Page 7 of Hearts Don't Lie
Present Day, Piñon Ridge…
“Here.” Mac set the coffees down on Cori’s desk, then plopped into a soft chair and huffed loudly. “What a sucky morning,” she grumbled, glaring at her coffee-stained socks and blinking rapidly.
Cori closed her laptop, pushed it to the side, and took a sip of her coffee. “Thanks, and good morning to you.”
“Why is the door open?” Kenna asked grumpily.
“It’s beautiful out, too nice to be cooped up inside. What’s with the bug up your butt?”
“I don’t want to take him out,” Mac protested, easing out of her sports sandals and slipping off her coffee-soaked socks. She deposited them in a wad on the weatherproof planked floor, her eyes studying the array of poster-size photos on the walls, then panning across the exposed-brick wall to the enormous monitor that highlighted an array of moments and videos from Intrepid’s tours, trips, and other offerings. “Can you do it, or have Chase take him by himself? Say I suddenly came down with the flu. Or my foot is broken. Something.” Her brown eyes met the bright blue eyes of her friend, pleading. “Pretty please, with sugar on top?”
Cori came around and perched her hip on the corner of the desk. “No. Remember, your participation was part of the deal. A private tour. Granted, having Chase with you makes it not private unless you opt for private, like Hardin Ambrose believes you will. That’s wholly your decision.”
Mac stared at the floor, ruminating for a minute before meeting her friend’s eyes.
Cori scrutinized Mac and her tone changed to one of concern. “What’s going on? You’re not acting like you. I realize the guy’s a soccer player. Okay, he’s a fucking huge international deal. Have you seen him play? Oh my God. He moves like Messi. Beckett can’t get enough of him. Neither can Stowe. Like I said earlier, the guy is a soccer god and a drop-dead gorgeous one at that. But hell, Kenna, that shouldn’t bother you at all, taking him for a hike. You’ve gone out with gorgeous guys before, even if it wasn’t by yourself. Christ, you seem to date all the guys around here who keep women in wet panties.” She leaned forward and tapped Mac’s shoulder. “What gives? Is it his money? He’s supposed to be richer than Midas.”
Mac studied her best friend, weighing how much to disclose, how much to let out of Pandora’s box. She opted to keep it shut and slouched into the chair, lifting her long hair before it cascaded over the back and caught on the rivets. It also helped to cool her neck, which banked her ire a bit. She counted the exposed beams overhead even though she knew exactly how many there were. Fifteen. “I could give a rat’s ass about his money. It’s just… well… we… We have a history.”
Cori rocketed to her feet. “What?”
“I know Hardin. Well, that’s not accurate. I knew him, way back when, before he achieved ‘soccer god’”—she used air quotes—“status. I haven’t seen him since then, and I’d rather not see him now. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“You want to leave it at what, Mac?” a deep voice asked behind her.
Cori’s mouth opened so wide that it could catch birds. Her round eyes mirrored her mouth.
No, no, no! Fuck no!Mac’s pulse jackhammered as if she had sprinted to the summit. It was his voice, but deeper and richer than twelve years ago, and it released the memories she had locked away, like the nuances of his breath and body.Not now. I can’t face him. I’ll splinter to pieces.Disbelief, fear, joy, and anger rioted through her system. For the second time this morning, she fought to stay lucid, to inhale. She controlled her breathing and steeled herself before answering.
“You’re a day early,” she returned icily without facing him, remaining slouched in the chair, wishing she could disappear completely.
“No. I’m twelve years late,” he said softly.
“Um… I’m going to go see where Chase is with the gear and supplies,” Cori said, pivoting toward the hall behind them, her cell in hand and walking slowly, obviously dying to hear more.
Hardin called back to Cori’s retreating back, “Thanks for setting this up, Cori.”
Mac kept her back to him. “Please come back tomorrow, Hardin. When we’re scheduled to leave. Call Cori if you have questions.” She heard Hardin shuffle behind her and envisioned him as he moved—easy, athletic grace, confident, but now unsure, watching her, weighing what to say.
