Chapter 19 Mackenzie #2
The words get caught in Eric’s throat, literally. Thane’s fist wraps solidly around Eric’s neck, lifting him midair to meet his gaze, and I’m a hundred percent sure that he’s staring into the eye of the storm now.
“I believe her.”
Eric’s face drains of all color, his eyes bulging as he claws at the invisible force choking him. Except it’s not invisible anymore. I watch Eric’s hand shoot out, trying to punch Thane. Oh, this is going to be great.
“What the f-fuck,” Eric gasps, his feet dangling above the floor.
I watch with a strange detachment as Thane holds him there. Part of me wants to look away, but another part—a darker part I’m starting to become at home with—wants to see this, needs to see this.
“You know what your mistake was?” Thane says, his voice eerily calm. “Besides being human garbage?” He tightens his grip, and Eric makes a strangled sound. “Your mistake was thinking there wouldn’t be consequences.”
“Please,” Eric wheezes, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t—”
“Didn’t what?” Thane cuts him off, his voice dripping with venom. “Didn’t think anyone would find out? Didn’t think anyone would care? Or didn’t think anyone would be powerful enough to make you pay?”
I step closer, finding strength in Thane’s presence. “You don’t get to deny it. Not anymore.”
Eric’s face turns an alarming shade of purple. His eyes dart between Thane and me, terror evident in every feature. I should feel something—pity, maybe, or regret—but all I feel is a cold satisfaction.
“Please,” he chokes out again. “I’ll do anything. I’ll confess. I’ll leave school. Just don’t—”
“Don’t what?” I ask, tilting my head. “Kill you? Like you killed parts of me that night? Like you’ve done to other girls?”
Thane drops him into a chair, his pet chains snaking around him and pulling tight, binding him there before he has a moment to take in enough air.
Thane extends his hand. “Come to me, ma belle ame.” I step in front of him, my gaze fixed on Eric, jaw clenched.
Thane’s fingers brush my temple as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
His breath warms my skin. “He’s the worst that society has to offer,” he murmurs, “but I don’t have to tell you that. ”
My pulse hammers against my ribs. The edges of my vision blur, whitening like milk, seeping across my sight.
Heat sears behind my eyes. My knees buckle, but Thane’s grip steadies me as fragments of memories flash before me.
I can hear Thane’s voice faintly, steadying me as I fight my way through my vision.
“The only way out is through it.” He sounds worried for me, but he’s my anchor in the storm.
I quickly realize this vision is not of his making, but my own—my anger, my rage, my pain coming to a head in the moment that reshaped my life.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Eric says, a sly grin painting all-American features—sandy blonde hair, eyes as blue as the ocean, a star-studded quarterback for St. Aurelius University. “Can I fill you up?”
I smile up at him. “Yeah.”
He grabs my hand, and we weave through a sea of undulating sweatybodies. We make it to the kitchen, and I stop short in front of the beer tap, but he keeps walking past. He pulls me close, murmuring into my ear over the thumping bass of the electric sound.
“It’s from my private stash. Come on.” His fingers lace through mine softly, gently, as I grin like an idiot.
As we climb the stairs, I tuck my hand under the back of the super short skirt my new friend Tiffany gave me so that no one behind me gets a free show—she said it would be cute, and since it was the first party of the semester, all the freshmen needed to make a good impression, especially at a Omega Epsilon Rho party.
She said it was important to fall in with the right boy, the right crowd, and somehow, one of the popular boys chose me.
I know it’s dumb, but something about it makes my stomach flutter.
He pushes his way through the people scattered through the halls until we find ourselves outside of a room with the name CARTER stamped across it in gilded bronze lettering.
“Right this way, mademoiselle.” He looks back at me and smiles, and my heart does that stupid thing it’s been doing since the moment he looked in my direction.
His room is cleaner than you would expect for a frat room, and contrary to popular belief, it smells good; his cologne wafts around in the air, enveloping me.
While he hits the mini fridge in the opposite corner, I admire his dresser, touching different trinkets, looking at all the smiling faces in framed pictures.
One of the photos, in particular, sparks my interest—an older woman and a young girl who share the same sandy blonde hair as him, sitting on what appears to be a yacht. The silver frame is engraved with the words, “In loving memory.”
“That’s my mom and my sister.” I didn’t even notice him coming up behind me. “They died last year—a drunk driver hit them while they were out on an early morning jog.” He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me close.
