Chapter 11 Mav
ELEVEN
MAV
“Burton is still playing dumb,” Mr. Byrne shares a few hours later.
Jeannie places a glass of water in front of Mckenna, her hand running over Mckenna’s shoulders in a show of support.
The gesture seems to ground Mckenna and she nods slowly, taking a long drink.
Jeannie passes me a mug of coffee and an understanding wink.
“Thank you, Jeannie,” I say, needing the caffeine hit more than I realized.
She nods and takes a seat beside Mckenna’s dad.
“What do you want to do, Kenny?” Mr. Byrne asks his daughter, his expression carefully neutral even though the concern in his eyes is evident. How can it not be?
She blows out a sigh. “Let’s think about this objectively.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. There’s nothing objective about this situation with Bran and—
Mckenna holds up a hand, effectively halting my thoughts.
“I mean, let’s approach it from an objective angle so we can think things through logically,” she explains.
Mr. Byrne nods, giving me a look to get on board. “All right.”
I take a deep gulp of coffee and catch Jeannie’s sympathetic, understanding gaze.
“Bran’s family, specifically his father, wants this issue gone and was willing to deal with it privately to keep it out of the media,” Mckenna starts.
“Correct,” her father agrees. “Although now that I went ahead with the deal…well, that could complicate things too.”
“I don’t know,” Jeannie cuts in. “You made that deal when Mckenna was terrified and ended up in the hospital. She is in a different headspace now.”
“True,” Mckenna says, nodding. “Given the political influence of Bran’s family, we need a strong case to combat their reputation and clout.”
“They’ll want to keep things quiet, but if we can blow it up in the media, that could work to our advantage,” Mr. Byrne adds.
Mckenna frowns and it’s as if I can see the wheels in her mind turning.
“Do you think Bran has attacked other women?” Before anyone can answer, she soldiers on.
“That’s the one thing that makes me feel really guilty about everything, about the deal.
” She tosses a hand in the air. “What if another woman was hurt because I wasn’t strong enough to speak out against Bran? ”
“Don’t do that,” I murmur, shaking my head. “Don’t put that on yourself, Mckenna. You did the best you could and are still trying to do the right thing.”
“Mav’s right, darling,” Jeannie agrees.
Mckenna’s quiet for a long moment. Threads of tension crisscross the table as the four of us try to think things through.
“If there are other women,” Mr. Byrne says, “a strength-in-numbers approach could be successful. It would certainly make a media splash.”
I frown. “That’s a big assumption though. To just assume that he’s assaulted other women and if he has, that they would be willing to come forward and name him as well.”
“Mav’s right,” Mckenna says quietly. Then, she swears. “But the thought of him doing this to another woman if I don’t speak up…” She trails off, sighing heavily. “I don’t think I’m the only one, Mav. I don’t.”
“We’d need to consult with a civil rights attorney. And a sexual assault advocate,” Mr. Byrne says slowly. “I think we should start there, Kenny.”
“All right,” Mckenna agrees.
“If you’re okay with it, I can get some names from Aiden,” I say, looking at Mckenna.
She holds my eyes for a long moment before nodding. “That would be good. I trust Aiden.”
“I do too.” I take another gulp of coffee, wanting the rich taste to clear my mind. To ease the erratic thoughts that swirl around my head.
What if people don’t believe her and accuse her of lying? Hell, isn’t that why so many women don’t come forward? They feel like they can’t.
What if this becomes a big, public spectacle?
Is Mckenna ready for that?
What does she need from me?
How involved should I be in this? How involved can I be in this?
Can I support her without smothering her?
Am I strong enough to handle whatever the hell happens next?
Mr. Byrne and Mckenna talk about a few lawyers their family knows as I sit and stew in my thoughts. My grip on my mug tightens as the first tendrils of panic unspool in my stomach, licking up the sides of my ribs.
Jeannie’s hand lands on my forearm and I look up, surprised. Her touch is gentle and her eyes hold so much damn understanding that emotion clogs my throat.
“You’re doing everything right, Mav,” she says quietly. “She needs you and she wants you just the way you are. Don’t second-guess yourself.”
I let out a long, quiet sigh. “Thank you, Jeannie.”
She pats my forearm once before removing her hand.
I sigh, staring at my beauty. She is the strongest woman I know and I’ll be damned if I let her down again.
That night, my thoughts are all over the place. Even though Jeannie’s words of encouragement helped, I can’t stop my brain from spinning a thousand different scenarios.
Will more women come forward?
Hell, are there more women that Bran hurt?
Does his father know he’s in Massachusetts?
