Give Me Hell

  Mac is fighting so hard to hold herself together. After everything we’ve been through, I owe her the truth. The real reason I sent her away. But I’m scared. It will change the way she sees me. Forever.

  “Give it to me straight,” she demands, her chin jutting out. She’s bracing for the hit.

  So I give it to her like a neat shot of whiskey. “I killed someone.”

  Mac scrambles from my lap and the loss of her warmth is sharp. She rounds on me, her eyes wide with shock. “Jake.”

  “I shot a defenceless man in cold blood.”

  It’s finally out there. I feel no better for it. Admitting what I’ve done to the person I love above all others just about breaks me.

  Mac is looking at me as if she doesn’t know who I am. I’m a stranger to her now.

  “Why?” Her voice is sharp, almost shrill. “Why would you do that?”

  “He wasn’t supposed to die!”

  I stand and she steps away from me. I’m already losing her.

  “I got caught up with some bad people, Mac.” I shake my head, feeling sick. “The King Street Boys. I never wanted you involved. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. Things that earned me a lot of money. The cost of my father’s care was something I couldn’t afford. Not when I was sixteen fucking years old.” I scrub hands over my face. Frustration rises until I’m drowning in it. “He can’t even talk properly!” I cry. “How was he supposed to fend for himself? I know it’s not an excuse, but I felt I had no choice.”

  “You always had a choice!” she screams, fury burning red streaks high across her cheekbones.

  “I didn’t!”

  “You could have come home! You could have talked to me. To my parents. We could have worked it out!”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right.” Her eyes are like ice now. “I don’t.”

  My hands clench, itching to take hold of her and force her to understand, to bridge the gaping fracture in the earth between our feet. It’s opening wider with every breath she takes.

  “And the man you killed?” Mac asks, her voice stony.

  “They were testing me. They wanted to be sure I’d take orders. So they gave me a gun. It was supposed to be empty. At least Luke thought it was, but it turns out it wasn’t,” I say, my tone bitter. “And a man died. That made me a murderer, Mac. And they knew it. They bought my loyalty to the gang with fucking murder.”

  Mac swallows and shakes her head as if my words are incomprehensible. And they are because it’s been years and I still can’t comprehend them either.

  “Then you show up out of the blue in Melbourne, and I knew you couldn’t stay. It wasn’t safe. But I wasn’t strong enough to make you leave. So I had the great idea to get out.”

  “And they didn’t like it,” she says, smart enough to put the puzzle pieces together.

  “That night at The Bar was their warning. Leave and we won’t just shoot you, we’ll shoot your girlfriend too. So I rang your brothers and the next morning you were gone.”

  Mac wraps her arms around herself, hugging her upper body. It makes me ache that I can’t do that for her. “You could’ve told me. Instead you kept me in the dark. You made the decision to get rid of me.”

  “They would have killed you!” My shout is so loud she flinches. Why can’t she see that I was just trying to keep her alive!

  “I can take care of myself!” she shouts back. “You’re just like my brothers. You think you know what’s best for me, but you don’t.” Her entire body is trembling now. I take a step toward her, and she steps back again. “You have no idea!”

  “I’m sorry,” I implore. “I was young, Mac. And stupid. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

  “You thought,” she throws out. Her voice is harsher than the black coffee she drinks. “You. You. You. What about what I thought?”

  “I’m sorry,” I say again. “I was wrong.”

  Mac tilts her head back. An abrupt laugh leaves her lips as if my apology is ludicrous. The sound dies out and she shakes her head. “Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it.” Her eyes fill and she blinks. “What a goddamn clusterfuck.”

  Emptiness engulfs me. Coming clean was the right thing to do, but at what cost? “Can we just put this behind us and move forward? I know it won’t be easy, but we have time on our side. I love you.”

  Mac steps back again and the fracture at our feet is so wide now I fear it irreparable. “There’s no moving forward, Jake. Only moving on.”

  She turns and plucks a set of car keys from the bowl by the door. Then she leaves without speaking another word.

