than the men’s. His parents had been overworked with three kids and the orchard. My mother had offered to drive Brady to help them out. I’d grumped and eaten dinner in my room for a week when she’d told me.
Before he could question it, I went on, “And I drove you home a few weeks ago. We survived that car ride.”
But he was already shaking his head. “I don’t think I can manage it right now—trapped in a car or otherwise, okay?”
“Why? I don’t understand.”
Through gritted teeth, he said, “I’m having a revelation here, and I need a minute.”
So I counted to sixty in my head. He went back to staring out the windshield and gripping the steering wheel like the lap bar of a roller coaster.
I felt like I was at the zoo, observing an animal I’d never seen before. This version of Brady Judd was just as mysterious and confusing as an albino giraffe.
When a full minute of silence passed, I said, “Well, how much longer?”
“Damn it, Mac!” Brady brought one hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose in obvious frustration before glaring at me. “I just realized I would have put Connor fucking Pritchard in the hospital. I would have done anything to shut his stupid ass up for talking shit about you. No one gets to talk about you like that.”
“Except you, right?” I said on instinct and then regretted it immediately .
Brady deflated, looking stricken. His eyes lowered to the console between us and quiet descended, so thick and heavy I could feel it pressing me into my seat.
His strange admission about Connor made me feel things—inconvenient things like gratitude and satisfaction. I was a petty sort of person, and I liked the idea of that asshole getting what was coming to him. But having the potential hand of justice belong to my longtime nemesis gave me mixed feelings. Up was down. Day was night. What were Brady Judd’s motivations anyway? Why the hell should he care about defending my honor?
I still wanted answers to those questions, but this alternate-reality version of Brady was incapable of providing them. Maybe he was disturbed by the near violence of what had happened. Perhaps he hadn’t thought himself capable of hurting someone and was now struggling with the possibility.
But there had been that shoving match a few years back with Floyd Ellerby. Brady hadn’t reacted like this back then. He’d joked around with the cops who’d showed up, and he and Abby had talked their way out of any citations or arrests.
My eyes narrowed as I watched Brady avoid my gaze and attempt to slow his breathing.
I wondered what it would take to get him to snap out of whatever spiral I was witnessing. If I thought teasing him would work, I’d do it. But something told me that was not the answer. That he was thirty seconds away from abandoning me in his own truck just to get away from my questions and my presence.
This was the first time—maybe in my whole life—that Brady Judd had ignored me, and I was shocked to realize I didn’t fucking like it.
How could I get him to just talk to me, to tell me what was going on? To stop avoiding me?
Suddenly, Brady licked his lower lip and then sighed. My gaze followed the movement, and I straightened.
I wondered what he’d do if I leaned across the console and just ... kissed him.
Maybe I’d thought about kissing him before—once or twice. He had nice lips when they weren’t constantly yapping, full and soft looking. And he was, admittedly, a handsome guy. He had that Captain America thing going on. Tall but not imposing. The only thing brighter than his smile were his blue eyes. They were framed by dark lashes that were unfairly long. And there was something about that dimple in his right cheek.
There had been times, mid-argument, when I figured pushing up onto my toes and bringing my mouth to his might actually shock the life out of him. But typically those deeply traitorous thoughts were quickly replaced and became secondary to the urge to smack him upside the head.
But here and now, in the overly warm cab of Brady’s truck, my eyes lingered. I took in the wide shape of his mouth, the plushness of his lower lip. That ridiculous mustache that didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of growing on his perpetual baby face. My phantom gaze slid to his cheek. I knew exactly where his dimple would appear if he’d just turn back into himself and stop being this weird, serious version who apparently didn’t smile. Or look at me. Or answer my questions.
I swore this was the one time I actually needed his big mouth to talk.
Well, he’d never been particularly good at giving me what I wanted, but, honestly, that was part of the fun.
So I made a decision. One that was reckless and irresponsible and, frankly, desperate. I leaned forward, keeping my eyes on my target. With one hand, I braced myself on the center console, and with the other, I snagged the front of his ridiculous puffy vest, pulling him toward me.
Brady’s head snapped up, and his confused expression was the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes and planted my lips firmly on his.
He made a sound of alarm, and I wondered briefly if he thought I was trying to attack him or suck his soul out or something. That had me smiling against his mouth, my lips separating as they widened in amusement.
