15. McKenzie
FIFTEEN
McKenzie
“Are you okay?” Luca asked as we stumbled into the chilly night.
I clutched my throbbing fingers. “I’m fine,” I choked out.
“Let me see,” he said, taking my right hand in his, inspecting the tender flesh. “Can you move it?”
“Fuck.” I winced, squeezing my eyes shut. “That hurts.”
“Okay, well the good news is, I don’t think it’s broken.”
“And what’s the bad news?” I asked through clenched teeth.
He tilted his head, scrunching up his face in a way that said he regretted the news he was about to deliver.
“It’s gonna hurt like a son of a bitch for a couple days.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks, doc, for your astute assessment.”
“You didn’t tell me you were a street fighter,” he teased, stroking my palm with his thumb. “Do you have any frozen peas at home?”
“What?” I asked, my brow furrowed in confusion. “Um, no, I don’t think so.”
“Come on, let’s get you some for that lethal weapon you’ve got there.” He hooked his arm around my shoulders and led me to the car.
“Peas?” I asked. “Why peas?”
“Works better than ice,” he said, starting the ignition. “Because they’re small, which makes it easier to wrap around your hand.”
I buckled my seat belt with my left hand. “Sounds like you’ve done this before.”
“I’ve been in my share of bar fights,” he said with a sly smile. “None quite as epic as this, though. What were you thinking?”
“Honestly, I don’t even know,” I admitted with a laugh. “I think my rage caused me to blackout.”
He started in the direction of the supermarket just down the street. “That guy was like, three times your size. You could have gotten yourself killed.”
I pinned him with an accusatory stare. “Oh yeah? What about your touch-her-and-die move?”
He bit back a grin. “ We were a bit more evenly matched.”
“Whatever,” I said. “I just couldn’t let that asshole talk to you like that. Those awful things he was saying…”
“To be fair, they were true,” he said, his voice growing soft.
“First of all,” I began, “you’re not a drunk. You don’t even drink.”
“I did.”
“Well, you don’t anymore, and that guy was a dick for judging you, anyway. Fuck him.”
“And Jax always was the favorite,” he said. “Being the lead singer and all.”
“So?” I said. “That band wouldn’t have been the same without you, and you know it.”
He was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “It means a lot that you stood up for me. But please don’t risk your life for me again.”
“Hmm,” I said, pretending to think. “No deal.”
“McKenzie,” he warned.
“What if we get mugged and I need to use my taser to ward off a burglar?” I asked. “Or you get kidnapped, and I’m the only person who knows, forcing me to use my particular set of skills to save you.”
He snorted. “Thanks, Liam Neeson, but I’ve got it handled.”
I pursed my lips as he pulled the car into the lot and parked. “Fine. But only if you promise me the same. No more throwing guys against walls at bars.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“Why not?” I countered.
“Because I can’t be responsible for what I’ll do if someone threatens you,” he said, gripping the steering wheel. “When I saw that fucker step up to you, something inside me snapped.”
Butterflies wearing boxing gloves fluttered around my stomach. “Really?”
Luca’s Adam's apple bobbed as he worked to swallow. “Don’t act so surprised. I care about you.” A weighted silence fell over us, our eyes locked. There’d been a palpable energy between us when we’d been dancing back at the tavern. A current so strong, I could almost see it with my naked eye. Had he felt it too?
After another second that felt like a lifetime, he cleared his throat. “I mean, we’re friends. Obviously, I care.”
My heart sank, but I forced a defiant smile over my mouth. “Then it looks like we’re at a stalemate, buddy. Because I’m never just going to stand by while someone treats you like that.”
He heaved a defeated sigh as I flung open the door. With his arm around my shoulders, he guided me inside and bought a ninety-nine cent bag of diced frozen carrots because they were out of peas. As we headed back outside, he carefully wrapped the icy vegetables around my injured hand, standing there on the sidewalk.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Now, hold that there,” he said before leading me back to the car.
I allowed him to open the passenger door for me.
“We better get you home before you join a fight club,” he said once he was behind the wheel.
“Do you think it’s that easy to join?” My lips quirked into a grin. “Is there a yearly membership fee? Like Costco? Or do you think it’s more of a month-to-month thing? I wonder if there’s any perks.”
He shook his head and stifled a laugh. I stole glances at him as we chatted during the short drive back to my place. When we got there, he insisted on walking me to my door.
“Really, I can manage on my own,” I insisted, bounding up the stairs.
“But what if a bear’s up there waiting to maul you to death?” he joked.
