23. Mckenna
TWENTY-THREE
MCKENNA
My chest hurts.
My heart aches. My mind spins.
Maverick nearly died.
He almost overdosed.
And now, he’s in a detox program for the next two weeks.
It’s my fault.
I heard the conversation between him and his bandmates the evening before.
“You need help, Mav,” Levi breathes out.
“Consider this an intervention,” Reign adds.
Jameson sighs. “You gotta detox, brother.”
“You focus on you,” Derek says.
“On getting the help you need.”
“On doing the goddamn work,” Levi tacks on.
“Because it’s going to be hard as fuck.”
“But we need you, Mav.” Jameson’s voice is laced with emotion.
“The Burnt Clovers need you. I need you.”
I need him too.
Oh, God, do I need him.
But I didn’t say it.
I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t even be in that hospital room, staring at Maverick, lying in a bed and hooked up to an IV.
I couldn’t face him after I pushed him to react this way.
To hurt himself. To nearly overdose.
I shake my head, unwilling to accept the reality of what almost happened.
It didn’t.
But it could have.
“Hey,” Allegra says, entering the kitchen.
The cracked coffee table and empty beer cans that littered the living room floor have been removed, but the smell of stale beer and sick still lingers.
“You don’t have to clean this up,” Allegra says.
I continue to scrub at the butcher block island until her hand comes over mine, stopping me.
“I can’t do nothing,” I say.
“I know. But, Kenny, Mav wouldn’t want you to skip classes or?—”
“I don’t care about school,” I cut her off.
“I care about him. Oh, God, Allegra, how will we get past this?”
“By confronting it. By being honest. By communicating,” she says soothingly.
“You’ll probably be able to see him by the end of the week.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, continuing my cleaning.
Allegra doesn’t say anything else.
Instead, she lets me be.
I spend the remainder of the day cleaning the brownstone and rearranging the furniture until it looks like a home again.
Like my home with Mav.
I throw myself into my studies, into early morning runs, into busy work.
Anything to distract my mind from Maverick’s twisted smile when he looked at me and said, “I love you, Mckenna. I love you so much.” Right before he nearly fucking died.
At the end of the week, Maverick is allowed to have visitors but when I show up at the rehabilitation facility, he won’t see me.
“I’m sorry, hon,” a kind woman says, offering me a sympathetic smile from behind the reception desk.
“Not today.”
“Oh, okay,” I reply.
My eyes burn and my heart sinks.
Maverick doesn’t want to see me.
Or speak to me. Or even be with me.
I accused him of suffocating me but never realized how much I need him just to breathe.
I go every morning, and each day, I’m turned away.
Maverick doesn’t want me anymore.
I hurt him too deeply.
I pushed him too far.
And now, he’s snapping the last connection between us.
The worst part? I don’t blame him.
Desperate to feel closer to Mav, even though it’s delusional, I move back into the brownstone.
I sleep in our bed, eat at our table, and wrap myself in Mav’s extra-large hoodies at night.
I bring the cuffs of his sweatshirts to my nose and inhale deeply, breathing in his scent.
I miss him so much. It’s unbearable, thinking about him detoxing in rehab, and not knowing what he’s going through.
I confessed my deepest secret to him and leaned on him to help me through it.
But Mav shuns my help.
He doesn’t want my support.
He wants nothing to do with me.
I curl onto my side, pressing my ear into Maverick’s pillow, as a sob wracks through my limbs.
My phone beeps, and I glance at it, noting the message from Aiden.
Aiden
I’ll give you a call in 15 minutes.
I sit up, narrowing my eyes at the message.
What does Aiden want to discuss?
Did something happen?
The doorbell rings and I groan, dragging myself from bed.
I move down the stairs slowly and check to see who is at the front door.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, pulling the door open to reveal my father on the front porch.
He winces when he sees me, and I know I look terrible.
Sleep deprived. Haggard.
Lost.
“I want to talk to you,” he explains, lifting a brown paper bag.
“I brought dinner.”
“I’m not hungry,” I say, turning toward the kitchen.
I hear the front door close and the sounds of Dad’s footsteps as he follows me.
He places the bag on the island and gives me a stern look.
“You need to eat, Kenny.”
I sigh and grab plates and cutlery.
Dad and I pile our dishes with baked ziti and salad before we sit across from each other at the kitchen island.
“How’s Mav?” Dad asks.
I shrug. “Jameson says he’s the same. He’s finished next week and moving to an outpatient program.”
“Still not talking to you?”
I glare at Dad, and he holds up a hand.
“He’ll come around,” he tacks on unconvincingly.
“I hope so,” I admit.
“So, what’s up?”
Dad sighs heavily and leans forward, resting his elbows on the tabletop.
“The situation with that scum, Branson, is finished. He’s not in Boston anymore and he won’t pose a problem or a threat to you.”
I sit up straight as a rush of emotion surges through me.
A few weeks ago, I would have been furious that Dad continued to poke and dig into the situation when I asked him not to.
Now, with my thoughts centered on Mav, I’m relieved it’s one less thing to worry about.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes.
Relief fills my veins.
A glimmer of hope—a tiny spark of finally —shimmers through my mind.
I clear my throat. “Where did he go?”
Dad scrapes a hand over his chin.
“His family called him back home. They’re going to deal with him. Keep him in line.”
I frown.
“But what about other women? What if Bran does this to someone else?”
Bran’s voice fills my thoughts, and guilt that I never publicly came forward assaults my mind.
“Don’t tell anyone, Mckenna Byrne.”
“I’ll destroy your fucking life.”
“You owe me. And I own you.”
Dad nods, understanding in his gaze.
“Do you want to press charges? I’ll do whatever you want, Mckenna. Anything.”
