Chapter 39
Mac
The team was cooling down, unlacing skates and peeling off equipment, when Luke brought up the obvious.
"So that was Matthews watching practice," Luke said. "Creepy fuck."
"That was strategic," Jamie corrected, pulling off his jersey. "He wanted to intimidate us."
"Well, it didn't work," Tyler said flatly. "I'm not intimidated by a man who wears a suit to a hockey rink."
"He looked like a tool," Luke interrupted. "That's what he looked like."
Cole, sitting on the bench nearby, spoke up quietly. "He's escalating. Showing up at our practice. He's trying to get in our heads."
"Is it working?" Tyler asked, looking directly at Mac.
Jamie, sensing the mood needed lifting, pivoted. "Okay, subject change. Moving day Saturday. Let's talk logistics."
Another collective groan.
"There are subcategories."
"That's excessive," Luke said.
"That's efficiency," Jamie countered.
The banter continued as they finished changing, but Mac's mind was elsewhere.
On Derek's words. He needed to talk to Rachel. But part of him was afraid of what she might say.
Rachel
Rachel came home to find Mac already there, he'd used his key, sitting on her couch with his phone in his hand and an expression she'd never seen before.
Hurt? Confused maybe? Trying to stay calm.
"Hey," Rachel said, setting down her bag. "I didn't know you were coming over."
Mac didn't smile. He looked up at her, and the expression on his face wasn't anger. It was something closer to panic.
"We need to talk," Mac said.
Rachel's stomach dropped. "About?"
"About Monday morning." Mac stood up, his movements agitated. "Derek found me at practice. He showed me this."
He held out his phone. The hand holding it was shaking slightly.
The photo on the screen made Rachel's blood run cold. It was her. Monday morning at The Grind. Her gray cardigan, and her laptop. Sitting across from someone whose back was to the camera.
"He said you two met for coffee," Mac said, the words tumbling out fast, like he was trying to exorcise them. "He knew what you were wearing, Rachel. He said you guys talked for an hour."
Rachel looked at the photo, then at Mac. She saw the fear in his eyes, the terrified belief that maybe, just maybe, Derek was telling the truth.
"Mac," she said, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart. "I was there. But I was alone."
"Then how did he get this angle?" Mac gestured wildly at the phone. "It looks like he's sitting right across from you. Why didn't you tell me you went there? Why wouldn't you tell me if you ran into him?"
"Because I didn't run into him! I sat in the corner booth with my laptop. I didn't speak to anyone."
"He knew details, Rachel! He knew exactly how you take your coffee!
" Mac ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small living room.
"He looked me in the eye and told me you're unhappy.
And now I see this photo, and I don't know.
.. I don't know what to think. Please, just tell me he's lying. Tell me why it looks like this."
"He's lying about the meeting. But he's not lying about being there." A cold clarity washed over her. "Mac, look at the photo. Look at it closely. Does that look like a meeting? Or does it look like surveillance?"
Mac stopped pacing. He looked at the phone again, but the panic didn't leave his face. "I want to believe that. God, I want to believe that. But why does he know so much."
Rachel stepped back. The hurt hit her chest like a physical blow. "You think I'm lying?"
"I don’t know, I'm spiraling here, Rachel. I need you to help me understand this."
"I told you I was alone," Rachel said, her voice hardening. "I told you I didn't meet him. If that's not enough for you, if you need me to prove I'm not a liar because he got into your head, then we have a bigger problem than a photo."
"I'm not calling you a liar! I'm—"
"You're doubting me," she interrupted. "You're taking the word of the man who assaulted me over mine because he played on your insecurities. I can't do this, Mac. I can't defend myself against your fear." She pointed to the door. "I think you need to leave."
Mac froze. He looked at her, the fight draining out of him, replaced by the realization of what he'd done. "Rachel—"
"Please. Just go."
For a long moment, Mac didn't move. He stood there, keys in hand, looking at her like he was trying to memorize her face. Like he knew this might be the last time.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Rachel turned away, arms wrapped around herself. She couldn't look at him.
Slowly, he nodded. Without another word, he turned and walked out. The door clicked softly behind him.
