Protecting What’s Mine: A Small Town Love Story

by Score, Lucy

  “Listen, are we sure that Bill is good enough for you?” Linc asked as the last bridesmaid blew Mindy a kiss before starting down the aisle.

  “He’s more than good enough,” she promised. “He’s just so good and kind and smart and funny. He reminds me of my dad.” Her voice broke just a little, and he squeezed her hand.

  “I’m sorry he’s not here, Min.”

  Her smile was sad. “That’s what he used to call me.”

  “Maybe he’s here after all.”

  “He wouldn’t miss it,” she said, tears sparkling.

  The attendant gave Linc the cue. “You ready to go get married?”

  “Let’s do this.”

  It was a big moment. The second Bill caught sight of Mindy, they both let out a sigh of relief. So sure. So happy. After delivering the bride to the altar and her fiancé, Linc took his seat in the second row next to Mackenzie, who beamed at him.

  She handed him a glass. “Nice delivery, Hotshot.”

  Maybe it was the lights, or the champagne, or the way the happy couple looked at each other as they made their promises, but he was feeling some feelings.

  Mindy’s mom sat in the front row, her shoulders shaking as she cried silently. Her daughter was just starting her marriage while she’d lost her partner too soon. The beginning and the end. Everything in between. Linc wanted it all.

  Mack reached over the chair and handed the grieving woman a tissue. As she dabbed at her eyes, Linc laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

  * * *

  He was still thinking thoughts later with Mackenzie in his arms on the dance floor as the live band played a jazzy number. She glowed. A trick of the lights or maybe something more. She seemed lighter, freer.

  “How’s your ankle holding up?”

  “A little sore but good. The boot comes off soon.”

  “You look happy,” he said, pulling her tighter to him. Never close enough.

  “I feel happy,” she admitted.

  “Is this a good time to pin you down for Thanksgiving plans? Because my sisters have been asking. My parents won’t make it. They’re coming for a few weeks over Christmas. But the rest of the gang will be there.”

  She missed a step. “Like a family Thanksgiving?”

  “Is there any other kind?”

  “Friendsgiving.”

  “Touché.”

  “I might have a couple of guests coming in for Thanksgiving,” she hedged.

  “Bring them. Your place is too small for a big family meal anyway.”

  She fingered his lapel. “So what you’re saying is me and my guests can join your family’s celebration, and I don’t have to cook the entire meal?”

  He grinned. “You’ll be lucky if my sisters let you open a bag of rolls.”

  “This is a very tempting proposition. I’ll check with my guests,” she told him.

  They returned to their table, an interesting collection of Bill’s teacher friends and Mindy’s office coworkers. Linc looped his arm around the back of her chair, his fingers stroking lazy circles on her arm while the conversations ebbed and flowed.

  “Excuse me, if I could have everyone’s attention,” Mindy said into the band’s borrowed microphone.

  The crowd quieted.

  “I know we’ve already done our wedding toasts, but there’s one more that needs to be made,”

  Bill approached her with two fresh glasses of champagne.

  “Thanks, hubby,” she said, making the guests laugh. “Anyway, as many of you know, a long, long time ago, my family’s home caught fire.”

  “Oh, boy,” Linc whispered.

  Mack’s hand slid onto his thigh and squeezed. “Ha. Now it’s your turn, jerk.”

  “I almost didn’t make it out,” Mindy continued. “It was Christmas Eve, and I was trapped in a room with Scratch, the sixteen-pound family cat. The smoke was so thick, I couldn’t see a thing. I could barely breathe. And I was losing hope. My daddy wasn’t going to come rescue me. I wasn’t going to be able to save Scratch. I wasn’t going to open that pile of presents my parents wrapped.

  “And then out of the smoke came my own personal hero. He was there when I needed him most. Firefighter Lincoln Reed risked his life to save me and Scratch, who lived up to his name during his rescue.”

  The crowd chuckled warmly.

  “Without Chief Reed, none of this beautiful, perfect day would have been possible. I wouldn’t be here in a beautiful dress saying yes to the most amazing man. There wouldn’t be a reason for all of the people I love so much to gather together and drink champagne and dance.”