“If there’s a bear on my doorstep in the middle of Nashville, we have bigger problems,” I said once we reached the front stoop. “Besides, would you really be dumb enough to fight an actual wild animal for me? They’re a little more dangerous than drunk hipsters harassing people in bars.”
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “I’d kick that bear’s ass.”
I giggled. “Looks like we need to watch some Discovery Channel because I’m pretty sure that’s not how it would go.”
He snickered with me, the porch light illuminating the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes.
“Then I guess I’d be eaten by Smokey Bear,” he said, stepping closer.
“Seems more likely.” Our laughter slowed until the only sounds remaining were that of the crickets and the drum of my heartbeat slamming in my ears.
“Thanks again for coming with me today,” he said.
Thanks for being such a great pal. He didn’t say those exact words. In fact, I was fairly certain he’d never so much as uttered the word pal in his life. But it didn’t matter because the sentiment was still the same. This had been nothing more than two friends hanging out.
I gave a lighthearted shrug. “Yeah, it was fun. And now you have your own little hobbit house.”
“Thrifting this week?”
“If you still want to.”
“I do,” he said quickly. “I need you to come work your magic. Make the place more homey.”
The corners of my mouth stretched upward. “Okay. Well, um—”
Whatever words I was about to say left my mind when he pulled me into his arms. I melted into him like butter on warm bread, my body greedily filling up every empty space between us. I drank in his warmth, desperate to memorize how it felt to be held by him: somehow safe and dangerous all at once.
With Luca around, no one could ever hurt me—no one but him.
“I’ll text you?” he asked, releasing me with a squeeze to my shoulder.
“Sounds good.”
He nodded, starting down the steps, and I leaned against the railing, watching as he went.
“G’night, Fight Club,” he called over his shoulder.
“Night,” I replied, scrubbing my hands down my face.
I was in over my head. The silly fantasies I’d had about Luca had given way to something more. Something deeper. I didn’t know how to stop it. Even knowing he’d probably never feel the same, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
The next weekend, on Sunday, I went to Luca’s new place to help him get settled in with some of our thrift finds from our shopping excursion, including a few I’d discovered on my own later in the week.
“That Buried Treasures place was a hell of a find,” he said, unpacking some of the records we’d selected for the old player in the living room. We spread everything out on the dining table while we figured out where it should all go. “I can’t believe they had this album by The Civil Wars. Do you know how rare this is? It’s been impossible to find since they broke up.”
“I didn’t, but what’s even more shocking to me is that you’d want it,” I said with a laugh, pulling a Muse record from the bag.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
I shrugged. “It’s just that they’re known more for their sad, emotional love songs than their amazing guitar riffs.”
“You think I can’t be sad and emotional?” He lifted his brows. “Or in love?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, keeping my voice even. “Based on our previous conversations, I just assumed you’d never been in love.”
“If it feels like this…” His gaze dropped to the album in his hand, and he held it out in front of him. “I guess I haven’t. Have you?”
I snorted. “Absolutely not.” I didn’t want to attempt to elaborate and risk tripping over my words or saying something that might allude to the feelings I may or may not have been developing for Luca, so I moved to the other side of the table and started unpacking one of the other bags.
“By the way,” I said. “Look what I got you.” I extracted the ceramic squirrel from my bag of goodies.
A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “And what is that, exactly?”
I ignored his obvious question and continued. “His name is Randy McNutt.”
He barked out a laugh as he came around to where I stood. “And he has a name?”
“I thought he’d fit perfectly in your hobbit hole.”
“That sounds vaguely dirty.”
“Listen, what you do with your hobbit hole is none of my business,” I deadpanned, placing it on the table and fishing out the next item, which he gaped at like it was a foreign object.
“What the hell is that?” he asked through squinted eyes.
“It’s an egg separator.” I rolled my eyes, handing him the tiny plastic device designed to look like a small chicken.
He turned it over in his fingers. “And what am I supposed to do with it?”
“Seriously? You use it to separate eggs. Like, if you’re making an omelet or baking something that only calls for a yolk.”
He bit back a laugh. “I don’t cook.”
I snatched the little chick out of his hand and set it in the sink to be washed.
“Well, I do,” I said, my stomach dropping when I realized the implications of what I’d said.
His smile made my heart want to leap out of my chest and into his arms.
“Are you going to cook for me?” he asked with a hint of amusement.
“Probably not,” I said as coolly as I could manage. “But now you have it, in case I’m ever feeling generous.”
“What else is in that bag, Mary Poppins?” he asked.
“I’m not sure if I’m going to show you,” I said, folding my arms over my chest.
“Why not?” His crystal eyes pierced through me, doing nothing to help me get over the crush I’d developed.