The sound echoed in the sudden silence.
Rachel stood frozen for a moment, staring at the closed door, half-expecting him to come back. To knock. To say something that would fix this.
He didn't.
Her legs gave out. Rachel collapsed onto the couch, pulling her knees to her chest, and the sobs came; deep, wrenching sounds that seemed to tear out of her chest. Mr. Darcy appeared from the bedroom, curling into her lap with a concerned meow.
Derek had won. One photo and one lie. And everything had shattered.
Rachel didn't know how long she sat there crying. Long enough for her throat to go raw. Long enough for the sun to shift across the floor. Long enough for the tears to dry on her cheeks, leaving them tight and itchy.
Mr. Darcy stayed pressed against her the whole time, purring steadily.
She should eat something. She should take a shower. She should do literally anything except sit here replaying the look on Mac's face when she'd told him to leave.
But she couldn't move.
Her phone was across the room on the kitchen counter where she'd left it. She could hear it buzzing periodically, but she didn't have the energy to check it.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Stop, she thought. Just stop.
It didn't.
Finally, when the sun had shifted low enough to paint the room in orange light, Rachel forced herself to stand. Her legs were stiff from sitting curled up for so long. She walked to the kitchen counter on autopilot.
Seven missed calls. Mac.
Twelve text messages.
Her hand trembled as she unlocked the phone.
Mac: Rachel, please. I'm so sorry.
Mac: You were right. I should have believed you immediately.
Mac: Of course Derek was watching you. Stalking you. I should have seen that.
Mac: I let him get in my head and I hurt you. I'm so stupid.
Mac: Please call me back.
Mac: I know you're angry. You have every right to be.
Mac: I love you. That hasn't changed.
Mac: I'm not giving up on us. I just need you to know that.
Mac: Please, Rachel. Just let me know you're okay.
Mac: I'll give you space if that's what you need. But please answer.
Mac: I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Mac: I love you.
Rachel's vision blurred. She read them all twice, then a third time.
He was sorry. He got it now.
But did that change anything? He'd still doubted her. When it mattered, when Derek had planted that seed of suspicion, Mac had believed it. Even for a moment.
How many more times would this happen?
She deleted the messages one by one, watching them disappear.
Her phone rang immediately. Mac calling again.
Rachel stared at his name on the screen, her thumb hovering over the answer button.
She let it go to voicemail.
Two minutes later, it rang again. Sophie this time.
Rachel almost didn't answer. But Sophie would just show up if she didn't, and right now Rachel couldn't handle another person in her space telling her what to do or how to feel.
She answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Hey."
"Oh honey." Sophie's voice was soft, concerned. "What happened? Mac just called sounding like someone died. He won't tell me anything, just asked if I'd check on you."
That broke something in Rachel. The fact that even after their fight, even after she'd kicked him out, he was worried about her. Making sure someone was checking on her.
"We had a fight," Rachel managed through fresh tears. "Derek showed him a photo, said I met with him for coffee. I didn't. I was alone. But Mac—" The words caught in her throat. "He didn't believe me, Sophie. Not completely. I could see the doubt in his eyes."
"I'm coming over. Right now. Don't move."
"Sophie, you don't have to—"
"I'm already grabbing my keys. Twenty minutes."
Sophie hung up.
Rachel sat in her empty apartment, phone still pressed to her ear even though the line was dead, crying into Mr. Darcy's fur.
The phone buzzed again. Another text from Mac.
She didn't look at it.
Mac
Mac stared at the closed door for a full minute before his legs gave out and he dropped onto the hallway floor.
What had he done?
Rachel hadn't defended herself. Hadn't begged him to believe her. Hadn't spiraled into tears and explanations.
She'd just... asked him to leave. Why?
Because she'd already done this before. With Brad. Trying to prove herself against Derek's lies, and it hadn't mattered. Brad had believed Derek anyway.
And now Mac had done the same thing.
"Shit," Mac whispered. "Shit, shit, shit. I screwed up."
He got up and walked down the stairs. He pulled out his phone and looked at the photo again. The angle was from behind and to the side, like someone had taken it from across the coffee shop. The figure across from Rachel could be anyone.