Will Mr. Byrne’s agreement with Bran’s dad hurt Mckenna’s case?
What the fuck is Bran doing here?
Unable to manage the shit going on in my head, I ask Drew to hang at the brownstone for a bit.
Then, I go for a drive, pick up a six-pack of non-alcoholic beer, and wind up at my brother’s place.
I’m unsurprised to find him on the back porch, drinking a bottle of real beer and gazing out into the darkness.
“You’re back,” he murmurs as I place the six-pack down in the space between his chair and mine.
“I brought your favorite.” I gesture to the beer.
He snorts, shaking his head. “Nothing in there to dull the edge.”
“It’s better than nothing,” I counter, leaning back and kicking my feet up on the deck railing. “What’s going on?”
Jameson sighs. “What’s going right?”
I dip my head in acknowledgement as I crack open a non-alcoholic beer and take a long pull.
Since leaving rehab, I’ve been completely off drugs and alcohol.
But the familiar ritual of hanging on my brother’s back porch, having a drink, and shooting the shit still feels normal.
It’s equal parts nostalgic and comforting.
“Mckenna saw Bran on campus today,” I break the ice.
Jameson’s neck snaps in my direction. “What the fuck?”
“I know,” I sigh, stacking my feet and dropping my head back to stare up at the stars.
“How is she?”
“Honestly? Better than I anticipated. Thank God Drew was with her. She nearly had a panic attack, but by the time Alfred drove her home, she was okay. She’s…
resolved. She wants to press charges. We took a ride to Newbury just to get the hell away from Boston.
Then, we went to her dad’s and…fuck, Jameson, she’s ready to come forward,” I share, needing to confide in someone.
Last time, I handled shit all wrong. Partly because I had no one to talk to. I was so adamant about doing everything on my own that I pushed everyone who cares about me away.
Jameson whistles low. “Fuck. That’s big.”
“Yeah.”
“How you doing?”
I cut my brother a look, but he keeps his gaze trained forward, toward the darkness.
“I’m okay,” I say slowly. “I’m not losing my shit, but fuck, man, is it hard to see the woman you love suffer. My head’s all over the place.”
A bitter smile twists Jameson’s lips. “Tell me about it.”
I narrow my eyes, staring at his profile. He hasn’t shared shit about him and Amelia. All these years and I still don’t know what went down between them. Maybe I’ll never know. But this time, I think Jameson knows their relationship is truly over. Maybe, now, he’ll open up?
“What happened between you and Amelia?” I ask softly, sensing that on some level, he needs to talk about it.
We all need someone to confide in, someone to trust. And if my brother and I can’t be that person for each other than we’ve fucked up a hell of a lot more than either of us realize.
Jameson takes a long pull of his beer. He’s quiet for a moment. Then, he rolls his lips together, sucking his teeth hard before swearing. “We lost a baby.” He looks at me, his eyes welling with pain.
“What?” I gasp, sitting up straight in my chair, my feet slamming into the deck. “When?”
“Years ago.” Jameson drags a hand over the lower portion of his face.
“Back then, Amelia and I were so fucking in love that we thought we could tackle anything. When she told me about the baby, I wasn’t scared.
I never thought I’d be anything like Big Jim; instead, I knew I’d be the opposite.
I even felt lucky in a fucked-up way that he was the father figure in my life since he provided such a clear non-example. ”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying anything. The irony though, that two kids raised in the same household, could walk away with different interpretations of their parents is astounding.
“It was difficult for her, being pregnant,” he continues. “Her mom gave her a hard time. She didn’t have family support. She just had me. And you know what?” Jameson cuts a glance at me. “Back then, that was enough. I was enough for her.”
“What happened?”
“Miscarriage. She was thirteen weeks. We were going to tell everyone that weekend. We’d heard the heartbeat. I was going to ask her to marry me…” He swears again, draining his beer. “Even now, it’s hard to recall those memories.” He places down the bottle. “We were playing our first big gig.”
“In Roxborough.”
“Yep.” Jameson nods. “I lost my phone.”
“Reign got into it with the girl he was dating that summer. Claire Merrick. They made up afterwards, but that night, he was pissed about something.”
“Claire Merrick,” I mutter, recalling the blonde spitfire. Then, I chuckle. “You know she married one of the Boston Hawks? She’s Claire Scotch now.”
“Yeah,” Jameson murmurs. “Aiden went to the wedding.”
“That’s right,” I say, my mind traveling to the past. I forget how connected Aiden is to this city considering he’s not from here. But his childhood best friend, Indiana Merrick, is cousins with Claire. Sometimes, it really is a small fucking world.