6. Mckenna
SIX
MCKENNA
“It was my 1L year,” I whisper.
I swipe my tongue over my chapped lips.
My trembling eases.
In fact, now that I’ve admitted the worst of it aloud, I feel better.
Stronger.
Mav’s belief in me makes this next part possible.
More bearable.
Mav nods, his eyes bleeding with heartbreak.
I shift in the bed, bring my knees into my chest, and wrap my arms around them.
Curl into myself as I resolve to share the truth.
Mav doesn’t move from where he’s perched on the side of the bed.
Instead, he stares at me with a carefully neutral expression.
A mask.
Except for his bleeding eyes.
..
“I met Branson my first day of law school. We hit it off and fell into a routine. We sat next to each other in class and swapped notes, shared our thoughts about the readings. I went to a party one night and he walked me home, made sure I got back okay. I thought we were…friendly, if not friends. But I didn’t have any girl friends, and I wanted to fit in. After living with Allegra, Ivy, and Nova for so long, it was difficult to try that hard again. To put myself out there.” I frown.
Was I that desperate for friends?
That lonely? Or was it my parents’ public, humiliating divorce that caused me to act out in a way I never had before?
I was the careful friend.
Reliable, dependable, and steady.
I didn’t get sloppy drunk or go out during exam weeks.
I didn’t have one-night stands or regrets.
I was confident. I didn’t need to use the buddy system.
And that night...it was just me.
“There was a party that Branson told me about. But I didn’t have anyone to go with. The only girls I really knew on campus were Robyn and Emily and they were visiting Emily’s family that weekend. Allegra was still in LA,” I add.
“Or I would have asked her to tag along.”
Maverick leans closer, turning toward me fully.
The movement reminds me that he’s here.
I’m not alone. And I’m telling him what happened.
..
“When I got to the party, I spotted Bran right away. And I felt relieved that he was there like he said he’d be. I was grateful that I knew someone. I don’t think I drank too much, but I definitely drank more than I usually did,” I admit, recalling shots of vodka.
And rum. Rum! “I would have been drunk but not sloppy. I didn’t drink enough to not recall entire hours of the night.” I shake my head.
“Most of that night is a big, empty space. Only recently have moments been coming back to me.”
“Do you think Bran slipped something into your drink?” Mav asks.
“Or someone else?” His jaw is clenched so tightly it could crack.
His hands are balled into fists, and his right knee bounces.
“Yes,” I admit. “I think it was him. Not that anyone would believe me. There are photos of me that night—drinking and taking shots, posing with other law students, strangers—and then there’s him, the golden boy with the pristine image. Everyone knows who he is. I’d be labeled a liar—or worse—instantly.”
“You never know. He could have done the same thing to other women.”
I shrug, doubting it.
“Bran offered to help me when I stumbled. He said, ‘Let’s get some air’ or something like that.” I pause again, waiting for the hazy recollections of that evening to reassemble in my mind.
To snap together into a clear picture.
The starry sky. The scent of smoke.
The blaze of a bonfire.
The staircase. Bran’s hand over my mouth.
His hot breath in my ear.
His weight bearing down on me.
The fabric of the back of the couch against my palm.
I shudder. Mav moves closer and slips his hand over mine.
“Take your time,” he says patiently.
His thumb rubs soothing circles in the center of my palm, reassuring me.
His kindness brings tears to the corners of my eyes, and I blink them away.
“We went outside first. I remember looking up at the sky. There was a deck and a bonfire and red Solo cups. Students were hanging out in clusters, talking, laughing, dancing. At some point, Bran ushered me upstairs. I didn’t feel well. Hot and cold, like I was having an out-of-body experience. I was floating above myself, watching everything unfold, but I couldn’t speak. Or move. I tried to tell him I felt sick. But he covered my mouth with his hand.”
Mav flinches.
“Don’t tell anyone, Mckenna Byrne.”
“I’ll destroy your fucking life.”
“You owe me. And I own you.”
I clear my throat.
Bran’s voice echoing in my mind makes me feel nauseous and unsteady.
I pull in a deep breath and try to regulate my erratic heartbeat.
Bran’s not here. It’s only Maverick.
I’m safe.
“He told me not to tell anyone, or he’d destroy my life. He said he owned me.” I screw my eyes closed as more moments crystallize in my mind.
“We were in a common room. There was a couch and a huge TV. Bran dropped me behind the couch. He held me down. I remember the weight of his chest pinning me to the floor. His breath was hot, all over my face. And he was…” I drop my head, ashamed of what I will say next.
“You’re okay, beauty. You’re doing great,” Mav murmurs, his words gentle.
“He was rough and barbaric, and he raped me on a dirty, sticky floor while a party raged right below us,” I rush out, wanting to part with the words, with the memories and reminders and fear and shame, once and for all.