  The duplex settles into painful silence. The kind so loud it roars in your ears. I sink back on the couch, trying to convince myself it doesn’t hurt. That maybe she’s right. Moving on might be the only way.

  The front door flies open with a bang.

  My head jerks up.

  Mac is standing there, eyes on me. Her mouth opens and closes. “I …”

  Hope rises in a heady rush. I stand.

  Her eyes darts to the kitchen, her body skittish. “I forgot my bag.”

  “You don’t need your bag.”

  Her brows soar high. “I don’t?”

  “No. Because you’re not going anywhere.”

  “Jake.” She shuts the front door behind her and moves on legs that appear unsteady.

  Give me something, Princess.

  Please.

  Anything.

  “I love you too.”

  The impact of her words hit so hard my eyes close for a second. I absorb them like the warm summer sun on a cool blustery day. How can she still feel the same knowing what I’ve done? I don’t deserve it, but I don’t care. We’ve gone through too much and come too far for me to not grab that love with both hands.

  Mac is still there when my eyes open, her declaration lingering in the air between us. I close the distance and grasp the lapels of her leather jacket, pulling her against me. Her hands cup my cheeks and I mash my lips down on hers. Heat shoots straight to my belly.

  Mac doesn’t hold back. Her mouth is warm and eager. I part her lips with my tongue and sweep inside with aggression. My hands loosen on her jacket. They slide underneath and span her ribcage.

  The kiss feels endless yet it’s not enough. I draw back, giving us a moment to breathe. Her hands slide from my face and she moves backward. My arms fall away. The expression on her face gives my gut a jerky twinge.

  “No, babe. Whatever you’re thinking, stop it,” I demand, my voice hoarse. “Right now.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Can’t what?”

  “I love you, but I can’t do this,” she whispers.

  “You can,” I argue. My anger grows until I fear my chest will explode.

  Mac holds her head high. “I’m sorry, Jake. Too much has happened. Too many lies and secrets. I can’t get past it. I just can’t.”

  I breathe deep, fighting for calm, but I lose. “Goddammit!” I roar.

  Mac flinches.

  I turn and kick the small side table beside the sofa. The force has it skidding across the floor upending against the wall near the stairs. One of the legs splinters on impact. It doesn’t ease the rage and frustration. Grabbing the glass bowl off the cabinet by the door, I throw it across the room. It smashes against the wall and punches a hole in the plaster before shattering into a rain of glass shards across the floor.

  “Stop it!” Mac shouts, her voice piercing the red haze.

  I’ve never had anything worthwhile apart from music and Mackenzie Valentine. But I’m a fool, because I never had her. It seems destiny has decreed I never will.

  I try to say something, anything, but words stick in my throat.

  Mac speaks instead. Her tone is soothing. “Remember that summer when we were kids and we snuck up on Mitch and Eli in the backyard with the hose?”

  Of course I remember. It was hot as blazes, and Mac still had that damn cast on her arm. She couldn’t swim
in the pool and every shower required her wrapping it up in garbage bags. We wrapped it up again after lunch and lay under the sprinkler on the front lawn to cool off. Mac had been in the throes of planning a revenge attack against Mitch. He’d tipped out her new, expensive shampoo a week earlier and filled the bottle with dishwashing liquid. Her hair resembled straw for two days afterward until Jenna had him coughing up hard-earned pocket money to pay for a deep-conditioning treatment at a salon.

  It hadn’t eased Mac’s bitterness. She was busy griping as we lay on the lawn, drops of water sprinkling intermittently over our bodies. Then an idea hit me. Mitch and Elijah were seated at the table out the back, frantically pulling together their summer essays at the last minute before school started back. I suggested we hose them.

  So we did. Creeping around the back of the house, Mac hid behind the hedge of shrubbery while I stood by the tap waiting for the signal. Turning the dial to jet and taking aim, Mac touched her earlobe and then held up two fingers telling me she was good to go.

  I twisted the tap and ran, reaching her side just as she turned the hose on Mitch full force. The blast had loose papers and books flying off the back table in a flood of complete and utter devastation.