“I’m sorry, Eric.” My eyes meet his when I look over my shoulder, and turn around, bringing my hand to cup his cheek. “I’m so sorry. I won’t tell you it ever gets better. It just gets easier, ya know?”
“Yeah, I miss them like hell every day. Sometimes it feels like my chest is caving in.” He’s silent for a moment, fixated on the picture before asking, “You lost someone too?”
I finger the necklace around my neck, filled with my father’s ashes. “Yeah, my dad.” My sister had gotten the necklace on , three matching hearts, one for each of us—my herself, my mother, and me—and a bullet-shaped one for my brother RJ. “He died overseas. He was in the Army.”
“He died protecting this country,” he whispers in a hushed tone against my ear. “He was a hero.”
Out of all of the times I have heard this, it still hits the same way—shallow, tone-deaf.
Just because he was a hero doesn’t mean I miss him any less.
It never satiated the need to hear him say, “Morning, Kenz,” while flipping blueberry pancakes on Saturday morning.
And it certainly doesn’t give my mother the love of her life back—she became a mess after he was gone, and she never recovered from the pain.
“Uh, you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, snapping out of my downward spiral. I blink, slipping the tiresome mask of apathy back onto my face. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Then let’s get you that drink, then, huh?”
My lip curves into a practiced smile. “Sure.”
He leads us to a couch opposite his bed, placing a bottle of tequila that looks far too rich for my taste on the table in front of me. He strolls over to the fridge, swinging the door open so hard, it hits the wall with a thud.
Ice clinks against glass as he fills a couple of tumblers. I watch him, keeping my posture relaxed while cataloguing the way his shoulders move beneath his expensive shirt.
“You like lime with yours?” he asks, glancing back at me.
“Sure,” I say again, keeping my voice light.
He returns with our glasses, sitting close enough that I can smell his cologne—something woodsy and probably worth more than my whole outfit.
As I take the glass from his hand, our fingers brush for a moment, and it sends tingles through me when his touch lingers a beat too long.
“So,” he says, pouring tequila into each glass, before leaning back into the cushions and handing me mine. “Tell me more about yourself.”
I take a small sip, letting the burn slide down my throat. It’s smooth—expensive. Nothing like the cheap stuff Tiffany and I drank in our dorm before coming here.
“Not much to tell,” I say, crossing my legs and adjusting my skirt. “Freshman, undeclared major. Just trying to figure college out.”
Eric smirks, sipping his drink. “Undeclared? You strike me as someone who knows exactly what they want.”
I laugh, though it comes out nervous. “Maybe someday. Right now, I’m just…” I trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence honestly.
“Just what?” His eyes are locked on mine, making it hard to look away.
“Just trying to belong somewhere,” I admit, then immediately regret it. Way to sound desperate, Mackenzie.
Eric leans in, his eyes catching mine. “Everyone wants to belong somewhere.” His fingertips brush my knee, and I fight the urge to flinch. “But you don’t strike me as ‘everyone.’”
I take another sip, bigger this time, welcoming the warm rush that follows. “What do I strike you as, then?”
“Someone interesting.” He shifts closer, the cushion dipping under his weight. “Someone with depth.”
I laugh, the sound brittle even to my own ears. “You got all that from watching me for what—twenty minutes at a party?”
“I’ve been watching you longer than that.” His confession makes my skin prickle. “Saw you in the quad yesterday. Reading under that big oak tree.”
I hadn’t even realized I’d been noticed before our meeting. The revelation sends a confusing mix of flattery and unease through me.
“What was I reading?” I challenge, testing him.
“Sylvia Plath,” he says without hesitation. “The Bell Jar. Pretty heavy stuff for a freshman.”
I’m caught between being impressed and creeped out. “Should I be flattered or concerned that you were watching me?”
He laughs, a deep sound that seems to vibrate through the couch between us. “Flattered. Definitely flattered.” His fingers trace small circles on my knee. “You looked so intense, so focused. Not like most people here who are just going through the motions.”
The tequila is making my head fuzzy, softening my usual defenses. I take another sip, letting the warmth spread through me, and my eyes start to feel heavy.
“My dad loved…my dad…” My words slur. My tongue is heavy, and my vision blurs.
“My dad loved Plath,” I manage to get out, though it feels like my mouth is stuffed with cotton. Something’s wrong. The room seems to tilt sideways, and I blink hard, trying to focus.