Chapter 18 #3
His eyes are dark, and I thrill as I feel his hands tighten on my waist, his fingers digging into the skin where my hoodie has ridden up.
It sends the old, sweet electric shock running through me, and before I know I’m going to do it, I surge up and press my mouth to his.
The touch of his lips is a pleasure pain, and he groans as if he feels it, too.
And then he’s kissing me—deep, hard kisses where our tongues tangle and our bodies struggle to get closer and closer.
It takes me a second to realise he’s pulling away. “What are you doing?” I mumble, opening my eyes blearily.
His face is set, and I flush hot with embarrassment as I realise he’s trying to get my hands off him. “Sorry,” I mutter, trying to step back.
I’m stopped by his hand on mine. “No, don’t go,” he says, his voice thick, and the plea in it makes me stop my struggles. “I do want you,” he says desperately, cupping my face so it’s tilted to his. “I always want you, Wes.”
“So, why pull away?”
He licks his lips. “Because we started this so wrong, and I want…”
I cock my head. “What do you want?” It’s so rare for Mac to express a need for something. “I will try and get it for you. I know I don’t have your money, but I have a powerful determination, and I want you to have whatever you want… Why are you laughing?”
He shakes his head and hugs me tight, making me gasp. “You have no idea,” he says into my ear. “And that’s my fault too.”
“The whole world isn’t your responsibility,” I say crossly as he lets me go, his seeming reluctance to do so making me warm inside. “You need to remove your hair shirt and put on the odd T-shirt instead.”
He studies me, his mouth quirked, and then, rather than saying anything, he nods, and we resume our walk.
“The beach is beautiful,” I say, looking around with pleasure. It’s small and sheltered by woodland, and the sand is white-gold.
“Thank you.”
I pause. “Oh my god, is this your beach?” I squeak.
He starts to laugh, and the sound is so merry that I can’t help but smile. I try to avoid staring at him and making him self-conscious, but I can’t stop myself sneaking little glances. Finally, he sobers. “Yes, it is mine. It’s why I bought the cottage.”
“Of course,” I say glumly.
“Why do you sound like that about my money?” There’s no offence in his voice, just honest curiosity.
I shrug. “Because there’s already a big gap between us, and the money makes it even wider.”
I gasp as he pulls me to an abrupt stop. “You’re right, but not for the reason you think. I’m not better than you. You’re better than me.”
“ What ?”
“You’re kind, clever, and open to life in a way I never have been. My money did put a gulf between us, but that gulf widened because of my rules, regulations, and insistence on reducing sex to something else I could buy in life and move on from.”
“And what made you choose to be that way?” I bite my lip. “I’m so sorry. You always said no personal questions and?—”
“I think we’re a little beyond that now, don’t you?” That stops me dead, and he chuckles. “Goodness, I think I’ve rendered you speechless. No, don’t talk. Just let me savour this moment because it won’t come again for another millennium.”
“Oh, shut up.”
He laughs again but then sobers. He seems nervous and it makes my heart beat heavily.
“I want to tell you things, but I don’t want you to look at me when I do it,” he says in a low voice.
I nod, my mouth dry. “Let’s walk then, Mac.”
He closes his eyes for a second, and when he opens them, there’s only determination. He crooks his arm, and I slide mine into his and then we start to walk again.
“Have I mentioned my parents before?”
“You mentioned them briefly a couple of times,” I say softly, not wanting to break this moment, which feels as fragile as a bubble in the wind.
“They married against both of their family’s wishes and as an adult, I can completely understand the parental caution.
They were far too alike. They loved arguments and each other, but they were completely feckless, which meant it was a rather tempestuous family life.
Neither of them could keep a job to save their lives, but they did have a singular talent for collecting rich friends who they could leech off.
We moved from one place to another, pausing only long enough for them to completely outstay their welcome and then cross that friend off their list. God knows what would have happened when they reached the end of that list. Perhaps fortunately for them, it never got to that. ”
He falls silent, and I squeeze his arm, my nerves ratcheting. I almost don’t want him to tell me what’s coming next.