“Afterwards, he spit on me and reminded me that it’s my word against his and that he’ll win. He always wins. Then, he left. Just left me lying there.”
Mav sucks in a breath and straightens.
He rears back like I kicked him in the stomach, and I watch him carefully, noting every expression that crosses his face.
They change rapidly.
Fury, anguish, pain, hatred, hurt, concern, and then…
I avert my gaze. I hate that I’m hurting Mav.
I hate that he knows the truth, yet I’m also relieved that he knows.
That someone knows and believes me.
“He deserves to rot in fucking hell,” Mav says, his voice raw and dangerous.
I shiver and nod in agreement.
“Fuck, beauty, I’m sorry that happened to you. I’m so goddamn sorry,” Mav continues, his voice cracking.
Before I can reply, I’m in his arms. He hauls me against his chest and wraps his arms around me, cocooning me against his body.
He presses kisses along my hairline and murmurs soothing words in my ear.
I relax in his hold, and my heartbeat slows.
“He won’t get away with this, Mckenna,” Maverick declares.
I snuggle deeper into his embrace, not wanting to think about what comes next.
Not tonight.
Now that I’ve confessed, exhaustion clings to me.
I’m drained—physically, emotionally, mentally.
And Maverick’s here—strong, steady, protective.
“I promise I won’t let him get away with this,” Mav repeats.
“Maverick?”
He pulls away slightly so he can look down and meet my eyes.
“Yeah, baby?”
“You don’t think I’m ruined, do you?” My voice wobbles, but I need to know the truth.
And Mav is a straight shooter.
I know he won’t bullshit me, not even tonight.
I stare right at him, my eyes bleeding the questions my voice doesn’t ask.
Do I have a chance at a real, stable relationship?
Could he still want me?
Even now?
I was raped and couldn’t remember it.
I spent two years seeing and talking to my rapist and didn’t comprehend the situation.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Mav’s brow furrows, and his eyes harden.
First, with anger, then with pain.
“Fuck, no, you’re not ruined. Or broken. You’re fucking perfect, Mckenna Byrne. Strong and resilient and a survivor. You’re bold and beautiful and smart. You are the farthest thing from ruined, and the man lucky enough to keep you, and I fucking hope it’s me, will have a treasure in his life.” His lips twist as he says the last part, and his expression turns severe for a blink.
Then, it’s gone, and he’s brushing his lips over my forehead.
My eyelids flutter closed.
Mav’s hand cups my cheek and I lean into his touch, into his warmth, his strength and the safety he provides.
“You’re brave as fuck, beauty,” he whispers.
“So goddamn strong. Brave as hell for telling me too.”
I let out the breath I was holding.
Mav’s words, his belief in me, ease some of my anxiety.
“Thanks for listening, Mav. For believing me.”
He shakes his head.
“I’ll always listen, Mckenna. And I’ll always fucking believe in you.”
Believe in you.
I smile softly. Mav tucks me back against his chest, propping his chin on my head.
We sit like that for long minutes.
Hell, maybe even hours.
I listen to the steady drum of his heartbeat.
I focus on the even breaths he takes.
My eyelids grow heavy.
My body falls limp.
But Mav has me.
He keeps me safe. He guards my secrets.
I reach for him when he tucks me back into my bed and pulls the covers up to my chin.
“Stay with me, Mav. Please.”
He looks conflicted and hesitates.
“Don’t make me beg,” I whisper.
“I’m...scared. I’m scared of what I’ll see in my nightmares.”
His face falls, and he nods, slipping into the space beside me.
Mav curls his body around mine like a crescent moon, and I relax in his presence.
I grab his hand and pull it across my stomach, linking our fingers together.
Mav sighs and tightens his hold, dragging me back against his chest so he presses up against my back.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “I feel better than I have in days.”
Mav snorts.
“I don’t.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he admonishes.
“I thought you were avoiding me, and I was angry. But now, fuck, I wish this never happened to you, and you just couldn’t stand me instead.”
I chuckle, and it’s easy.
Genuine. “I was overwhelmed. Processing.”
“I know.” He kisses the back of my head.
“There’s more than a chance for us, Mckenna. I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”
“Good. Because I actually like being with you.”
Mav snorts.
“Well, thank God for small miracles. Since we’re married and all.”
I smile and nod in agreement.
“Sleep, beauty,” Mav says softly.
“I’m right here, and you’re safe.”
“We’re together.”
“We’re together,” he confirms.
I relax as my husband holds me close and keeps me safe.
He knows my darkest shame, and instead of judging me, he gives me grace.
Acceptance. Understanding.
Love.
And hope.
I hope to be his treasure.