13. Mckenna
THIRTEEN
MCKENNA
“It’s good to meet you.” I hug Jeannie hello.
“Oh, it’s lovely to meet you, Mckenna,” she says sweetly, hugging me back.
Jeannie Dennison is a beautiful, fifty-three-year-old widow, with a blonde bob and sparkling brown eyes.
She’s fit and funny and laughs easily.
She’s hardly wearing jewelry save for the beaded eyeglass strap that attaches to a pair of bifocals.
They sit perched on the top of her head, yet she continues to reach for them around her neck before giving a small laugh when she recalls their placement.
In short, she is nothing like my mother.
And my father is smitten with her.
“Glad you could come,” Dad says, hugging me hello.
He kisses my temple.
“It’s good to see you, Kenny.”
“You too, Dad,” I agree.
I breathe in the scent of his cologne, and I’m surprised that it’s the same scent he’s worn since my childhood.
It’s familiar and comforting, even though it’s been ages since my father has embraced me.
When I pull away, I gesture toward Maverick who is kissing Jeannie’s cheek in greeting.
“You must be Maverick,” Dad says before I can properly introduce my husband.
“Good to meet you, sir,” Mav says, holding out a hand.
Dad shakes it heartily and gives him a long look.
“You never called to ask for my permission to marry Mckenna.”
Oh, God.
My mouth falls open but before I can interject, Mav places a hand on my back.
“With all due respect, sir, I hardly think Mckenna needs permission to do anything. She’s an intelligent, driven, and compassionate woman who knows her mind more than you or I do.”
Oh, no.
I snap my mouth closed, waiting to see how Dad accepts this reply.
To my surprise, he grins.
Then, he chuckles. “No truer words could have been spoken.” He slaps Mav on the back and gestures toward the restaurant.
I fall in step with Jeannie as we follow the men into the steakhouse.
We’re seated at a prime table and fall into easy conversation.
Mav waves off ordering the wine and lets Dad take the lead, which I think Dad appreciates.
Jeannie shares a hilarious story about one of her first dates with Dad, at Carter’s Steakhouse, where she had a piece of spinach stuck between her two front teeth and he didn’t know how to tell her.
“Oh, it was awful,” she laughs, with tears in her eyes.
“His expression kept growing more and more uncomfortable. Nearly panicked. And that made me nervous so the more and more I talked about nothing,” she adds, dabbing under her eyes with the cloth napkin.
We all laugh with her, and I notice how much younger my father looks.
Healthier. Happier.
“How did you two meet?” Jeannie asks.
“We were reluctant roommates at first,” Mav starts honestly.
I arch an eyebrow, and he winks at me.
Jeannie catches the exchange, and her expression softens as Mav tells her about our history, sticking as close to the truth as possible.
When he’s finished, I can tell his tale has captured Jeannie and even Dad looks at him almost fondly.
It’s interesting, witnessing this side of Maverick.
Mav as a family man.
But as I listen to him speak and note the sparkle in his blazing blue eyes, I can’t deny his natural charisma.
He’s unbelievably charming.
For a rockstar, he’s relatable.
He puts others at ease and makes them feel like they’ve known him for years instead of hours.
Maybe that’s why I resisted him for as long as I did.
Maybe deep down I knew that if I gave him an inch, he’d take a mile and sweep me off my feet.
Little did I know, I’d want to be swept away by him.
By the time we order dessert, we’re laughing like old friends.
We’re a poster for a happy, well-adjusted family, which, given the drama Dad and I have experienced in our personal lives, couldn’t be further from the truth.
And yet, tonight was fun.
I enjoyed myself and I liked having these two parts of my life overlap.
“We’ll see you again soon,” Jeannie gushes as we hug goodbye.
“Yes,” I agree. “I’d like that.”
“I’ll call you,” Dad promises, kissing my cheek.
“I’d like that, too,” I quip.
Dad and Mav shake hands again and Mav hugs Jeannie goodbye.
Then, he takes my hand, and we slide into the back seat of his Escalade.
“How was dinner?” Alfred asks, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.
I grin. “It was really great.”
“Good,” Alfred says.
“You deserve it, Kenny.”
Beside me, Mav chuckles.
“You’ve charmed everyone you know.”
“Me?” I laugh, swatting at him.
“You’re the natural charmer, Mav.”
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head.
“I think you could give me a run for my money.”
I snort but snuggle closer to him.
He links our fingers together and we sit like that for the rest of the drive home.
