“Come on, Mac.” Shelby waves me over, a gentle smile on her lips.
“Wait…” The blonde looks confused. “I thought you cheated on Beckett with him?”
“That’s what she said,” Heather pipes up. She’s channeling some major Regina George vibes right now. “You lied? About dating Conner? What kind of person does that?”
"Well, Heather, I'll tell you," Shelby says as I reach her and she holds open the door for me to get the hell out of here. "The type of person who is not nearly as bad a human being as the one who fucked someone else's boyfriend for over a year. Happy fucking new year!"
Shelby spins and hooks my arm and marches me the hell out of the golf club. And I let her. My car might get towed for leaving it in the parking lot overnight without permission, but I’d rather deal with that than stay here a minute longer.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
We’re halfway home before either of us speaks. Shelby isthe first to break the heavy silence. “You didn’t have to confess about Con, you know. You could have told them you were madly in love. He would have kept up the lie with you. Con’s always up for a good prank, especially if it’ll burn an Echolls.”
I sniff. I’ve managed to keep the tears at bay but I’m emotionally exhausted. “The whole thing had kind of backfired anyway. People were whispering that I was the cheater. I want that title to land solely on Beckett. And besides, Conner has a lot to deal with right now. I don’t need to add fake girlfriend to his list.”
“I don’t know… I think he enjoyed the distraction,” Shelby says thoughtfully as she turns up the road that leads to my apartment. “I think he liked you.”
“Ha!” It bubbles out of me before I can stop it.
Shelby snaps her head to stare at me, red hair glinting copper in the moonlight spilling through the windshield. “Why are you laughing at that?”
“Because we’re not… I’m not his type,” I croak and the tears are stinging the back of my eyes again. Fuck.
"Why? Because you're a little bit older than him?" Shelby questions. "He doesn't care. No one would care. He's the oldest twenty-five-year-old I know. Always been an old soul that one and a bit of a curmudgeon sometimes."
I think of the flashes of Grumpy Con I’ve seen in our brief but intense time together. Shelby keeps talking as she pulls to a stop in front of the barn. “And you guys have busy lives separately, but you’re both dedicated to the things that you want, which means you’d be dedicated to a real relationship if you decided to go for one.”
“A relationship?” I say the word like it’s something scandalous and unimaginable. Because it really is, at least to me. “No. Seriously. Not with us. No. But thanks for what you said back there. I should have said it myself but… I just…”
She reaches across the seat and wraps her arm over my shoulders, giving me a makeshift hug. “Always Mac. Sometimes you need someone to have your back, and I’ve got yours. Conner does too.”
I smile because it's all I can muster and climb out of the car. I wave goodbye. Conner may always be there to fool around with or be a fake boyfriend but that's all. This will never be more. My fifth-grade teacher's condescending tone rings in my head.
'You, Mackenzie have always been and will always be a have not, not a have. And the sooner you accept that the better off you'll be.'
Chapter 23
Conner
The last month since New Year's Eve has been… not great. I'm absorbing new information, like how the team dynamic works, and where I fit in that, both on the ice and off. How the coach runs hot and cold. Well, mostly cold. He is not happy with all the local attention I'm getting for 'coming home'. He's not a Mainer and he doesn't get the extreme pride the state has in local players, and my family in particular. Also although he isn't as openly hostile to me as Landry was, he's not big on positive reinforcement. I'm already struggling with my performance and a wounded ego and he's not helping. Every time I miss a pass or screw up one of the new plays I'm still learning, he makes comments like "This shouldn't be so hard, Garrison" or "Earn that paycheck kid."
I’ve been pulling my weight, mostly, during games. No goal so far but five assists. Has he mentioned it? Nope. But I’m not special. He’s bitchy with all the players. Abbott gets it harder than anyone, making it clear he resents the fact Abbott gets so much attention because he’s a fan favorite. “It’s a team sport, and good players never forgets that.’ And he glares at Abbott when he says that. Abbott doesn’t let the coach’s horriblecoaching style affect him and he’s trying really hard to boost morale in the locker room but everyone is kind of like a kicked puppy. I swear that’s why the team is hot and cold, winning a game seven to four but then turning around and losing the next one three nothing.