  The fury Mitch turned our way should’ve set our hair on fire. He stood like the Terminator, eyes red with a vengeance that would not be stopped. Mac had muttered an “oh shit” and dropped the hose, leaving it to gush water over the grass.

  Grabbing her arm, I dragged her off until we were running around the side of the house, our hands clasped tightly together and laughter tearing from us until my eyes blurred and my sides hurt.

  Mitch chased us all the way down the street before finally giving up. When we eventually risked returning, we found he’d locked us out of the house. We sat side by side on the front stoop waiting until Jenna returned home from work.

  “We sat on that damn stoop for over two hours as the sun set,” Mac says, pulling me from the memory, “wet and getting colder by minute.”

  “I remember,” I mutter gruffly.

  “I jostled your shoulder and you looked at me. The colours of the setting sun were bright in your eyes, and I’d never seen anything more beautiful. You laughed at me and I realised I was staring. Then I told you that I’d never had so much fun or felt so free as I did when I was with you. That you were my best friend.”

  The lump in my throat is huge. “And I said that you were my best friend too. The only real friend I ever had.”

  Mac’s head tilts back. She’s desperately blinking back tears. When she has them under control, her eyes return to mine. “I want to go back to that. I love you, Jake, but I need time. Time to be your friend again like we used to be. Can you give me that?”

  She’s right. There have been too many secrets. Too many lies. Betrayal. And so much hurt that we both need time to mend the wounds. As much as I want to be with her, we can’t force the healing process.

  “Okay,” I croak and hold out my hand. “Friends?”

  The front door flies open as she’s taking my hand in hers. “Friends.”

  We shake on it.

  “Holy shit!” Cooper announces from behind Mac. He’s staring at us, at our joined hands, and then back at us. Frog steps in beside him.

  Both of them take in the scene before them, which includes smashed glass, splintered furniture, and the contents of Mac’s handbag strewn about the kitchen.

  “Holy shit!” Frog exclaims.

  I let go of Mac’s hand. The smooth warmth of her palm slowly slides away from mine as we ignore our friends. My lips curve because for some reason it feels good. Like we’ve been through a wild cyclone and were standing in the aftermath. Survivors. Mac’s lips curve in response.

  “Has Armageddon arrived?” Cooper bleats as he walks further inside, hands on his hips as he inspects the damage.

  “I don’t know,” Frog replies, “but I feel all wrong. Like I stepped inside an alternate universe in some kind of monumental cosmic accident.” He actually steps back outside and looks to the sky, eyes searching.

  “What?” Cooper says. He walks out to stand beside Frog and looks up.

  “I’m checking for a tear in the fabric of time.”

  Cooper scratches his head. “Isn’t that for time travel? I thought a parallel universe was like radio waves or something.”

  Mac clears her throat. “I’m going to go visit Evie at the hospital.”

  “Alright.” My gaze sweeps over the evidence of my tantrum. “I guess I’ll clean this up.”

  MAC

  To say our family dinner the following Sunday is a cold affair is to say water is a little bit wet. It’s as if a blizzard has blown through, leaving a layer of frost on everything it touched, including me.

  “Can you pass the salt?” Mitch asks from my right.

  Ordinarily, their bullshit puts me in a rage and that saltshaker will find itself pegged at his head. Instead, I pick it up in silence and set it to my right, looking at no one.

  I can’t bring myself to talk to any of my brothers, let alone look at them. My trust in their honesty has been destroyed, levelled to rubble like a building in an earthquake.

  “Mac, honey, are you okay?” Mum asks from across the table.

  My eyes flick up from the food I’m pushing around on my plate. “Never better.”

  The flat response doesn’t appease the concern in her eyes. She tilts her head. “How’s Jake?”

  “He’s good.”

  “And Cooper? Frog?”

  “They’re all good, Mum.”