Today, I did it. I made it through my first day of classes and didn’t cross paths with Bran.
And I had dinner with my father.
I introduced him to my husband.
I let out a deep exhale.
Today was a good day.
The high I rode after my first successful day of classes and dinner with my dad, Jeannie, and Mav, evaporates a little more with each successive day.
In fact, by the end of my first week of the semester, that dinner feels like a lifetime ago.
My days drag, with every second on campus feeling like a decade, my stomach in knots, and my senses heightened.
My evenings are short bursts, the equivalent of a blink, as I throw myself into a flurry of activity and cross off items on a never-ending to-do list.
At school, I’m observant.
The back of my neck tingles, and the hairs on my arms stand at attention.
My throat alternates between sandpaper dryness and slicked with bile.
My fingers fidget, and my feet are silent as I walk through the corridors.
In class, I’m focused.
I take diligent notes, ask relevant questions, and listen attentively.
There’s no way I will allow my grades to slip this semester because I’m remembering .
I can process my shit and still excel academically.
I have to— otherwise, I’m letting Bran win.
And he can’t take anything else from me.
I won’t fucking let him.
I know I should confide in Mav about how unnerving it is to be on campus, but the way he looks at me each night over dinner, his eyes studying me sharply, his jawline tight, makes me hold back.
I don’t want to cause him any more stress; I don’t want him to hover and constantly worry about me.
When I reach the end of the day on Friday, I sigh in relief and slide behind the steering wheel of my car.
Except, once I lock the car doors, the adrenaline I’ve been tapping into ceases and my shoulders slump.
I can admit, it’s less sigh, more sob.
The incomprehensible fear that swims through my veins like an undercurrent during my school days exhausts me.
It’s emotionally draining and mentally consuming.
I grip the steering wheel and huff.
My fingers tremble, tapping out a disconnected, disjointed beat that reminds me of Mav.
He does something similar, although with an actual beat, when he’s nervous or frustrated.
Leaning forward, I rest my forehead against the wheel and drag in a deep breath.
I hold it for several seconds and slowly release it.
Again. My heart rate is erratic, and droplets of sweat form along my hairline.
I did it. It’s Friday.
I’m okay.
Someone slaps my window, and I scream, bolting up.
I lift a hand to protect myself from the person and see a guy’s wide eyes and apologetic expression as he points to a hockey stick he’s holding.
“Sorry!” he yells before striding away.
“Oh, God,” I mutter, closing my eyes.
It was an accident. I’m fine.
Everything is okay.
Today was a good day, so why am I falling apart now?
I drag in another deep breath, hold, release.
My phone rings, the shrill sound emanating from my car’s speakers since my Bluetooth is set up.
Instantly, tension gathers in my shoulder blades, but when I read Allegra’s name, I press accept.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” she replies.
“How’s it going?”
“It’s going.” I sound shaky.
Nervous.
“You okay?” She sounds alarmed.
Worried.
I let out another wheezy breath.
“Mckenna? Are you okay? Where are you?”
She’s one of my best friends.
If I tell her, she’ll understand.
She won’t judge me. She’ll listen.
Help me navigate.
Didn’t I feel better after I confided in Mav?
And this week, every evening, didn’t my emotional load ease after I spoke with him about my day, melted into his strong embrace, and kissed him good night?
Will telling Allegra shift the boulder on my chest another inch?
Will each person I confide in lighten the load until it’s comprised of feathers?
Practically weightless in its intensity?
“Kenny?”
“Allegra,” I say, my voice raw.
“What is it?” my friend whispers.
“What do you need?”
“Do you have time to talk?”
“Of course. Are you okay?”
“Not really,” I admit.
“I’m... I’m having a tough time.” Ugh, I hate how small I sound.
I drag in another lungful of air.
“Okay,” she replies.
“Is it Mav? Have things been awkward between you? Or school? Are classes?—”
“Bran raped me,” I blurt out.
Say it on a mouthful of bile.
Spit it into the universe like a confession.
Allegra is silent for a second and then, “What? Bran? Are you okay? Where the fuck are you? I’ll?—”
“It was my 1L year,” I supply.
“Jesus,” Allegra gasps.
“Where are you right now? Are you safe?”
“Yes. I’m in my car. On campus.”
“Are the doors locked?”
I smile and nod.
I love Allegra. I love how unshakeable she is and how she shows up for her friends.
She’s been through so much and has come a long way.
Will I heal the way she has?
Will I be whole one day?
