Chapter Four
Mackenzie
Cause I'll be there, in the back of your mind
From the day we met 'till you were making me cry
And it's just too bad, cause you've already had the best days
The best days of your life
- ‘The best days of your life’ Kellie Pickler
Looking in the mirror, I turn slightly from side to side, assessing the reflection staring back at me.
For the first time in weeks, maybe months, I actually feel…
pretty. Confident. The midnight blue dress I’m wearing is off-the-shoulder, the fabric hugging my body just right, skimming over curves without feeling too tight.
The hem stops mid-thigh, teasing enough skin to feel bold but not desperate.
I pair it with a black pair of wedges, smarter than heels because I can actually dance in them without wanting to cut my feet off halfway through the night.
My hair is loose, the soft waves framing my face in a way that almost looks like bedhead but with the kind of calculated effort that takes twenty minutes and the right curling iron.
I’ve gone light on the makeup, just enough to bring out my eyes and add some warmth to my cheeks.
If we’re going to be dancing, I know anything heavy will just melt away, leaving me looking like a raccoon in every candid photo Jena inevitably takes.
A knock sounds at my door, sharp but familiar, and I head down the short hallway. Jena is standing there, beaming, in a black mini skirt and a low-cut red tank top that looks like it was made for her.
“Ahhhh, I missed you, girl!” She pulls me into a hug, and I hadn’t realized how much I missed her too until her arms are around me. It’s been years since we’ve been face-to-face, and in that moment, it feels like no time has passed and all the lost years hit at the same time.
“I missed you. I’m so glad we made plans to go out tonight.” I grab my purse, lock the door, and follow her out to the waiting Uber. The summer night air is warm and smells faintly of cut grass and someone’s barbecue down the street.
“So how was the interview today?” Jena asks as we slide into the back seat.
“It went good. I got it.” I shrug, though the memory of seeing Logan there weighs heavier than the words suggest.
“Don’t sound so excited,” she says, narrowing her eyes as the driver pulls away from the curb.
Sighing, I glance over at her. “I didn’t realize when I set the interview that it was a place Logan goes to, frequently. His sister was actually working at the bar when I walked in.”
“Wait.” Jena’s hand lands on my leg, halting my train of thought. “You interviewed at Ambrosia? How did you not realize that belongs to the club?”
“I don’t know.” I throw up my hands. “I didn’t even connect the dots. I knew they owned clubs, but I didn’t know the name of it. Even if I did, how was I supposed to know he’d be at his dad’s place?”
“Um, Mac, that isn’t his dad’s place.”
I tilt my head, confusion making me blink. “It belongs to the club still, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah…” Jena takes a breath, her expression shifting. “You’ve missed a lot since you’ve been gone. Logan runs the club now. He’s the president.”
My eyes go wide. That explains more than I want it to. If that’s the case, I’m surprised Allison could hire me without his okay. “I don’t know,” I murmur. “I’ve done my best to put any thoughts of him, and this town behind me since the moment I left.”
Jena’s face falls slightly, and I realize that by doing that, I’d also ignored her. Ignored us.
“I know I was an asshole for not keeping in touch like I should have. I’m sorry.”
She gives me a small smile. “I get it, girl. You can make it up to me now. Starting with buying the first-round tonight.” She winks, and I laugh, tension easing. “So, did Logan lose his shit when he saw you?”
The car slows in front of a bar called McGraw’s.
“He was there when I walked in and looked like he’d seen a ghost. He even tried to tell the manager not to hire me.”
“What a dick. Well, screw him. He’s the one who ended it, now you can be the one to make him regret it.” Jena winks again as we get out of the car.
McGraw’s has a wide patio where people stand clustered together, laughing and smoking.
The muted thump of bass leaks out from inside, mingling with the scent of beer and fried food.
We weave through the crowd to the front door, a creaky screen that’s almost swallowed by the noise of the music inside.
Off to the right, a few pool tables draw a loud group of onlookers, their shouts rising and falling with each shot taken. The bar itself is crowded, the kind of organized chaos where everyone knows their spot and their bartender.
I order a round of shots and two beers. We toss the shots back, the burn warming my chest, and grab our beers before heading toward the open floor.
Country music blares from the speakers, the beat vibrating in my ribs.
The warm buzz hits quickly, loosening my shoulders, and my hips start to sway without conscious thought.
“Oh, shit.” Jena’s voice cuts through, and I follow her gaze toward the pool table. The crowd parts just enough for me to see him, Logan, standing there staring at me like I’m some strange apparition he can’t quite place.
I let my eyes trace him without meaning to.
His light brown hair is a little longer, the sides buzzed short.
His skin is tanned, his frame broader and harder than the teenage boy who used to chase me through the park.
The white t-shirt he’s wearing pulls across his chest under the leather jacket, his dark wash jeans hanging low on narrow hips.
When he crosses his arms, the fabric of his sleeves strains against biceps that have seen a lot of work.
Turning away quickly, I mutter to Jena, “I really don’t need this. Maybe we should just go somewhere else.” I bite my lip, heat prickling at my neck.
“Hell no. This is your home too. If he’s pissed, he can leave.” She rolls her eyes and shoots Logan a glare. “…Or he can watch you have a good time and eat his heart out.”
“Hey ladies, what are you all drinkin’?” A voice cuts in close to my ear, making me jump. I turn to find a man in a flannel shirt and worn work jeans, his belly pushing against the fabric, breath tinged with beer.
“Whatever you’re buying!” Jena laughs, pulling me closer to the bar where he and his friend stand.
The guys buy us a few rounds of shots, but by the third, I decline.
My balance feels a little off, my thoughts fuzzier than I’d like.
It’s been a long time since I drank like this.
On the upside, the alcohol has dulled the awareness of Logan’s presence until I glance back and find his eyes locked on me.
It’s the kind of stare that pins you in place, searing through every layer of composure. My pulse jumps, but I force myself to look away.
Grabbing Jena’s hand, I lead her toward the small group of people dancing. “Let’s dance. I need a break from drinking.”
We spin and laugh, but when I get dizzy, I stumble back, straight into something solid.
“Why’d you run away so quick, darlin’?” The man from earlier is behind me, moving his body against mine in rhythm with the music. At first, I try to ignore it, but then his hand slides lower, gripping my hips, grinding closer.
Instantly, the buzz fades. I need air. I try to step away, but his fingers dig in, pinching skin.
I glance for Jena, but her back is to me, lost in her own dance.
Calm down, Mac.
You’re fine.
This isn’t Watson.
You’re in public.
Jena’s right here.
You’re good.
I try again to step away. His grip tightens.
“Aw, come on, don’t go all dead fish on me now.” His breath is hot and stale with cigarettes. One hand starts to move up my thigh, and every part of me screams no.
I shift my weight, ready to stomp his foot, but suddenly he’s gone, on the floor, scrambling back. Logan stands over him, eyes dark with rage.
“You ever fucking touch her again and you’ll lose your damn hands.” Logan’s voice is low but lethal, and the man nods quickly before stumbling away.
Logan’s gaze sweeps the room, a silent warning to anyone thinking of trying something similar.
Who the hell does he think he is?
I glare, heat rushing to my face. “I don’t know who you think you are, Logan Pearce. I can handle my own shit.” My finger jabs his chest, each word sharper than the last.
“Yeah, looked like you were in control. Maybe next time wear something that covers more than your ass and you won’t attract assholes like that.” He mutters it low but with enough bite to make it sting before turning his back and walking out.
I stand there, stunned, fury burning in my throat. I regret coming here.
Hell, I regret coming home.