Chapter Six
Mackenzie
Send my love to your new lover
Treat her better
We've gotta let go of all of our ghosts
We both know we ain't kids no more
Send my love to your new lover
Treat her better
- ‘Send My Love (To Your New Lover)’ Adele
As I open my eyes, I feel like I have been hit by a truck. Actually, scratch that—multiple trucks, one after another, like the universe lined them up just for me.
The first truck goes by the name tequila. I love it, but the feeling is not mutual. It’s the kind of friend who shows up with promises of fun and ends the night by pushing you into traffic.
The second truck? Logan.
He blindsided me twice last night. First, going full macho man on the guy in the bar.
Then, looking me dead in the eye and basically telling me I looked like a slut.
As if that wasn’t enough, he made it clear I was not getting home without his involvement, then kissed me and dropped a cryptic message in my lap like some half-solved puzzle.
My lips still tingle at the memory, a phantom sensation I wish I could shake. The kiss had that same pull it always did hot, urgent, and impossible to ignore.
The second the front door clicks shut behind me, I press my back against it like I need it to hold me up. My pulse is still racing, the ghost of his mouth on mine making my skin feel too tight.
What the hell just happened?
I came home tonight pissed off, humiliated, and determined to keep him out of my life. Then in the span of about thirty seconds, Logan Pearce had his hand on mine, pulled me in like he still had the right, and kissed me like no time had passed.
And God help me, I kissed him back.
For a moment, I forgot the years. Forgot the night he ripped my heart out and left me standing in the rain, trying to understand why the boy who swore he loved me suddenly didn’t. Forgot the months I spent rebuilding myself, piece by jagged piece.
My hand presses to my lips, still swollen from his. I hate that I can feel the difference between his kisses and anyone else’s. I hate that it still makes my stomach twist in a way that is equal parts want and warning.
I push off the door and drop my purse onto the small table in the hall, my movements sharper than they need to be. My heels click across the hardwood toward the kitchen, the sound too loud in the quiet house.
I pour a glass of water, take a long drink, and try to steady my breathing. He’s not allowed to do that anymore. He’s not allowed to make me feel like this.
And yet, I’m still standing here, tasting him.
“Get it together, Mac,” I whisper to myself, gripping the counter. “He’s not the boy you loved. He’s the man who let you go without an explanation. Remember that.”
But even as I say it, I know I’m lying to myself. Because the truth is, for the first time in ten years, I’m not sure if I want to run away from him or straight back into his arms.
‘Sometimes we do shit cause we have to, not cause we want to.’ What the hell was that even supposed to mean? Was he talking about the kiss? About us? Something else entirely? My brain tries to put the pieces together, but the more I think about it, the more scattered it feels.
I glance at my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen.
The urge to text him is stupidly strong, though I have no idea what I would even say.
One part of me wants to light him up for last night, for the way he swooped in like some unwanted hero.
Another part, the one I don’t want to acknowledge, wants to know what that kiss meant.
Being with Logan Pearce once made me happier than I ever thought I could be. After I left, I tried dating. Tried moving on. But nothing ever felt right. No one made me feel even a fraction of what I felt with him. And that is exactly why I need to keep my distance.
My phone buzzes in my hand. Jena.
Jena: The hangover is real. What do you say to shopping and carb loading?
I laugh out loud, the sound breaking through the fog in my head. I really did miss her.
Me: Yes please! I’ll pick you up in an hour?
Jena: Sounds good!
I drag myself out of bed, into the shower, letting the hot water wash away as much of the tequila aftermath as it can. I focus on the rhythm of it hitting my skin, forcing away thoughts of Logan.
No matter how good that kiss felt, no matter how much my body betrayed me in that moment, I cannot let myself get tangled up with him again. He destroyed me once, and I’m not handing him the power to do it again.
I towel off and am halfway through pulling on jeans when my phone dings again.
I expect it to be Jena, maybe checking if I’m on time. She’s the type to get ready in fifteen minutes and then bounce around impatiently until it’s time to go.
But it’s not her.
Last night shouldn’t have happened. I hope you can be happy here again. It can’t be with me.
