Chapter 17 Mav
SEVENTEEN
MAV
She’s terrified. Her skin is pale, her eyes are shifty, and she’s twisting her fingers the way she does when she’s nervous. She keeps biting that plump bottom lip and dragging her hand through her hair.
She’s fidgety. On edge.
And I want to track Bran down and put him to the ground for causing Mckenna pain again. For making her relive shit she was moving past. For giving her new hurts on top of old traumas.
On the inside, I’m seething. My blood is running so hot, my vision holds a glint of red.
But on the outside, I force myself to act cool. To stay calm. To be the man Mckenna needs me to be. One who shows up for her, who makes sure she knows that she’s in fucking control, and who goes to bat for her regardless of whatever choice she makes. Or doesn’t make.
Nothing matters except her and right now, I want her to know that.
“You can come home with me,” Mr. Byrne offers.
We’re clustered around her hospital bed waiting for her final discharge papers to come through so we can leave this godforsaken place. The doctor kept Mckenna in the hospital overnight and I hated every second of being in the brownstone without her.
Her eyes flicker to me, navy and shaded with emotions I can’t read.
My hands curl into fists. Does she want to go home with her dad? Does she want to come home with me?
Fuck, I don’t want to let her out of my sight. But I’m fighting my natural tendency to bulldoze and throw a tantrum to get my way. Or, worse, to make decisions for her.
I stare back, waiting for her to clue me into her thoughts.
What do you want, Mckenna?
I’ll do anything for you, beauty.
She clears her throat. Jeannie shoots me a knowing look.
Fuck. Why can’t I read girl code?
Mr. Byrne tilts his head closer to his daughter, waiting for her response to his offer.
“You can also come home with me,” I speak up. “We’re practically living together in the brownstone and there, you’ll be comfortable, with all of your things.”
Jeannie grins. Mckenna’s eyes lighten.
Jeannie nods enthusiastically. “I think that makes the most sense. Good thinking, Mav. What do you think, Kenny?”
Mckenna nods slowly, her expression thoughtful. For a heartbeat, her hand drops to her stomach and an expression I can’t read crosses her face. But then, she shakes her head and her eyes clear.
I step closer to her bedside and lean down to brush a kiss over her cheek. “I got you, beauty.”
She pulls in a breath and I hate that it’s shaky.
Does my proximity make her nervous now? Did Bran’s attack tangle up her thoughts to the point where she’s unsure about me? About us?
Easing back, I shuffle away half a step and turn to Mr. Byrne. “I’ll take good care of her, Mr. Byrne.”
“I know you will, Maverick.” He stares at me, his gaze assessing. “And I think it’s time you call me Brian.”
I hear Mckenna suck in a breath, but I don’t turn around.
Mr. Byrne’s—Brian’s—acceptance hits me hard. Maybe it’s because I’m still shuffling through my fucked-up shit from Big Jim, but this man entrusting me with his daughter’s safety, extending an olive branch and accepting me as part of his circle, means more than he understands.
I clear my throat. “Thank you, sir. Brian.”
He smiles. “Thank you, Mav.”
“All right,” Kimberly says, sweeping into the room. “You’re all set to go home.” She glances up from her clipboard, her eyes darting from Jeannie to Brian to me. “Mckenna will need some caretaking and—”
“I’ll be with her,” I cut Kimberly off.
Relief pours from Kimberly’s eyes as she practically beams at Mckenna. “That’s good, right?”
Mckenna snorts and shifts her weight in bed, nodding.
“Excellent.” Kimberly jots something down on her chart. “Then let’s get you discharged, Mckenna.”
“Easy,” I say softly as I help Mckenna lie back on the bed. I ease the comforter over her legs and sit beside her. “Are you hungry, Mckenna? Thirsty? Desperate to start a new Netflix show? There’s so much for us to binge.”
She gives me a soft smile and gestures with her hand that she’d like to write. Understanding that she needs a notebook, I snatch one from the end table and place a pen in her hand.
She jots something down and I lean closer to read it.
I’m good for now. Thank you, Mav.
The words twist my gut.
“Don’t thank me, beauty. I’d do anything for you. I’m so fucking relieved that we’re home.”
She nods but her eyes have taken on a faraway gleam.
Fuck, I hate seeing her suffer because of Bran. I know it’s going to take some time. I know she needs to process and heal and work through things in her own time. But I wish I could make it easier for her; I wish I could be more help than the guy she watches Netflix with.
“Do you want to make an appointment to speak with your therapist?” I ask quietly.
Mckenna writes another note.
“Next week,” I read it aloud. Then, I glance at her and nod.
“Right. You need to rest your voice.” I brush a hand over her hair.
“Mckenna, I’m out of my wheelhouse here, but I will do anything and everything in my power to support you through this.
Whatever you need, whatever you want to do, I’m on your team, beauty. ”
She releases a shaky breath and dips her head as tears appear in the corners of her eyes.
She snuggles deeper under the blankets and I note the heaviness of her eyelids.
“Rest, my love,” I murmur. I move to stand and she clutches my hand, threading our fingers together. I nod and stretch out beside her. “I’ll be here when you wake up,” I promise.
I watch as she drifts off to sleep. She curls into my side and I’m mindful of her bandages, of her bruised ribs, as I wind my arm around her shoulders.
She rests her head on my chest and I take my first full breath in over a day. Mckenna’s arm wraps around my abdomen and I like the weight of it, the feel of her, on me.
Within minutes, sleep claims her. I’m a little relieved. For starters, I want her to rest so she can heal.
But I wasn’t lying when I said I’m out of my wheelhouse. What’s the best way to support Mckenna through this? How do I help her navigate something so personal, so fucking terrifying?
Do I ask her questions so she knows she can talk to me? Do I wait for her to broach the subject so I’m not prying? Does she want to talk about it or forget it ever happened?
Maybe I should reach out to my therapist? Yes, I’ll do that.
Maybe Mckenna will feel better once she knows more about Bran’s future. All we know for sure is that he was arrested and is still in jail. His father did not post his bail.
Brian isn’t sure what Mr. Burton’s motive is for leaving Bran in jail but he thinks Bran must have violated whatever deal he made with his father.
And, Brian explained, with a family as politically connected as the Burtons, they won’t stick out their own necks to save Bran’s reputation if he’s going to be a liability.
It seems that’s exactly what Bran is and I hope his family cuts him off and drags him through the mud.
It will make things a hell of a lot easier for the case Mckenna wants to build if Bran doesn’t have his family’s support.
But it’s too early to tell where the chips will fall. Right now, knowing Bran is behind bars and Rose, who lost her job, is fully cooperating with the police, allows Mckenna to sleep easier.
She snores softly and I smile. Pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, I hold her closer.
Tomorrow, Brian and Jeannie are coming over for breakfast and we’re going to talk through things. Then, later this week, we’ll meet again with Laura and her team as well as the Victim Witness Advocate, May.
Now that Mckenna’s been attacked, we can’t waste time. We need to make sure she gets the justice she deserves.