  “Well then.” She smiles with false pleasantness, trying to lift the dark mood that has settled in around the table. “I saw Evie today.” Her gaze shifts to Jared seated beside her, lines forming on her forehead. “She told me—”

  Jared clears his throat loudly, and she stops talking. “That I’m leaving tomorrow,” he says in a pre-emptive strike. I already know. Evie was a broken-hearted mess thanks to my douchebag brother. He’s leaving because of what happened. Jared blames himself for her getting shot. His ludicrous solution is to remove himself from the equation, leaving Evie safe from danger. I can’t even begin to list all the things wrong with his plan. It’s evidence of his assumption that he’s doing what he thinks best for her. Meaning he hasn’t changed a bit. “For work,” he clarifies.

  “Don’t you mean running away?” I mutter snidely under my breath.

  Dad’s brows pull together. “For how long?”

  “A few months, maybe.”

  “Good riddance,” I mutter again.

  Mitch gives a saddened sigh. He heard me.

  “I’m taking Casey’s place overseas for the training workshops.”

  Mitch turns his head toward me. He speaks softly, not wanting to be heard above the conversation taking place around the table. “Mac, can we talk? Outside?”

  “No.”

  “Please?”

  Of all my brothers, Mitch is the most considerate. The wisest. His moral compass is so strong a hurricane can’t blow it off course. It makes his inclusion in the betrayal all the worse. “No.”

  His voice comes out as a low growl. I’m trying his patience, which is not an easy feat. “Now, Mackenzie Valentine, you’ll hear what I have to say.”

  “I couldn’t give two shits about what you have to say.”

  He ignores my snide tone and reaches across the table in front of me for the pepper grinder. His arm bumps my glass of wine. It tips toward me, making a loud clink as it hits my plate. Conversation halts as merlot spews out in a giant arc, dousing my face and chest.

  My hands fly up, a loud gasp leaving my mouth as I look down at my pretty lemon dress. It’s a Collette Dinnigan. An absolute classic. A treasured masterpiece of fabric that makes my tired skin glow, my legs appear longer, and cheers me up better than a block of chocolate.

  “I’m sorry,” Mitch says, abandoning his quest for the pepper as he takes in the disaster he created. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

&
nbsp; If I were ever going to do tears, now would be the time. “This one isn’t in her collection anymore.”

  “Then I’ll buy you a hundred new ones.”

  Mum comes racing toward me with paper towel. “A hundred?” I echo.

  “Sweetheart,” Mum mutters at Mitch as she blots at the mess. “You can’t buy a hundred new ones. This is a Collette Dinnigan.”

  His face remains blank. “So?”

  “So you may as well just buy me a Ferrari instead,” I snap. “I’ll take one in red, thanks.”

  “Maybe I’ll just replace the one dress,” he mumbles.

  “Honey, quickly go upstairs to your old room and get this off,” Mum instructs as she steps back to survey the damage. “We’ll get the stains right out, I promise.”

  I do as she suggests. I’m just sliding on a pair of old sweatpants when Mitch appears in the doorway. He leans against the frame and folds his arms.

  My eyes narrow. “You ruined my dress on purpose.”

  He shrugs. “I did. I’m sorry. To be fair, I thought the wine would just spill onto the food you weren’t eating anyway. I didn’t realise your glass was so full.”

  “Well it was, so thanks a bunch, asshead. You can take me shopping tomorrow.”

  “Done,” he says quickly. Too quickly. “Whatever you want. It’s yours.”

  My eyes narrow further, to mere slits. “You can’t buy forgiveness, Mitch.”

  “I know that, but you’ve been through a lot in the last week. More hell than some people go through in a lifetime. You deserve some time out to focus on something frivolous like shopping.”

  It’s a sentiment I can’t deny, and Mitch is vulnerable right now. I should be taking advantage rather than getting my knickers twisted in a knot. Leaning back against the dresser behind me, I fold my arms and contemplate my traitorous brother. “I want matching shoes to go with the new dress.”

  “Done.”

  “And a matching clutch.”

  “Done.”

  “And jewellery.”

  His brows rise a fraction, but he agrees nonetheless. “Okay.”

  Hmmm, what else? My stomach rumbles, putting in its two cents. “And buffet lunch at the Marriott.”

  “You—”