Chapter 13 Mackenzie #2
“I just need to be alone right now.” Climbing out of his lap, I can’t even look at him.
I’m afraid—petrified, really. Because I don’t know what looking at him will do to me.
No, that’s a lie. I know exactly what it will do to me; I’ll want him to stay.
I will ask him to take the pain away, fuck me until my heart doesn’t ache. “Please, just go.”
Hesitantly, he stands, and I can feel his frosty gaze bite into me before he simply fades away.
My mind doesn’t even have the energy to have any afterthought about it, or to feel much of anything, really.
I just let my towel fall to the ground before crawling onto my bed and under the duvet, tugging it under my chin.
Pawing at my messy desk, I find the remote for the twinkling fairy lights and shut them off. Tears well in my eyes as I replay my last conversation with my father over and over again.
I take a ragged breath, hoping he can hear me. “Te amo, Papa. Please forgive me.”
Saturday morning sunlight filters through the blinds in thin, pale ribbons, and a cold knot twists in my gut—the same crushing weight I felt the day we learned Dad was gone.
My bones feel hollow, my skin stripped of warmth.
And beneath all of it lies the ache of dread I’ve been tiptoeing around for hours.
I should’ve driven home last night. I should’ve slid into my car and made the forty-minute trip to check on Mom the way I always do—my routine, my promise.
Instead, I went to that party. Instead, I watched Daxton lift a soul from a man I once loved.
He said that Stormie, Luke, and Tiffany were already dead, which I’m still not sure I even understand, but Gavin…
Gavin was nowhere near us on the day of the shooting. What I saw was murder, cold-blooded.
And what’s worse is that I don’t feel bad about it.
Not even a flicker. In fact, in the place where grief should be, there is only one feeling—longing.
Because it turns out that dread is not the deep pull of missing them, but the thought that once Daxton is done, he’ll leave.
And the terrifying part is, I don't want him to.
What I feel for him is not anything I can put into words, and nothing that I need to. With him I feel…seen. I feel understood in a way that no one has ever taken the time to. I’m not some freak who can see the dead; for once, I feel normal.
The moment I felt the ambient hum of life transition, and saw the faint silver haze of their souls shed from their bodies, it was enough to shatter me. Because I knew he could see it too, and in that moment, I was a little less lonely.
With a huff, I slip out of bed to pull a stiff pair of denim jeans out of my closet before quickly tugging them on. Next is a black long-sleeve and my battered leather jacket that still smells faintly of my dad’s tobacco.
The quiet of the early morning in my dorm feels oppressive, as if the walls themselves are accusing me of being an accomplice to murder—but I shove that thought away, the same way I shove everything else that gets too hard.
After packing my small duffle bag, I grab my keys and head to the parking lot where my car sits under an oak tree, its roof dusted with early-morning dew.
I rest my palm on the steering wheel, draw in a trembling breath, then start the engine.
The route home unfolds under the steady growl of the engine—the tight curve onto Elm, the stoplight that always lags, the gentle rise up Maple Hill.
Normally, it soothes me. I’ve driven it so many times my hands remember each bend in the road.
But today, every turn feels too mundane, as if going back to normalcy is possible after what I witnessed.
I still remember the way Daxton’s cold gaze landed on me as the soul melted into him. He seemed to expect me to retreat into the safety of ignorance. But instead, what he found was someone who was a little too eager to know more.
By the time I turn into my neighborhood, my stomach is doing somersaults.
Our small house is my normal, with the same beige vinyl siding, black shutters framing each window, and the little flowerbed by the porch that Mom still tends to when she can.
I kill the engine and sit for a moment, the leather seat creaking under me.
Inhale. Exhale. Pretend everything is fine.
Normal. Just be normal, Mackenzie. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard my family say those words.
Inside, silence greets me like a weight. It’s not ominous…just empty, heavy in a way I’ve gotten used to.
“Mom?” I call out, closing the front door behind me.
No answer.
In the kitchen, yesterday’s mail fans across the table. A half-filled cup of tea sits on the counter, now lukewarm, abandoned.
That’s a good sign. It means she was up this morning. Functioning. And she hasn’t started drinking yet.
“Mom?” I whisper again, leaning into the hall.
I move toward her room where her door stands ajar, gently pushing it open.
I find her curled on her side, clothes rumpled, shoes discarded at the foot of the bed. Sleep smooths her features—for a moment, she looks younger, lighter. Less weighted down by grief. I perch on the mattress’s edge and brush a stray curl from her forehead.
“Hey,” I whisper, even though she’s still out cold. “I’m here now.”
I sit beside her, tracing the quilt’s faded embroidery, listening to her breath settle into its steady rhythm.
After a while, I slip into the kitchen to start on lunch.
Nothing fancy today—last time I went all out, she barely touched it.
I settle on a simple soup with not too many fixings.
By the time it’s nearly done, my mother wanders in, swinging the fridge door open to grab the usual culprit.
“Something smells good,” she croaks. A hell of a hello, but at least she’s lucid. She shuffles past me toward the cabinet where the wine glasses sit, but my hand flies to the door before she can pull it open.
“Not today, huh?” I watch her warily, and her hard eyes narrow in on me. “Cadence said she’s coming home, and RJ might stop in on his way back to campus,” I lie. Neither of my siblings promised to stop by, but it’s the only thing I can think of to stop her from drowning herself in the whole bottle.
“Cadence…and RJ…are coming home?” she asks, her eyes brimming with tears.
Fuck.
“Yeah, they both said they would try,” I deepen the lie, wrapping my hand around the base of the bottle. “So, let’s put this away, yeah?”