  Linc’s throat tightened to the point of strangulation. He pawed at his tie, trying to loosen it.

  Mackenzie leaned in. “Just try not to blink.”

  Mindy and Bill raised their glasses to the crowd. “To Chief Reed. My hero. Thank you for every single day since that one.”

  “To Chief Reed!”

  “Good job, chief,” Mack whispered, clinking her glass to his.

  “I’m gonna be traumatized by the sound of champagne popping,” he grumbled as the applause continued.

  Mack’s phone vibrated in her clutch. She checked it, frowned.

  “What is it?” he asked, leaning in.

  “Trish Dunnigan calling. Probably just checking in. I’m going to take this,” she said, excusing herself from the table.

  He watched her go and felt that longing again.

  He wanted to ask her, to push the issue. Things were good. They were good. This was a real shot at something. A beginning.

  But he didn’t. If he asked, if she said no, that was the end of his hope.

  He lasted through five minutes of personal thank yous from the bride, her mother, and a dozen other friends and relatives before he managed to duck out a side door.

  It was the first Saturday of November, and the night air held hints of winter coming. The moon above was almost full and painted the fields in a ghostly glow.

  He drew in a breath, released it in a silvery cloud.

  “You all right?” Mack, rubbing her arms with her hands, stepped out behind him.

  She was luminous in the moonlight, a winter queen in silver.

  “What is it with people all of the sudden doing these big thank yous?” he muttered, looking away.

  “Let’s face it, Hotshot. What you do matters. What we do matters. Other people’s lives change because of what we do.” She slipped her arms around his waist from behind and pressed her face to his back. “You’re a good man, Lincoln Reed.”

  Then stay. He wanted to say the words that hovered on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to put them out there. But he didn’t want to hear what came next.

  That he was good for a good time. A good friend. And not much else.

  Instead, he turned around, wrapped Mackenzie up in his arms and breathed her in.

  46

  Mack ignored the sinking feeling she had as she pulled up in front of her mother’s tidy little townhouse. It, like every other place her mother had ever lived, would never be home to Mack. But this was one of the nicer neighborhoods that Andrea had settled in. She imagined that her monthly rent check helped considerably as she studied the red brick exterior. The concrete steps were swept, but the planter on the edge of the landing held the skeletal remains of some kind of summer flower.

  “It can’t be that bad. Just a couple of days,” she muttered to herself.

  Still stalling, she pulled out her phone and fired off a text.

  Mack: Just got to my mom’s house. Hope Sunshine keeps you company, Hotshot.

  She waited, hoping for a response. But when none arrived immediately, she decided she was being an idiot and stashed her phone in her bag.

  He’d offered to come with her when she told him about the impromptu trip. A laughable idea, considering. But it had warmed her heart and made her even more determined to get through the visit.

  She eyed her suitcase in the rearview mirror. There was no need to cart it inside
right this second. She could easily come out and get it when she needed it. Or drive off without a scene if things got too intense.

  “Mackenzie!” Her mother greeted her with an effusive and out-of-character hug. “I’m so glad you made it. Come in. Come in.”

  Andrea was dressed in a pink jogging suit. Her nails were long and disco-ball silver. Her hair—platinum blonde now—was piled and pinned on top of her head. Mack felt guilty at the relief that coursed through her. They no longer looked like each other. Maybe that meant any other similarities had also disappeared.

  But the relief didn’t last. It never did where her mother was concerned.

  The first hint that something was off was the pair of men’s loafers on the floor in the foyer.

  “Whose are those?” Mack asked, pulling back from the hug and pointing at the shoes.

  “Oh, those old things? They’re Tony’s.”

  On cue, a man with a big belly and a bowling shirt sauntered down the hallway. His receding hairline was partially disguised by a greasy combover.

  “Oh, hey. You must be Kenzie,” he said. He sounded more Bronx than Illinois to Mack’s ear. “I was beginning to think your mom here was pulling my leg about having two daughters. You don’t visit?”