Finally he spoke. “Okay. I’ll go along with what you want. See you in the morning unless you reconsider, as in grabbing a drink or dinner tonight. Or conversation. Catch up.”
“No.”
“I’m staying at the Urban,” he said neutrally before she heard his steps retreat.
Mac didn’t move until she felt his presence was gone, then she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding in.How in fucking hell am I going to do this?She pushed up and shot out of her chair and ran to the small break room, shutting the door and leaning against it, needing its support as she slid down into a slump. She hugged herself and closed her eyes. Tears raced down her face, and the past surged forth with painful clarity.
Illinois, Early August, Twelve Years Earlier, Mac’s Senior Year of High School…
“Thank you, Officers,” Alicia said, sounding groggy but glaring at her daughter. “I must have fallen asleep.” She waited until their car pulled away, and then she released her fury.
Unprepared, Mac bounced off the thin wall of the trailer. Tears stung her eyes as her hip came into contact with the sharp edge of the counter jutting out into their small space. She swallowed a yelp of pain, knowing from experience that it would only fire her mother up more. There was nowhere to retreat. Alicia came at her, strident, like her unchecked anger.
“You whore! What in the fuck were you doing out until almost two in the morning? It’s past curfew. You’re underage. Were you fucking him?” Her hand met Mac’s cheek. “What have I told you? You’re going to pay for this! So is he!”
Mac rolled away and dodged some of her mother’s blows, but there was nothing she could do about her venomous words. Finally she got a hand on the doorknob and ripped the door open. Mac lurched out of the trailer, sobbing, numb and hurting, the taste of salt filling her mouth. Alicia’s slurred, abusive words and wicked laughter followed her, meshing with the cracking thunder overhead. Lightning split the black night, and Mac ran unsteadily, not stopping until sheets of rain drowned out the vitriol ringing in her ears.
Mac spent the night huddled under a rotting wooden picnic table on the edge of their small mobile home park, and when she woke—stiff, sore, and wet—a clear day was breaking. She waited, shivering, and watched as Alicia threw a full white trash bag in her trunk before driving off. Only then did Mac feel safe to return to their trailer.
Her breath stuttered when she stepped inside. Light filtering into the dark space through the thin curtains illuminated how Alicia had taken the rest of her wrath out on their meager home. Disbelief washed over Mac as she surveyed the mess. She inhaled and braced herself before gingerly skirting the wreckage to retrieve a small broom and dustpan and begin cleaning, immediately discovering her destroyed cell phone among the shattered glass, broken dishes and ripped books, its SIM card gone.
Determined, she considered her options. By bike, she could probably reach his house, roughly seven miles away, in forty minutes if she pushed it. There was time to see Hardin if she left the mess. Now. She grabbed her bike helmet from the compartment under the couch.
The door banged shut behind her as she ran, then jumped from the stairs, buckling her chinstrap. Mac unchained her bike, then stopped midstraddle. Both her tires had been slashed. She let her bike drop against the trailer. Panicked, she went from neighbor to neighbor. Either no one was home or those who were couldn’t assist her.
She flew back into their trailer. She’d run to her friend Hannah’s house in town. It was much closer. Mac could explain what had happened, and maybe her friend’s older sister or parents could take her to Hardin’s house. Her course of action decided, she went to the closet.
The oxygen whooshed out of Mac and she clenched her hands in anger, fingernails slicing into her palms. Now she understood why Alicia had thrown the trash bag in her trunk. All her shoes were gone. Every last one of them, even her cleats and flip-flops. She would run the three miles into town anyway, in her flimsy sandals.
The strap on her right sandal broke after a half mile. Her beautiful new sandals ruined. Mac limped to the side of the road and collapsed behind some dense shrubbery, hiccupping sobs robbing her of breath, her heart and soul in bloody ribbons. The pity she had long held for her mother blossomed into full-blown hate when she realized what Alicia had done. Mac’s chance to speak to or see Hardin before he left had been stripped away.