I've been a giant chicken and told my family not to come to my home games yet. I just wasn't in the headspace to add their expectations onto my mental load. I called Uncle Luc and confided this in him. He bounced around to a couple teams when he was playing so I thought maybe he would get this feeling I was having. He said he did understand and he would make sure the family didn’t come until I said I was okay with it.
We played last night and won, but only after a shoot-out, which means the other team got points too. It’s a dirty win, not a clean one. Not one we celebrate even if we’re relieved by it, which I was. The last thing I needed was the media murmuring about how the Barons always lost when I was on the team, and now the Riptide were too. Because the Barons had won three of the last five games they’d played. Luckily they also played last night and lost, badly. Nine to nothing. So that quelled any rumblings the media might have been looking to start.
Being back in Maine has been an adjustment I wasn’t expecting. After all, it’s my home state. But it’s so weird that this is actually home again, full-time. And I’ve never lived in Portland so it’s not familiar but it's fucking amazing. I have always loved being a Mainer and to play for the first professional team they’ve ever had? It’s a fuckinggift.
I'm… well not happy exactly because the stress is still too heavy for a word like that, but I'm on the road to happy. At least career-wise. On a personal level, something hasn't been sitting right since my last conversation with Mac. Since our good-bye. I've been thinking about her a lot and trying to figure out an excuse to reach out again.
Last night, after the game, I hitched a ride home with Abbott and Declan, because I was still crashing in their guest room, and I laid on the bed brainstorming the perfect message to slide back into her texts with. But I fell asleep with my phone on my chest debating what to say. And then, because it hadn't been charging all night, I had four percent battery when I woke up and had to leave it charging at home when I went to practice. Abbott and I carpooled because my car was still in Silver Bay. So while Abbott does some PR thing with the team's media coordinator, I'm wandering the streets of the Old Port, getting a feel for whether I want to live in the area. It’s a really nice area, and I could easily afford to buy a place here, even if I didn’t sell the loft in Brooklyn right away. But I’m also oddly drawn to the small town Abbott lives in. It has Silver Bay vibes but with an ocean. But I wasn’t Abbott. I wasn’t settled down. If I picked a house in Ocean Pines, would it just make me more aware I was perpetually single? Something that didn’t bother me before, but I’d been thinking about a lot since my brief sexcapade with Mac.
I stop for a latte at the Loose Moose, a local beanery, and spend a good half hour strolling around the area. I even noted some for sale signs on condo buildings. The streets in this part of town are lined with trendy stores, local brewhouses, and upscale seafood joints. It's a vibe—a good one—but I don't know if it'smyvibe. I stop to look in the window of a hippie store called Mexicali Blues. I’m looking at the vibrant cotton clothing in the window. There’s a pretty top with bell sleeves that reminds me of Mac because it’s got a bright orange and pink pattern to it that reminds me of the shower cap she wore that first day after I’d slept over.
I'm in the process of promising myself to put texting her at the top of my To Do list when I get back to Abbott's when I turn the corner and see a guy sitting on the brick sidewalk. He's wearing a tattered coat, has a torn sleeping bag over his legs, anda mangy-looking mutt curled up beside him. He sees me and tucks in his legs so I can pass, but I don't. I look down at the cup, a paper one from the same coffee shop I just got my latte. It's got about forty cents in it. He doesn't ask me for money though.
The dog blinks up at me with the saddest damn eyes I’ve ever seen, human or animal. I also note I can see the dog’s ribs. The man notices me eyeing the dog and grabs hold of its stained purple collar, gently but possessively. “I feed him. And I don’t let him freeze.”