God, my heart wrenches at the sincerity in Dad’s eyes.
He’s putting me in the driver’s seat for the first time, and I.
.. stall.
“Dad,” my voice breaks.
He winces and nods. He reaches across the table and grasps my wrist. “Sometimes, justice is served differently. It’s not all straightforward. It’s not all black and white.”
“But it should be. This should be.”
“That’s up to you, Kenny. You call the shots on this one.”
I don’t reply because the words get stuck.
I don’t know what to say.
Echoes of Mav’s words skitter around my head.
“I’ll always listen, Mckenna. And I’ll always fucking believe in you.”
I wish Mav were here.
I wish I could talk about this with him.
Snuggle into his side, lean my head on his shoulder, and whisper my confessions in the space between us.
“You should know that Mav helped. In fact, it was his research that made my steps possible. I know you didn’t want him to rescue you. He didn’t, Mckenna. You rescued yourself. It’s been over two years—you did that and made it this far. Maverick provided the love and support you needed to overcome new hurdles.”
“I miss him,” I murmur quietly.
“I know,” Dad sighs, eating a forkful of pasta.
“Dad.”
He looks up at me, waiting.
I suck in a breath, and I ask the question.
“What did you do? How did you get Bran’s family to make him come home?”
Dad’s eyes narrow.
“Bran’s family is very political, Mckenna.”
I close my eyes, knowing what that means.
Money and power and empty promises.
“What did you do?”
Dad heaves out a breath.
“I offered to throw my connections, connections they need to make a run for Congress, behind Bran’s cousin, Eric.”
“Isn’t he running for Congress in Texas? Aren’t your connections here, in Massachusetts.”
Dad dips his head.
“I studied in Texas a long time ago. It was only a year but the friendships I made, the network I built, coupled with my business associates… Well, I still have some sway in the Lone Star State.”
“And in exchange for those connections?”
“Bran withdraws from law school here and relocates to Texas. I’m not saying it’s right, Mckenna. But you’re my daughter. And you’re my top priority. If I can get this fucker out of your life, away from you, so you can attend your last semester of law school, then that’s what I’m going to do. It may be a short-term solution but right now, that seemed better than nothing.”
“Yeah,” I agree softly.
Anything feels better than nothing right now.
“Thanks for telling me, Dad.”
Dad’s expression softens.
“Get some rest, Kenny. You look exhausted.”
I nod, managing a small bite of salad.
“I will.”
Dad stands from the island and walks to my side.
He envelops me in a hug and kisses the top of my head.
“I mean it, Kenny. And make sure you eat.”
I nod.
“Thank you. For taking care of this. For helping me.”
“Always, Mckenna. I love you, kid.” He pulls back to meet my eyes.
“But this one was mostly Maverick.”
“Yeah.” Deep down, I always trusted that Mav would keep me safe.
He’s still looking out for me, even from rehab, even when he wants nothing to do with me.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Dad says.
I walk him to the front door, say good night, and collapse back on the barstool in the kitchen.
I take another bite of dinner when my phone rings.
I pick it up and my stomach bottoms out when I read Aiden’s name on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Kenny? This a bad time?” Aiden asks.
I clear my throat, shaking off the strange feelings coursing through me.
“No, it’s fine.”
Aiden sighs.
“How’s he doing?” I screw my eyes closed the second I ask.
My heart races, nervous.
Aiden’s quiet for a moment, weighing his words.
“He’s hurting,” he admits.
I curl my fingers into a fist, hating that for Mav.
Hating this for both of us.
“He’s got another week in detox left. Derek’s finishing his song lyrics for him.”
Shit.
I know how important songwriting is to Mav.
I know how badly he wanted to finish writing the song he started.
But… “He’s getting better?”
“I hope so,” Aiden says.
“That bender was intense.”
“Yeah.”
“He was starting to veer into destructive habits. Starting to use you as his new drug of choice, wasn’t he?”
That statement pulls me up short because.
.. “I never thought of it like that before.” But now that Aiden said it.
..yes, I can see how Mav was obsessing and fixating on Branson and my history with him.
“He’s surrounded by the band and his team. He has good friends, Kenny,” Aiden reassures me as if to assuage me of guilt.
“I know,” I murmur. “He won’t see me.”
Aiden’s quiet for a moment.
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I. What did you want to talk about?”
“I know this isn’t a great time, but we never talked about my email. Do you have any reservations about the contract?”
My eyebrows furrow.
“What?”
“Are you okay with the time limit and the funds involved?” Aiden asks.
“Do you want to make any changes?”
“No, no, it’s fine. I don’t want, I don’t care about the money. I just want Mav to be okay.”
“I know,” Aiden says.
“Is this, why are you calling about this now?” I press.
Aiden’s quiet for a moment.
“Just dotting I’s and crossing T’s,” he says finally.
“I hope you get the closure you’re looking for, Mckenna.” His voice holds a note of sadness.
“Yeah. Take care, Aiden,” I say before hanging up.
I frown at the phone, hating how awkward our exchange was.
On some level, I always felt like Aiden and I were friends but at the end of the day, he’s Mav’s lawyer.
My appetite gone, I leave the dishes on the island and climb back up the stairs.
Then, I lay on Mav’s side of the bed, stare at the ceiling, and ignore the tears that rush from my eyes into my hairline.
Closing my eyes, I curl into a ball and roll onto my side.
I feel small. Weak. Guilty.
And alone.
Bran’s gone from my life, and part of me is relieved.
I won’t see him on campus.
I won’t have to dodge his advances or listen to his cold, snide remarks.
But the burst of satisfaction I anticipated didn’t come.
Instead, a part of me remains disappointed.
And sad.
No, there’s no closure.
Not where Bran is concerned.
Not for Maverick.
And certainly not for me.