Her grip loosens, and she allows me to take it from her. I’ll throw it out later, along with the other two, but for now, I cram it back into the refrigerator.
“Sit, and I’ll get you a bowl.” I turn to smile at my mom, who is still standing in the middle of the kitchen in shock. “Sit, Mama,” I urge again before she finally shuffles to the little wooden table at the other end of the kitchen.
I’ve definitely lost my appetite, so I make some tea—mint leaves steeping until the steam curls up like thin ribbons of smoke. Then I spoon some soup into a bowl with a handle, something she can sip even if she insists she’s not hungry.
Shockingly, she finishes it all, and unsurprisingly, she leaves me to clean it all up. I watch her take up residence in the same armchair, folding her knees to her chest. Just as I start the dishes, I hear the back door open, and my pulse skyrockets.
Swiping a knife from the block, I call out, half hoping I’m just on edge and hearing things.
“Hello?”
A familiar voice floats around the corner. “Relax, kid. It’s just me.” My sister’s head pokes around the refrigerator. “What the fuck were you gonna do? Stab me?”
I swear something unclenches inside my chest so fast it almost hurts. My sister actually came—hair in a sleek bun, blazer slung over her arm, looking like she stepped out of a high-end law office. She smiles, but the edges of her eyes are shadowed with exhaustion.
But she’s here.
“Are you okay?” she asks, and that’s all it takes me to finally breathe again. Slinging the knife down on the counter, I run to her, wrapping my arms around her in a tight hug.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I lie, trying to stop the tears from falling.
Cadence pulls back to look at me, giving me that older-sister look. The one that says she’s not buying my shit but doesn’t have the energy to start an argument…for now.
Later, I sneak upstairs to my room while she checks on Mom. I need a second to breathe. Or cry. Or disintegrate quietly.
I push open the door next to my desk that leads to a little balcony my dad made for us when we were kids—really just a flat space on the roof with old wood and a railing so we didn’t fall off.
It’s the perfect remedy to the shitstorm that my life is right now. I step out and sit on the edge, swinging my feet toward the street below. The breeze kisses my cheeks, cool and grounding. The sky is soft and gray but so vast, the kind of vast that makes you feel small in the right way.
I don’t hear Cadence come up. She’s always been good at moving like a ghost when she wants to.
“You’re gonna give me a heart attack sitting like that,” she says, leaning in the doorway.
I shrug. “Not the worst thing that’s happened this week.”
She steps out, closing the balcony door behind her, and sits beside me—leaving just enough space so I don’t feel cornered, but close enough that I know she’s there.
Her heels dangle over the edge, too, swinging in the open air.
It makes her look carefree, like when we were kids.
Almost like the sister I had before everything fell apart.
She nudges me lightly with her shoulder.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on?”
I don’t want to. I don’t plan it. But the dam in my chest cracks open.
“There was… There was a shooting on campus,” I whisper, staring down at my shoes.
Her head snaps toward me. “What?”
“Yeah, like a week ago. I—I saw someone die. I was right there.”
Well. That’s not exactly what happened, but it was supposed to. So many thoughts I can’t get out of my head. Friends whom I should be mourning, but somehow it almost feels like a weight has been lifted. Is it wrong for me to feel this way? Probably.
My mother has been no help, but that’s no surprise to anyone.
I don’t think anyone would ever understand how I feel anyway… Well, I could think of one person.
Her lips part as she sucks in a sharp breath, eyes widening, and then she curses low under her breath—something she never used to do before Dad died.
“Jesus, Mack…” Her voice cracks. “Why didn’t you say something? This is my fault. I haven’t been watching the news. I didn’t know.”
I swallow. “I didn’t want to scare you.”
She exhales hard. “My head’s been buried so far up my ass with work, I haven’t even heard anything about it. I’m sorry. I should’ve been paying closer attention.”
That hits something deep in me. The part that’s been stretched thin, the part that’s been begging for someone to notice I’m not okay.
But I shake my head. “It’s not your job to pay attention. You’re not the parent. You can’t do everything.”
Cadence looks away, out over the rooftops, and her jaw tightens the way it does when she’s holding in something painful. “I know that,” she says softly, “but it feels like I was supposed to.”
And I get it. God, I get it.
Because when Dad died, she was barely twenty. And suddenly she had to be everything. Student. Provider. Mom. Shield. Anchor. All while grieving the same man I was crying myself to sleep over.
Cadence had to grow up too fast.
She had to apply for scholarships, work part-time, all while studying to graduate top of her class.
When she got into law school, no one celebrated her the way that she deserved. RJ and I got her a little cake, because at thirteen and fourteen, that’s all we could afford.
She was the one who kept the house afloat when Mom couldn’t snap out of her grief.
She never got to fall apart. She had to keep going, to help put us through school.
RJ and I both got full rides, but that doesn’t cover all the expenses.
And she refuses to let us work. That’s why half the time she can’t reach our brother; he never answers her calls when he’s at work.
She would flip if she knew what he was doing.
But then, she would work even harder, taking more cases and overtime. So, RJ and I keep it between us.
“You deserve better,” she whispers, voice tight.
I look at her, feeling that familiar ache spread through my ribs. “We deserved better,” I whisper to her.
She exhales shakily as she seems to break—if only a little. Her breath trembles. Her eyes glisten.
And before I have time to process what’s happening, she pulls me toward her, one strong arm around my shoulders, and I sink into her like I’ve been waiting years for this exact moment.
We hold each other while the wind brushes past us, carrying every unspoken, unfinished, unresolved thing between us.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel so alone.