“They are.”
“Okay,” she sighs.
“Okay. Mckenna, I’m happy you’re talking to me about this. Talking is good; it’s important. Now, can you start at the beginning? Do you want to tell me...everything?”
“Yeah,” I admit.
“I do.”
So, I tell her about 1L year.
About that stupid night when I drank too much and felt desperate to fit in.
About the distance from my parents and how it scrapes at my soul, chipping away a little more with each unanswered phone call, forgotten obligation, and lonely holiday.
I detail the snapshots that linger in the dark corners of my mind.
Of that night, Bran, his heavy hand on my mouth, his wild eyes as he pinned me down.
The way the floor cut into my back, the insurmountable height of the couch we were hidden behind, and the noise of the party that rang in my eardrums.
I admit I blocked it all out.
Carried on, forged ahead.
Until Vegas. Drinking too much, laughing too hard, and marrying Maverick.
Waking up and having it all crash on my head.
A riptide that dragged me under and a tidal wave that drowned me again when I resurfaced for air.
“And he knows,” I sob, painting a picture of our honeymoon in the Azores.
“Mav knows. I told him everything. And he... God, Allegra, he still loves me. He’s been helping me with everything. I couldn’t do this without him.”
“Of course he does,” she replies softly.
She’s been mostly quiet for our one-sided conversation as I word-vomited everything, dredging the past up from my stomach and pouring it out of my throat.
But when she does speak, her tone is gentle.
Calm. Stable. “And you could do this without him, Kenny. You’re strong and you’re a survivor. But I’m happy you don’t have to.”
“I don’t want to,” I admit, clinging to it, to her, like a life raft.
“But some days,” I whisper, “some days, I don’t deserve him.” I sob again, blinking against the tears forming in my eyes.
I made it through the entire ordeal without shedding one tear, and now, I mention Mav, and it’s like fucking waterworks.
I dash a tear away angrily and glare out the window at the students gathering on the quad.
They look so happy and carefree.
Two guys and a girl toss a frisbee and laugh.
Unaware of the dangers that lurk around them, all the time, posing threats and risks that would upend their lives.
A man walks in front of my car.
He gives me a curious look through the windshield, but he turns toward the quad when I meet his eyes.
Sits on a bench and pulls out a book.
“You do, Kenny,” Allegra murmurs.
“You deserve so much love and happiness. But to keep it, you have to believe it.”
“I don’t know how.” I shake my head.
“God, A, I love Mav so much. But I’m scared that all of this, all my baggage, is too much for him. For us. At some point, it’s going to catch up and?—”
“Where is this coming from?” Allegra interjects.
“I thought things with you and Maverick were great.”
“They are. That’s the problem. Nothing good like this can last. It can’t.” I shake my head to drive the words home.
“He met my dad. They got along. He waits for me every day when I come home from campus, and we eat dinner together. Allegra, I didn’t remember marrying the man and then, I confessed my deepest secret to him and now we’re living this humdrum wedded bliss and it’s all okay? At some point, the other shoe will drop.”
“Not with Mav it won’t,” Allegra says soothingly.
I suck in a breath. “This week has been hell. I’m terrified on campus. I’m so scared of running into Bran but I’m also scared to tell Mav that. At some point, I need to feel comfortable and safe on my own. I need to know that I can fight my own battles and be okay. But I’m also terrified of losing him. I don’t think I’m making any sense,” I lament.
“You are. You’re making perfect sense, Kenny. You had a huge trauma and you’re processing that. You want to be able to lean on your husband, but you also want to know that you can rely on yourself.”
“Exactly,” I breathe out, relieved she understands.
“You’re okay. We can figure all of this out.”
I snort.
Allegra is a problem solver.
A nurturer. A giver.
Hell, she makes a living helping people find a healthier, more stable path.
Will she help me?
“I think you should speak to a therapist, Mckenna,” she says, her voice serious.
“You experienced a trauma, and if you don’t work through it, start to get ahead of it, it will continue to pop up like it did the morning in Vegas. And it will affect other aspects of your life, quite possibly your marriage with Mav.”
I sigh, not saying anything.
Mostly because I know she’s right.
“If you’d like, I can connect with some contacts in Boston on your behalf. The Harrison Foundation has a plethora. I can set you up with a therapist.”
“How do I know they’ll be a good fit?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll find you someone. I just need to know it’s what you want.”
“It is. I’ll go.” As soon as I say the words, I realize their truth.
I do want to move forward.