  “Mackenzie’s a doctor in the military,” Andrea cut in.

  Mack didn’t bother correcting her. It wouldn’t stick anyway, she judged by the glass of wine her mother picked up from the coffee table.

  “Hi,” she said flatly to Tony. “So you two are seeing each other?” She couldn’t even pretend to be interested.

  “Ha! A little more than that,” he scoffed.

  Andrea made a show of holding up her left hand and squealing when the big pink diamond that Mack was eighty-five percent sure was fake caught the fluorescent light from above. “We’re getting married! Surprise!”

  Mack knew the reaction that was expected from her but just couldn’t muster it. Her mother wasn’t alone. She wasn’t sober. She’d just moved on to husband whatever number he was and probably wanted to pressure Mack on a wedding gift. And Mack had been paying his rent for who knows how long.

  “So I was thinking, wouldn’t it be romantic to go to Mexico for a honeymoon?” Andrea began, clasping her hands under her chin and cocking her head at Mack.

  And here was the ask.

  It was too warm in this tight space. The light was harsh, accenting the deep lines carved into her mother’s face around the eyes, across her forehead. Her skin, once fresh and lovely, now had a sallow tint to it.

  “Top you off, honey bear?” Tony offered, wiggling a wine bottle.

  “You sure know how to make a girl feel special,” Andrea giggled.

  Mack felt like she was going to throw up. Once again, it was all just lies. And she’d walked right into it. Not only walked into it but bought a plane ticket, rented an SUV, and showed up on the doorstep. She wasn’t sure who she was more disappointed in, herself or her mother.

  It was then that she heard the noise on the stairs, saw the bare feet, the familiar tattoo of thorns wrapped around an ankle. Anger, swift and bright, crashed over her.

  “What’s with the screaming?” Wendy asked with a yawn. She’d obviously just gotten up for the day at four p.m. Her hair was dark like Mack’s, but she added bright purple streaks and extensions. Yesterday’s eye makeup was smeared under choppy, uneven bangs. She was thinner than Mack remembered. Paler. But Mack wouldn’t mistake that for weakness.

  “Your sister’s here, and we just told her the good news,” Andrea announced grandly. “Wendy moved back home! Isn’t that wonderful?” she crowed to Mack.

  Wendy eyed Mack coolly. She strolled down the steps and brushed past Mack to get to the pink purse hanging on a hook inside the door. She reached inside and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Mack’s here to help us celebrate my birthday. She’s taking us all to dinner tomorrow night,” Andrea said brightly. “My girls are always surprising me,” she said in an inaccurate aside to Tony.

  It was then that Mack noticed the shake in her mother’s hand, the unsteadiness of her gate in the four-inch feathered stilettos under the jogging pants.

  Andrea had a deep love of alcohol and had always been good at hiding it.

  “Are you drunk?” Mack asked.

  Andrea hiccupped and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oopsie!”

  Tony laughed adoringly. Wendy blew a cloud of smoke in Mack’s face.

  “You said you were all alone,” Mack said. “You said you were sober, that she wouldn’t be here, and that you were all alone for your birthday.”

  Andrea waved the words away, wine sloshing over the rim of her glass and spilling onto her pants. “What in the world are you talking about? I swear, this girl should have been a writer, the stories she makes up.”

  “This is bullshit,” Wendy muttered under her breath. “I’m going out,” she announced.

  “Don’t you want to have a big, family dinner?” Andrea pleaded.

  “As far as I’m concerned, she’s not part of the family,” Wendy said, stubbing the cigarette out on Mack’s purse.

  “Can I talk to you outside?” Mack asked Wendy briskly.

  She didn’t wait for an answer, simply grabbed her purse and stalked out the front door. She waited on the front steps for a solid minute until the door opened and closed behind her.

  “What’s your problem now? Kill another patient?” Wendy demanded, drawing her black hoodie closer around her shoulders. She had another cigarette lit and a glass of whatever wine Tony was pouring.

  “She’s drinking again. She’s drunk,” Mack said matter-of-factly.

  “So?”

  “So she said she was sober.”