The words hit me like a cold slap. There’s no name, but I don’t need one.
It’s Logan.
My stomach twists, and heat rises up my neck. My fingers fly over the screen before I can second-guess myself.
Me: One, screw you. Two, who said I want anything with you. Three, lose my number because I certainly deleted yours.
I toss the phone onto the bed harder than necessary, the screen bouncing against the blanket.
Jeans. T-shirt. Purse. Keys. Out the door.
By the time I’m driving to Jena’s, my head is full of him again, even though I’m trying to shove every thought into a locked box. Logan Pearce. Egocentric. Entitled. Jackass.
Any confusion I felt about last night is gone now.
Jena bursts out of her apartment before I even have the car fully stopped, waving like we haven’t seen each other in years, even though it’s only been a day.
“Hey, girl,” she says, sliding into the passenger seat.
I mumble a hello, my mood still sharp from Logan’s text.
“What crawled up your pants? Or should I ask who?” Her eyebrow arches as she shuts the door.
“He wishes,” I mutter. “Asshole drove me home last night, kissed me, and then texted me this morning to say nothing can happen between us. Like I asked him to marry me or something.”
The irritation in my voice is growing, feeding itself.
“Well, screw him. We’ll just have to find you a sexy man tonight and let him eat his heart out.” Her grin is wicked. “Speaking of sexy men, Dom was unbelievable last night.”
I glare at her. “Please, rub in how amazing your sex was while I cuddled a body pillow.”
She grins wider. “Cuddle? Not even close. That man was the epitome of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, and I loved every damn minute of it. Honestly, I’m surprised I’m not walking funny bec—”
“Jena!” I cut her off, my cheeks heating. “I don’t need the details!”
“You sure? It’s a long, juicy story, emphasis on long.” Her laugh is infectious, and I find myself laughing with her. God, I missed having her around.
We pull into the parking lot on Main Street, the center of Bartsville’s tiny shopping scene.
“Let’s head to Chaos,” she says. “I need something to help seduce Dom into coming back for round three.”
“Don’t you mean round two?”
“Nope. Both rounds one and two were last night.” She laughs as she heads for the door.
Chaos is a dangerous place for my bank account. Cute shoes, casual clothes, dresses, lingerie. The kind of store that makes you want to reinvent yourself in a single shopping trip.
“Mac?”
I turn to see Shaina smiling at me. “Hey, girl. You ready for your first shift tonight?”
I shrug. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“You’ll do fine. I’ll be there to train you, and Allison is the most laid-back boss ever. Plus, it’ll be fun watching my brother lose his shit regularly. I hope you aren’t thinking about taking his dumb ass back.”
Before I have to answer, Jena swoops in. “Speaking of MC boys, you have any information on Dom?”
Shaina’s eyes flick to her. “He’s cool. Keeps to himself. One of the more respectful guys in the club. Any reason you’re asking?”
Jena smirks. “Let’s just say I didn’t get out of the car alone last night.”
“I might have his number, if you’re interested.” Shaina grins, and Jena hugs her like she just offered her the keys to the kingdom.
We leave with Jena’s phone newly loaded with Dom’s number saved under nothing but eggplant and water emojis.
Shaina suggests lunch, and we walk down the street to Los Amigos. The building’s stucco front looks almost abandoned except for the bright red sign above the door. Inside, the dim lighting and warm chatter make it feel instantly comfortable.
We order margaritas and enough appetizers to feed an army. Somewhere between queso and chips, Jena heads to the bathroom, and Shaina looks at me seriously.
“So, truth. How are you really dealing with this whole Logan thing?”
The margarita has dulled my filter. “Honestly? It sucks. He’s still so hot, and every time I see him it brings back everything, the good and the bad.
This whole town is haunted with him. Would I like things to be different?
Yes. Will they be? No. So I just have to keep moving forward and telling myself, ‘Fuck Logan Pearce.’”
“Amen, sister!” Shaina laughs, raising her glass.
I clink mine against hers, hoping I can stick to it. Hoping I can actually keep from getting crushed all over again.