“Because first, you defiled Randy McNutt, and then, you made fun of my egg separator.”
“I thought it was my egg separator?” he quipped.
I cocked my head to the side. “The egg separator I got for you.”
He grinned as I returned to my bag. “How much stuff is in that bag?”
“Only a couple more things,” I said, digging out a small framed print of a bunch of raccoons playing poker. “I thought this would look good on the mantel.”
His mouth twitched. “That thing is hideous.”
“Isn’t it?”
“It’s perfect,” he said, taking it from my hands and heading into the living room.
I followed, smiling when he placed the ridiculous picture front and center above the fireplace.
“It’s as though it always belonged here,” I said, sitting on the overstuffed sofa. “And who knows—maybe the owner of this joint donated it, and here I am bringing it back where it belongs.”
“You didn’t have to do this.” Luca sat beside me, so close our knees almost touched. “Bring me all these things.”
“Didn’t have to or you preferred I wouldn’t?” I teased.
“I love it all. Even Randy McNutt,” he said. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before.”
“Bought you weird shit from a thrift store?”
He shook his head, his voice growing soft. “Been so thoughtful.”
His words were like the strike of a match, lighting my cheeks on fire. My heart simultaneously fluttered and sank, its battered wings desperately trying to keep it afloat. The feelings I had for him were only growing, and I had to remind myself he only saw me as a friend.
I cleared my throat as I caught a glimpse of his guitar case in the corner of the room.
“Acoustic?” I asked, gesturing toward the case. “I never would have guessed that.”
He shrugged, letting out a low chuckle. “Yeah, I’m trying something different. My other guitars are back home in Kentucky, but after what you said about trying to get my words out like I was writing a song, I went and got a guitar. I thought an acoustic might be a better fit.”
I couldn't help the smile that crept over my face. “And how’s that going?”
“I’ve been writing a lot,” he admitted. “Once I started looking at it like I was creating music, it’s like the floodgates opened up.”
“I’m glad. Maybe I can get you to play something for me sometime,” I said, before quickly adding, “you know…if you want.”
“Actually, there’s something I’ve been working on this week.” He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. “Can I…can I play it for you? See what you think?”
I blinked in surprise before nodding. “Of course.”
Luca brought his guitar back over to the sofa and sat, accidentally dropping the pick on the floor. He almost looked nervous.
“Okay, just know this isn’t completed yet, so I’ll probably change some things,” he said. “It’s just a verse, but…I think I like where it’s going. And I—”
“Luca, you don’t have to explain it,” I said, giving him a small encouraging nod. “Just play it for me.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Right. Sorry. I guess I’m a little rusty.”
I tried to hide my smile as he began to play the most bittersweet melody. It felt like a hand around my heart. And then he began to sing.
“Locked inside the confines of my own mind
A cage built by my own hands is still a prison
How long must I cry alone in the dark
Until shame becomes my true religion
Knees down at the altar
Jump then falter
I wish I were someone else”
His voice was the kind that reeled you in—the kind that stopped you midstep, forcing you to hang on every word. It was warm and filled with emotion that caused my throat to tighten.
When he stopped playing, he looked at me, trying to gauge my reaction. I must’ve stared at him a little too long with my jaw slack, because he finally spoke.
“Oh wow, okay,” he said, setting the instrument down and propping it against the couch. “That bad, huh?”
“What? No,” I insisted, touching his arm. “It was that good. I just…That was amazing, Luca.”
His eyes widened. “Seriously?”
It was the kind of song that deserved to be heard by the masses.
“You…uh…never mind.” I stopped myself before I could finish the sentence. Luca had been dealing with a lot. Telling him he should consider putting his work out there for public consumption was probably not the best idea.
“Tell me,” he said.
“Oh no, it was nothing,” I said in the least convincing tone possible.
“Tell me,” he repeated, more forcefully this time. “Or else I’ll assume you really hated it.”
I held up my hands to stop that train of thought before he could even go there.
“No, that’s not it,” I said, hesitating. “I was thinking that’s the start of the type of song people would listen to over and over again. Those are the kind of lyrics that make people feel seen.”
He looked taken aback. “Really?”
“Yes. That was incredible. And your voice is…well, it’s beautiful.” Just like him.
A slow smile spread over his lips, and even in the soft glow of the lamplight, I could have sworn I saw the hint of a flush kiss his cheeks.
“I have a few more lines in my notebook that I think might fit into the next verse,” he said. “Maybe…I could show you?”
“I’d like that.”
My heart hammered in my chest as he left the room to retrieve his journal. I was determined to soak up any pieces of Luca he was willing to share.