  “Oh, come the fuck on, Pollyanna.” Wendy scratched idly at a scab on the back of her hand. “Like you even give a shit about this family. You never have. It’s always been me and mom. Since when have you ever cared about this family?”

  “Who the fuck do you think pays the rent here, Wendy? Because it sure as hell isn’t you or cocktail party Barbie in there.”

  “What? You expect me to be grateful? You expect me to be happy with a measly six grand and rent? You owe me more than that.”

  “No, I really don’t,” Mack shot back. “But I thought you at least cared about Mom.”

  “Get off your fucking high horse, Dr. O’Neil. You’re pathetic. You walked away. I’m the one stuck here dealing with everything.”

  “Oh? And how are you dealing with anything? You have a job? Are those track marks in your hand. Did your veins wear out?”

  “Fuck you, asshole. Why don’t you go a kill another couple of patients? Maybe then you’ll feel special.”

  Mack laughed, a dry, mirthless sound. “I’m done here. Blood doesn’t mean I’m permanently bonded to you. Her either. Good luck paying your own rent.”

  She was so busy congratulating herself for leaving her suitcase in the car that she didn’t see the skinny leg with the thorn tattoo sweep out until it was too late. But Mack was faster than she had been as a kid. As she fell, she grabbed Wendy and took her sister with her.

  They tumbled down the six cement steps landing in a heap at the bottom.

  “You killed him! You fucking killed him! Now it’s your turn to die,” Wendy shrieked. The switch had flipped. Her nails raked over Mack’s cheek, over the scar she’d put there ten years ago.

  Mack pulled her arm back and fired one beautiful shot to Wendy’s nose. The crunch, both the sound and feel, were beyond satisfying. “Stay down. I’m done with you,” she said and turned to walk toward the car.

  But Wendy had never learned to recognize when a fight was over. She hurled herself at Mack’s knees and brought her down to the cold sidewalk. “Get off of me,” Mack said with an icy calm as her sister’s blood dripped on to her own sweater.

  But Wendy had learned a few tricks herself. She locked an arm around Mack’s throat
and squeezed.

  “What the hell is goin’ on here?” Tony hollered from the front door. “Is this normal, Andi?”

  “Just ignore them,” her mother pleaded with him. “Come inside and let’s make some drinks.”

  Mack lurched forward, unsteady on the air cast, and tried to dislodge her sister as her vision tunneled.

  “I’m going to be there when you die,” Wendy hissed in her ear. “And I’m going to laugh.”

  Giving up on anything other than survival, Mack lodged her elbow somewhere in Wendy’s midsection. Her sister’s grip loosened, and Mack dumped her on the ground, dragging in a ragged breath.

  “I am done with this family,” she rasped.

  “She attacked me, Tony,” Wendy said, crocodile tears pooling in her eyes. “She threatened me. She’s a fucking psycho! She said she was going to kill me and mom!”

  “Now hang on there a minute,” Tony said, looking bewildered.

  Mack’s ankle protested when she turned to get in her rental. “If you rebroke my ankle, I’m suing your ass,” she told Wendy. “Make sure you can pay your attorney in hypodermic needles. Oh, and Tony, get out now before you sign a prenup. She’s been married five times so far.”

  Andrea pretended to fall into a graceful faint at the top of the steps.

  Wendy gave up all pretenses of playing the victim and tackled Mack to the ground.

  She was a trauma doctor. A retrievalist. A family practitioner. Mackenzie O’Neil did not brawl with ex-family members on the sidewalk.

  She rolled, pinning her sister in the gutter. “Now you listen to me. I am done with you. You ever come anywhere near me, you ever even think about asking me for another dime, and you won’t like what you find.”

  Hairy arms locked around her. Tony the idiot lifted her off Wendy and restrained her with big meaty hands just as a squad car with its lights on pulled up.

  47

  She could have called Linc from the airport for a ride. But she couldn’t stand the thought of him seeing her like this, bruised and battered. Angry. Tired. Disgusted with herself.

  She called Russell instead and made him promise he wouldn’t ask any questions.