Page 17 of Hearts Don't Lie
Mac lay in her sleeping bag, wide awake, her mind churning. Hardin was still up. The glow of his solar lantern was evident through the wall of her tent.
He had acquiesced to her minimal talk all day, giving her a wide berth when she sought time by herself. Tonight he had pitched in—setting up camp, cooking dinner, cleaning up and then making sure the food supplies were secured in the bear canisters over a hundred yards from where they slept.
Hardin had been nothing but accommodating. She also noticed that he hadn’t seemed to be aware of the few women gawking at him as they had passed during their hike—either because they recognized him or were appreciative of the trail candy. Mac had spoken little to him all day other than to point things out or to give him instructions. She had successfully avoided looking at him, really looking at him, until they were finishing their early dinner, after retiring their sunglasses due to the rapidly deepening mountain shadows.
He was a beautiful man. She was fascinated by seeing his tattoos up close instead of on TV. All new since she had last seen him, and not for the first time she wondered about their significance.
Hardin had taken her breath away the first moment they met, when he gave her that impish grin and gazed into her eyes. His were the color of the sky after a good hard rain had washed it clean and the sun was radiant, and they were framed by thick dark lashes that only made them stand out more. He was the most beautiful boy she had ever seen. And, it turned out, the sweetest and most considerate.
Nowadays, when she allowed herself to watch him play during the recorded games only after Stowe was asleep, Hardin’s eyes had less light in them, and the playful cockiness he had in high school seemed to be replaced by an edgier form, a toughness that wasn’t there before. Mac suspected that the level of fame that accompanied being one of the best soccer players to ever play the game could have made Hardin jaded and wary. Aside from that, time had been kind to him. If anything, he was more beautiful, manly, and confident. From the little gossip she read, he was a womanizer, a player.
As they finished cleaning up after dinner, Hardin’s eyes seared into hers for the first time in twelve years, searching her soul. Mac stumbled, mumbling an excuse about the uneven footing when the gut punch of desire hit her with a gale force. His hand had grabbed hers, and a current of electricity sparked between them. The knowing look she remembered filled his face, and she found herself exposed and vulnerable. She gulped and pulled her hand away and hurried to her tent to avoid him, hoping to hide from the thick, heady desire setting her blood on fire.
“Good night, Mac,” he said before entering his tent. He sounded amused.
Darkness descended quickly, and now both of them were parked in their tents when they should have been exploring the millions of stars sparkling in the sky above them. She had pushed him on the hike, choosing the more difficult options of the trail, yet not taking him as high as she initially planned, watching for any indication of altitude sickness, showing him over and over her prowess in high-altitude backpacking, establishing that she was in control. He had done great. Yeah, he slid and stumbled on occasion, but he did remarkably well for a newbie. In turn, Mac felt like a bitch when she thought about how she had treated him. Tested him. But so much had happened and not happened. There were so many unknowns. So many unanswered questions. She felt adrift.
The last half mile of the day was downhill. They set up camp five hundred feet lower than the highest elevation they had hiked. They were below the tree line in a mostly level depression, which would protect them from the night wind, any pop-up storms, and the coldest temperatures. It would also give Hardin’s body recovery time, help with his acclimatization while they slept, when their automatic breathing was at its lowest. A robust stream hurtled over rocks and boulders and emptied into a large crystalline lake some two hundred yards from where they set up camp.
His lantern continued to glow. What was he thinking? Reading? Like her, he loved to read. She corrected herself. Hehad.What other boys would have admitted a love for the classics? Would they have read poetry with her, to her?
The more Mac thought about Hardin, the more her mind churned, and the ember of desire, long banked, flamed.She tried to think of other things, but her brain refused to cooperate. Until she thought of Stowe. She was rarely away from her son. A night here or there; however, this was the first two-night separation. Cori would take excellent care of him. She always did, and Cori’s husband Mike was like a father to Stowe.
Mac, overwhelmed by the fierce love she had for her boy, blinked her eyes furiously as tears threatened to erupt from nowhere. She had no idea how love for another human being could be all consuming. As much as she had thought she loved Hardin, that depth of love paled in comparison to what she felt for Stowe. She would give her life for him.
Illinois, August, Twelve Years Earlier…
The day after Hardin left for college, the shit hit the fan.
“If I get wind of you talking to that boy again, I’ll have him charged with statutory rape. Do you understand me?”
Mac had lied to her mother. “Nothing happened, Alicia. Leave him alone!”
“Don’t tell me nothing happened. Do you think I’m stupid, McKenna? You had his stink all over you, just like other nights.”
If Alicia had slapped her, Mac wouldn’t have been more astonished. She grabbed some socks and put on her gym shoes, which had miraculously reappeared the morning after Hardin left, and stormed out of the trailer. Mac ran the direction of town, toward Hannah’s, hoping her friend was home and that she could drive her to the Ambroses’ to get Hardin’s number and other contact information.
Mac glanced back at Hannah, who waited behind the wheel of her car, windows down and engine off. She gave Mac a thumbs-up and an encouraging smile.
Sheltered from the hot August rays, Mac stood in the recessed entryway, trembling. She kept her head down, struggling to hold on to her nerves, having noticed the camera in the corner as she approached and remembering when she was last face-to-face with Hardin’s parents and their cool demeanor. Her mortification. Hardin’s apology and pleas to keep seeing her. She swallowed and reached for the doorbell.
She was about to ring the bell again when she heard the tumblers in the lock move. The massive wood door opened, and a stern woman in uniform stood there.
“May I help you, miss?”
“Hi. I’m McKenna Vesley. I—”
“I have it, Bridgett.” Mrs. Ambrose materialized next to her. “Thank you,” she said with authority, dismissing the maid.
Hardin’s mother’s eyes were just as icy as Mac remembered. They passed over the damage Alicia had inflicted on her face.
“Hello, Mrs. Ambrose. I’m McKenna Vesley. I—”
“Leave. Now, young lady. I’ve filed for a restraining order. You and your mother and her threats have done enough damage. My son could end up behind bars because of you.” Mrs. Ambrose’s lips drew back and she bared her teeth, looking as if she would attack. “You will never see him again. Disappear, you little bitch,” she growled, wrinkling her nose like she’d caught a whiff of rotten eggs, her arctic eyes washing over Mac with contempt before she lifted her chin and firmly closed the door.
Illinois, November, Twelve Years Earlier…
Mac curled over the white porcelain bowl in the private bathroom of the pregnancy clinic and sobbed uncontrollably, her suspicion confirmed. She had traveled to a town forty minutes west of Pleasantdale where no one would know her, taking the commuter rail line operating between Chicago and its western suburbs. The contents of her stomach had emptied of their own volition until all that was left was violent cramping. She lay on cool, icy-white tiles, arms crossed over her stomach, shuddering waves moving through her body, fear gripping her like iron clamps.
