Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
MACKENZIE
Nate comes through for us again, steady as ever, like he was made to fit into our lives. That thought unsettles me more than it should.
“Thank you for picking us up.”
I watch as Nate gently lowers Liam onto his bed, careful with every movement. The way he handles my son, like he belongs here, sends shivers down my spine. He fits too well. And that terrifies me.
I rake a hand through my tangled hair and cringe. Nate may portray a sexy beast, but I, on the other hand, am a hot mess party of one. Smudged eyeliner, bloodstained clothes, and—dear God—do I smell? I need a hot shower and a gallon of wine.
“Mom, will I be able to play soccer again?”
Liam’s voice pulls me back. Nate and I exchange a glance before I stroke Liam’s hair. “It will take time, but yes, sweetheart. The doctor said you should be strong enough to play by next year.”
“They’ll let me play even with the plates and screws?”
Liam shifts his gaze to Nate. The kid trusts him. Maybe too much.
“Yes,” Nate reassures, his voice firm. “Every word your mom said is true.”
Liam nods and yawns. “ Okay.”
“Get some rest before your brother gets home.” I press a kiss on his forehead. “You know he’ll bombard you with questions.”
“But I’m not tired.” Another yawn stifles Liam’s protest.
Nate chuckles as I shake my head . Liar.
Once Liam is settled, we step into the kitchen, where the air is thick with everything we aren’t saying.
“Coffee?” I offer, tugging at my shirt, uncomfortable in my own skin. I need out of these clothes. Out of this moment where I feel too seen .
Nate’s gaze dips to my chest, just for a second, before he meets my eyes. “How about I make it while you grab that shower I know you’re dying for?”
“Do I smell that bad?”
His smirk is infuriatingly soft. “Not at all. But I can tell you’re uncomfortable.”
Too good. He’s too good to me. The way he looks at me, sees me, sends a rush of warmth through my chest. It’s as if he can read my every thought. I blink a few times to clear my head. “I’ll, uh, be quick.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m snuggled against him on the couch, wrapped in his warmth, coffee in hand. Goosebumps trail my arms as his fingers graze my skin. Contentment wars with unrest. On the one hand, I hate to disturb this moment, but we can’t move forward until we address what we both want to avoid. And time keeps slipping away, considering he has to pick Nick up from school soon. It’s just that I don’t know exactly how to broach the subject.
I take another sip, bracing myself. Rip off the Band-Aid.
“So, you’re a surgeon?”
His fingers pause momentarily before resuming their slow rhythm. “I am.”
“Why did you tell me you were in freelance?”
He exhales. “Because I didn’t want to tell you the truth.”
I shift to face him, searching his face. His jaw hardens. “Why?” My voice is softer than I intended. “What’s so bad that you couldn’t tell me? ”
Another hesitation. Another long sigh. He sets his cup down. “I’m retired.”
I blink. “Retired? How old are you, exactly?”
He smirks. “I’m thirty-eight.”
I gape. “And you’re retired ?”
“I was a surgeon in the military. I served my time. And then I walked away.”
Military. The word slams into me. This was the one time I wanted to be wrong, but it made too much sense.
“And you didn’t want to tell me because of Ethan?” It makes sense. I just can’t believe I didn’t see it before.
His throat works as he nods. “Something like that.”
I exhale, shoulders loosening. I understand. I do.
He shifts, turning to face me. “Look, I know I should’ve been honest from the beginning, but there’s something I need to tell?—”
A sharp knock at the door cuts whatever he was going to say.
We exchange a look. Nate’s face darkens.
“Sorry,” I mutter, standing. “I’ll try to get rid of whoever it is.”
Nate pushes to his feet. “I should go get Nick anyway.”
This man. He’s always putting others first.
“Sorry, I can’t stay after I drop Nick off, but I’ll be back tomorrow so you can study.”
My heart stumbles. He’s not running. He’s staying.
Before I can respond, another knock—louder this time—echoes through the house.
“You better get that.”
I don’t want to. I want to snuggle back on the couch, tucked in Nate’s arms, and finish our conversation.
“Sis, let me in the door.”
I close my eyes, bracing myself for Jordan.
Nate tenses. “Do you want me to stay?”
Yes. God, yes.
But I shake my head. “It’s more important you get Nick. I can handle Jordan. ”
He studies me for a moment before pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I know you can. I just don’t like leaving you here.”
I soak in his warmth, his steady presence. We’ll be okay.
But doubt creeps in as Nate’s taillights disappear, and I face my brother.
Jordan’s eyes are wild, his stance unsteady. Something’s wrong.
“You’re not welcome here,” I say firmly.
His jaw clenches. “You don’t even know why I’m here.”
“I don’t need to.”
Jordan’s gaze flicks down the road, then back to me. And then he drops the bomb.
“Nate’s lying to you.”
I jerk my head back and refrain from wanting to shove him off my property.
“What did you say?
Jordan’s voice is steady and sharp. “His real name is Nathanial Dixon-Anders.”
And just like that, the walls around me begin to crack.
I don’t know who to believe anymore.