He comes to a stop, staring out to sea. A seagull is bobbing on the waves, giving a lonely-sounding cry, and Mac watches it intently. I stand at his side, all my attention on him.
“My father died when I was nine.”
“I’m sorry,” I breathe, forgetting my silence in the desire to comfort the pain in his voice.
He hugs me to him, and I blink as he kisses my hair.
It’s a brisk embrace, and before I can relish it, he’s again staring out at that lonely seagull.
“Thank you.” He sighs. “He died of a heart attack. It was completely unexpected. There had been no sign of any problems. Or maybe there were, and they ignored them. That would make perfect sense if you knew them. Nothing could stand in the way of a good time. Anyway, he died, and then it was just the two of us. My mother and me.”
There’s something disturbing in his voice, and I press closer. I don’t know whether he needs comfort, so I’ll just do what comes naturally, which is to stand close and feel him near. Instead of rebuffing me, he hugs me tight into his side.
“I don’t think I can adequately describe what life was like after his death.” He shakes his head. “I can’t remember a lot. I saw a psychiatrist once a few years ago, and he thought I was repressing things.”
“You saw the psychiatrist only once?”
He looks at me, and incredibly, his mouth ticks up. “Why would I want to remember things if I’d gone to all the effort of deliberately forgetting them?”
“No idea. You’re obviously the professional with your degree in psychiatry,” I say tartly, and he chuckles.
After a moment, he faces forward and licks his lips.
“I can tell you what I do remember, which is that my mother became almost unhinged in her grief. She was a stranger to me. She shouted a lot and screamed even more, and my life became her and her never-ending parties and the endless procession of men with whom she tried to bury her pain. It never worked. Money must have become even tighter without my father, because sponging off friends became much more transactional when it was a rich male friend and a beautiful widow.” He grimaces.
“Even then, she couldn’t keep them. I became used to their big smiles when greeting and copious relief when leaving. ”
“I’m so sorry.”
“There’s no need to be.”
“Yes, there is. I wish I’d known you then. You could have stayed with us, and Tyler would have looked after us.”
“I don’t think you were born then, dear. And I’m rather older than your brother.”
“Oh god, you’re right. I never think of age with us.
You’re just you, and I’m just me.” I reach up and cup his face, surprised at how he nestles into my palm.
It’s so trusting and almost innocent that I feel a fierce wave of protectiveness.
I remember his grandfather and the mystery of their relationship.
“What about your mum’s family? Couldn’t she have gone to them? ”
“She did. He turned her away, telling her she was on her own. She’d made her bed, and she and her child should lie in it.
By all accounts, he was a very stubborn man.
” He smiles, but it isn’t a pleasant smile.
“I say by all accounts, because I don’t know him.
He had me in his house and didn’t even know who I was. I was a stranger to him.”
“Didn’t he recognise your name?”
He pats my hand. “I don’t think he ever knew my first name, and I took my godfather’s surname many years ago.”
“I’m so sorry I tried to lecture you that day.”
He looks astonished. “You were right to do so.”
“No, I wasn’t. I don’t blame you for wanting to raze that fucking house to the ground,” I say fiercely. “In fact, I’ll bloody help you.”
“You are a loyal friend, Wes. It’s why people love you so much.”
I squeeze his hand. “You don’t have to tell me any more, if it’s hurting you. I don’t want that. Ever .”
He moves back and kisses my palm. His dark head is bent over my hand, examining it as if he’ll discover the secrets of the world in the lines there. Then he squeezes it. “Don’t let go.”
“Never.”
He faces forward again. “It seemed a long time to me as a child, but I think her deterioration was actually shockingly sudden. She couldn’t cope without him, you see.
” He shoots me a glance out of the side of his eye.
“He was her mirror image, and she was broken into pieces without him. She wanted no part of the world if he wasn’t there. That’s love, I suppose.”
I know there are many types of love, but this doesn’t seem particularly healthy. I keep my mouth shut. It’s becoming horribly obvious why Mac steers clear of any and all emotion. I wonder where his mum is and if they still have a relationship. “So, then what happened?”