I want help. I don’t want to live in this paralyzing fear with shortness of breath, shaking hands, and a foggy mind.
I want waterfalls and Christmas decorations with Mav.
I want nights out with my girls and brunches with Robyn and Emily.
I want...peace of mind.
“Good,” Allegra says, and I hear the smile in her voice.
“Leave it to me, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’m glad you confided in me, Kenny. You’re so damn strong. I know this wasn’t easy, and the fact that you’ve carried it around, consciously and subconsciously, for this long is remarkable. You’re a badass, babe, and I’m proud of you. And so fucking sorry I didn’t realize...”
“I didn’t realize either,” I remind her.
She snorts. “I’m still sorry.”
“I love you, A.”
“I love you so damn much, Mckenna. We got this, okay? Whatever it takes, we got this.”
I smile at her use of we .
Now, Mav and Allegra know the truth and are still here for me.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll message you as soon as it’s sorted. If you need to talk, at any time?—”
“I’ll call you,” I promise.
We say our goodbyes, and I hang up.
Again, I rest my forehead on the steering wheel, but I’m overwhelmed with awe this time.
I did it; I told Allegra.
I chuckle to myself, feeling slightly giddy.
I’m proud of myself.
With that thought in mind, I drive to the brownstone.
By the time I park and enter the house, Allegra has sent a string of messages.
Allegra
Her name is Dr. Talia.
She works Saturday mornings.
You can see her tomorrow.
10:30 a.m.
I’m proud of you, Kenny.
You got this.
I love you, and I’m here for you.
Always.
Mckenna
Thank you, A.
Love you. Mean it.
I blow out a deep breath.
That night, Mav and I eat dinner together.
Then, we hang out in the den, watching reruns of Friends .
He observes me, his gaze intent and curious.
It’s as if he knows something changed this afternoon.
But I don’t tell him about my therapy appointment tomorrow.
I’m not ready yet. I want to make sure Dr. Talia is a good fit.
I want to get through a few sessions before I confide in him.
Instead of talking, I snuggle into Mav’s side and let the heat of his skin warm the chill in my veins.
I doze off before midnight, and I’m vaguely aware of him carrying me up the stairs and putting me to bed.
He tucks me in, slides beside me, and holds me close.
I feel his lips brush a kiss along the back of my neck and I sink into it.
I’m warm and safe, and I sleep soundly.
It’s progress.
The following day, I wake up early.
I run to release my nervous energy, take a cold shower, and drink a large coffee.
I get some reading done and dress in a button-down shirt and jeans.
Then, I head to therapy.
Dr. Talia’s office is serene, decorated in light oak, soft whites, and sage green.
It’s inviting and reassuring, and I relax as I help myself to a glass of cucumber water.
“Mckenna?” A woman in her mid-fifties with short, brown tresses and a warm smile greets me in the waiting room.
“Dr. Talia?”
She nods and comes forward, her hand outstretched.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
I shake her hand.
“You too. Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”
“It’s my pleasure.” She sounds like she means it.
She points to her office door.
“Shall we get started?”
Nodding, I grip my glass of water and enter her office.
Then, I place my purse on the floor, sink into a comfortable chair, and take a deep breath.
I got this. I can do it.
Everything is going to be fine.
And it is. Dr. Talia is understanding and patient.
She asks specific questions and lets me answer with no interruptions.
My hour with her passes quickly, and when I leave, I feel better.
Lighter. I even have two more appointments scheduled for the following week.
I practically float from her office, filled with a sense of pride.
Except when I enter the parking lot, the back of my neck tingles, and a sour taste explodes on my tongue.
I glance around nervously, feeling like I’m being watched.
Hurrying to my car, I keep my key jammed between my fingers in case I need to brandish it as a weapon.
No one jumps out at me, and I slide behind the wheel, locking the doors.
My heart rate quickens, and my temples throb.
I start my car and study the parking lot intently.
A guy ducks into a car three spots down, and I narrow my eyes, knowing I’ve seen him before.
But where?
Campus.
The quad. He was playing frisbee.
Or reading a book?
I squint to recall the hazy memory.
But I know I’ve seen him before.
Why the hell is he here?
He could be going to therapy, too, my rational brain thinks.
Or he could be following me , my panic replies.
My stomach tightens, and I wipe my sweaty palms on my thighs.
What if I’m being followed?
Nausea crawls up my ribs and clogs the base of my throat.
What if Bran is having me followed?
Or worse, stalking me?