But then I felt Brady’s hands come up to gently cradle my face. His touch traced the length of my jaw before grasping my chin—a firm press into the divot below my bottom lip. The long fingers of his other hand pushed into my hair, and it was my turn to make a sound in the back of my throat. Brady’s mouth opened with mine, and I felt our tongues meet in the middle, a tentative pass at first—more cautious and timid than I ever expected either one of us to be. However, with each stroke, we grew bolder .
It didn’t take long. Foreign attraction surged through me, not unwelcome but sure as hell unexpected. I was hot all over. My initial goal had been distraction. We were well past that now, and I couldn’t stop, didn’t want to. We kept kissing and touching.
My fingers tightened into a fist, still trapped between us in the fabric of his vest so I could keep him close, exploring his mouth and sucking on his tongue.
One of his hands smoothed down the side of my neck. He was so warm, and I liked the weight of his rough hand and the pressure of his fingers wrapping around my nape, drawing me closer.
I must have been too far gone, drunk on this unforeseen detonation of lust and the way our kisses had turned frantic and sloppy, because I wasn’t the least bit worried he’d shift his hold and strangle the daylights out of me. I was fully in the moment, groaning as he sucked my bottom lip into his mouth and gave it a firm bite.
I fully intended on doing that right back—grazing my teeth over the lush bottom curve of his mouth and making him squirm in return—but a moment later, an engine revved somewhere close by. We broke apart abruptly as the sound intruded. There were two more loud growls of a big redneck truck before someone else honked a horn and hollered.
Brady and I stared at one another, chests heaving, as the commotion carried on behind his vehicle. The bonfire was breaking up. People were leaving.
And I was in Brady Judd’s front seat where I’d just kissed the hell out of him. Oh my God .
I watched as his eyes dropped to my lips, and some shameless hussy inside me shouted, We should do that again! For science!
But then his blue gaze met mine and widened. “What the hell was that?!”
“I don’t know!” I shouted back, unprepared for his reaction.
Brady stared at me in bug-eyed astonishment.
I felt defensive all of a sudden. “I don’t know,” I snapped. “It got you to stop freaking out about Connor Pritchard, who is honestly not worth the effort.” I noticed Brady’s gaping mouth and inability to speak and amended, “But now you’re freaking out about this, so I’m not sure it was the best decision. ”
He visibly made the effort to speak several times, but nothing came out.
“You look like a dying fish,” I observed helpfully. “I never thought I’d see the day you were stunned into silence.”
“Congratulations,” he choked out.
My gaze strayed to his lips. “I know that mustache is still in its infancy, but it kind of tickles.”
“I’ve been growing it for over a month,” he replied flatly.
“Whoops. My bad.” I grinned. This sort of teasing felt good. We were getting back on track. Back to normal ... if you didn’t count the making-out thing.
“Are we going to talk about this?” Brady said seriously, pulling us out of the familiar once again.
“About what?” I attempted.
I thought I might have pushed him too far because he gestured wildly between us. “Your face! My face!” Then he smooshed his hands together in a violent back-and-forth.
I snorted in amusement, and he glared.
Then I thought about the kiss, how it had been ... good. Great, if I was being honest. Even with the fine hairs of his failed mustache. I remembered the sounds he’d made, needy and eager. His touch was gentle but determined, like I was delicate but he remembered at the last moment exactly who he was dealing with. There had been something desperate in his touch. It was as if he just couldn’t help himself. The way we’d caught flame from a tiny spark. I could still feel his hand on the back of my neck urging me closer, the way he’d bitten my bottom lip and then soothed it with his tongue. He’d tasted like citrus, like the orange Tic Tacs he used to crunch all the time.
Suddenly, I didn’t feel like laughing anymore.
“Mac,” he said impatiently, and I got the sense it wasn’t the first time he’d tried to get my attention.
I’d been too caught up in replaying what had happened .
Dear God, I wanted to do it again. I wanted to climb across the center console, straddle his lap, and have him make those hungry sounds all over again. I wanted to feel his hand stroke down my neck to other more interesting places.
With a jolt of gutting awareness and sudden panic, I straightened. “No. No, we are not going to talk about it. We shall never speak of it again!”
At my admittedly forceful declaration, something complicated happened to Brady’s face. If I didn’t know any better, I would have said he looked hurt or disappointed.
But then he nodded stiffly, just once. “Good to know. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home.”
Swallowing hard, I climbed out of his truck on unsteady legs. I left without my answers or another word, wondering what the hell I’d just done.