“Ah, now we come to the bit I really don’t remember much about, and I have to say it’s a memory I will not be looking to get back.” My stomach tightens uneasily. “I remember her telling me to get in the car. I remember trying to fasten my seat belt because she was drunk.”
“Oh god.”
He nods. “In all honesty, she was drunk most of the time. The coroner said she was seven times over the legal limit, and he was amazed she could stand, let alone drive. I just knew she was cheerful for once.” Dread steels over me as he carries on talking.
His voice is now completely monotone and almost robotic.
“We were staying with my godfather in his old house in Monaco. She took the coast road which is very steep with hairpin bends. There have been many accidents there. We were just one of them.”
“Oh god, babe. I’m so sorry.”
He carries on talking as if he hadn’t heard me. “I remember the car swerving and the sight of the sky. It seemed so wide and blue. And then nothing. Apparently, when the medics found us, I was sitting by the car. I’d been thrown free. I have the faulty seat belt to thank for that.”
I note that he doesn’t say he was sitting with his mum. Even then, he must have steered clear of her, and the fact that a child wouldn’t seek comfort from the one person meant to provide it makes my heart hurt.
He gestures to his stomach. “That scar you mentioned.”
“Oh god, was that from the accident?”
He nods. “A piece of metal was in my side. They took it out in the hospital. My mother died instantly of a broken neck.”
“Mac.”
He startles as if coming out of a dream.
“It sounds like she was out of her mind with grief. Accidents happen.”
He stares at me. “ Accidents ?”
Something cold travels down my spine. “Yes?”
He shakes his head almost pityingly. “It was deliberate, Wes.”
“ What ?” I gasp.
“She left a letter at my godfather’s house telling whoever was concerned, which I have to say wasn’t many people by then, that she couldn’t live without my father and that she was going to reunite us with him.”
My whole body goes stiff with shock, and I scan his shadowed face, unable to believe what I’ve heard. Not wanting to believe it.
“So that’s my tale, Wes. Luckily for me, my godfather took me in. He didn’t have any children of his own. He was a lovely man—gentle and kind and so fucking normal it astonished me at first. You’d have liked him.”
“When did he die?”
“When I was at university. I still miss him.”
“Why did you tell me this?” I whisper. “Why now?”
His eyes widen. “Because you wanted to know me.”
“I wanted to know things about you, but I don’t ever want you to bleed yourself out just to make me happy,” I say fiercely. “Never that, Mac Reilly.”
“It wasn’t just for you,” he says softly. “I always held back from you in the past, but it never felt right, and in the end, I just don’t want to do that anymore.”
“Mac?” I hesitantly draw him into a hug.
At first, he stiffens and holds himself back.
I go to release him, because I’d never hug someone who doesn’t want it.
But suddenly, he rests against me, his face pressing against my neck.
His breathing is rushed and warm, and his eyelashes flutter against my skin.
I rub my hand through his hair, the other arm holding him as close as I can.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
“I don’t want pity,” he says thickly. “I didn’t tell you for that. This isn’t a manoeuvre to get you back into bed.”
“Babe.” I press kisses into his head, holding him so hard I’m sure I’ll leave bruises. “That would be the worst foreplay ever .”
There’s a startled silence, and then he snorts. I press my own smile into his temple. Eventually, he pulls away and straightens up, rubbing his face briskly, and the moment is over. Nevertheless, I grab his hand.
“Thank you for telling me,” I say solemnly. “I wish I could have been there for you.”
“I wish you had too, Wes. You have a wonderful way about you.”
By unspoken consent we start to walk again. We don’t talk anymore about sensitive subjects, but I stay close, holding his hand and letting my body provide whatever comfort it can.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” I say as we stop by the house. Night has fallen, and the sky is a dark navy velvet studded with stars. The wind is fierce now, buffeting us about. I hesitate and then say in a rush. “Why did you?”
His words are solemn, and the sweetness in his tone brings tears to my eyes. “Because I’ve been alone a long time, Wes, and I was always comfortable with it before.”
“Before what?”
His face is wry but shockingly gentle. “Before you, of course. Somewhere along the line, you made solitary start to look a lot more like loneliness.”