Could be no one.
Derek had been watching her. Not meeting with her, but watching her.
And Mac had been so busy looking for evidence of Rachel's guilt that he'd missed the obvious: a man was stalking his girlfriend, and Mac had handed him exactly what he wanted. Doubt.
Mac grabbed his keys. He needed to get that security footage. He needed to prove Rachel was alone.
Not to convince himself; he already believed her now, with horrible, stomach-churning certainty. He needed more proof that Derek Matthews had been watching Rachel, photographing her without her knowledge, stalking her. Evidence they'd need when they went after him.
Mac sat in his truck outside Rachel's apartment building, staring at his phone. He called Jamie.
"What's up?" Jamie answered.
"I had a massive fight with Rachel. I need your help." Mac explained everything: the photo, the accusations, the fight.
Silence. Then: "Mac, you messed up."
"I know. But Jamie, I need to document this. Derek is stalking her. Rachel needs evidence for a restraining order."
"Now you're thinking." Jamie's voice turned serious. "Okay. Here's what you do. Tomorrow morning, first thing, you go to The Grind. Talk to the owner there, Harold, he’s a friend of mine, and get their security footage from that day."
"The coffee shop will have cameras?"
"Every business has cameras. You get that footage and prove Derek was stalking her, and we take it to the police if we need." Jamie paused. "This is harassment, Mac."
"Will the police take it seriously?"
"With documentation? Yeah. Especially once we add it to him approaching her at the rink, the texts he's been sending, everything." Jamie's tone hardened.
"I should have believed her immediately."
"Yeah, you should have. But you can still fix this." Jamie sighed. "Get that footage. Then you grovel and you prove you're on her side."
Mac hung up and texted Cole:
Mac: Need your help tomorrow morning. Derek showed me a photo supposedly proving Rachel met with him for coffee. Rachel says she was alone. I believe her but I need to prove he’s stalking her. Can you come to The Grind with me at 8 AM? Need witness/backup.
Cole: What did you do?
Mac: I doubted her. For about five minutes. Then I realized Derek was lying. But the damage is done.
Cole: Yeah, you screwed up good. I'll be there at 8. We'll get the footage. Then you fix this.
Mac: Thanks, man.
Mac stared at Rachel's apartment window. A light turned on. Sophie's car pulled up.
Sophie got out, saw Mac's truck, and walked over with an expression that could freeze hell.
She tapped on his window.
Mac rolled it down.
"You accused Rachel of lying," Sophie said flatly.
"I know. But Sophie, Derek had—"
"I don't care if Derek had a fucking pink elephant, buddy. Rachel told you she didn't meet with him. You should have believed her." Sophie's words came out jagged. "Mac, do you have any idea what you just did?"
"I'm going to fix it. Tomorrow morning, Cole and I are getting security footage from The Grind. We'll prove Rachel was alone!"
"That's not the point!" Sophie's voice rose. "The point is you should have believed her WITHOUT needing proof! The point is you chose doubt over trust!"
Tears burned now. "I know. I fucked up. But Sophi—"
"No buts, just fix it!" Sophie took a breath, forcing herself calm. "Mac, I love you. You're family. But right now? I'm so disappointed in you I can barely look at you."
That hurt.
"How do I fix this?" Mac's voice cracked.
"You start by apologizing. Really apologize: 'I'm sorry. I was wrong. I should have trusted you.'" Sophie's expression softened slightly.
"I did. I will. I promise."
Sophie nodded and headed into Rachel's building.
Mac sat in his truck for another thirty minutes, then drove home.
To his empty apartment. That was supposed to become their home on Saturday.
If Rachel still wanted him after this.
Later that night Mac lay in bed with Puck curled beside him and sent one more text:
Mac: Rachel, I was completely wrong. I should have believed you immediately without question.
I'm so sorry I doubted you even for a second.
Tomorrow morning I'm getting security footage from The Grind to prove he was stalking you. Not because I don’t believe you, but because we need evidence against him.
I love you. I trust you. And I'm going to prove it. Please forgive me.
He didn't expect a response.
He didn't get one.
But tomorrow, he'd make this right.
He had to.