by Imani King
And Mack. When the press sees this budding relationship, it will refresh the ideas of Mack that have been floating around for the past two years. If he’s with a successful, stable woman--instead of drinking with ten of the not-so-stable kind draped over his body at a time--he just might be able to win the owner of his team over. The harder part might be convincing him to stop throwing the frat-style parties. But that will come in time.
Why am I up here again?
I wait at the door, looking through the glass to see several of the more reputable Carolina players with their girlfriends, each one classier looking than the last. I chuckle to myself--we excluded any of the men who were single or had girlfriends who liked to drink or smoke pot a little too much. It took some time, but we now have a hand-selected group of friends for Mack. And if he tries a little, he might even grow to like this new little community.
I crane my neck and watch Wingate talking to one of the football players. Mack passes by, Kinley hanging off of one arm like she’s known him for years. Right on cue, she looks up at him affectionately and brushes one hand against the muscular bulk of his upper arm, leaning in to say something secret and hidden. I hope the photographer actually got a picture of that moment, even if the whole scene makes me feel slightly sick.
The sick feeling probably means I should leave. After all, I have a whole house I can go back to. I have an entire week’s worth of work sitting at that little dining room table--schedules and photo shoots and press releases and meetings. After that, we have to start setting up practices for Mack, maybe get him on some kind of detox diet he can talk about in Men’s Health. There are things to be done. There are rules to be followed. Still, I’m standing here, watching for glimpses of a man I lost a long time ago. Even though this whole thing is fake, something deep inside my heart started to hurt the moment I met Kinley.
She’s not for real, I remind myself. Even if she was, it wouldn’t matter. He’s not the man for you. He’s the man who hurt you, the man who broke your heart, the man who left you with nothing but a ring and a wish for a future together--a future that wouldn’t come.
Just as I’m about to turn away, Kinley’s face appears at the door, and she opens it with her big, typical Southern country greeting. My nerves jangle. Kinley’s smile widens when she sees that it’s me, and it occurs to me that she doesn't know about Macklin’s past--his relationship with me seems to be something he’s kept hidden for a long time.
That’s another big ass reason I should leave, but Kinley grabs me by the hand before I can go, drawing me into the circle of football players, wives, and girlfriends. A jazz band plays quietly at the end of the room, and I wonder at the stark contrast between last week’s party and this one.
“Macklin said you weren’t going to come! In fact, he said he was sure you weren’t going to come. And instead, here you are! I’m so pleased. You know, I don’t know anyone at all, and I really thought I could use a friend.” She brushes a curly lock of blond hair behind one ear. The effect is so cute it’s mind-numbing.
“Sure,” I quip. “That’s exactly why I came by. I think you guys will be great together. You just have to get to know him. I do think there’s a mature guy under all that blustery exterior.” I realize I’ve been talking through gritted teeth as my eyes scan the room for Mack.
“Oh yeah. You’re probably right. He just seems so distant tonight. I hope we can get some good candid shots for the photographer. Mack’s not drinking any of the drinks or eating the food, but we can chalk it up to a summer cold or something like that, right?” Kinley gives me a look that betrays some of her impatience, her longing to get Mack to do as she pleases. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe he needs a woman like that. Someone who will be impatient with him when he needs it.
I push down the cloying feeling that something is wrong with this whole thing. It’s not wrong—I planned it.
And I’m the best at what I do, aren’t I?
“Sure, we can chalk it up to that. He’s out of sorts with this whole new image thing, Kinley. He’ll gear up and get right where he needs to be—don’t you worry a bit.” I smile at her, and she grabs my hand again, a little too forcefully this time.
“He best get himself together because I’m a country superstar who needs a little boost since Taylor Swift’s tour is competing with mine. If this doesn’t do it within two months, I’ll be taking another route.” She gives me a big Cheshire cat grin.
Kinley Edwards flits away from me and reattaches herself to Mack’s arm, smiling back at me and waving. She blows me a kiss, and my heart sinks down to my knees.
You’ve dealt with women like this before, Renata. When you’re working with celebrities, you’ve seen it all. There’s nothing new under the sun. Why do you feel some type of way about this particular girl? She’s a girl, like all the rest. And she cares about her money because of course she does. Chin up. Get a drink. Walk away.
I head over to the bar and grab a tasteful glass of wine—no kegs at this event. That was all me and Wingate, though we’re letting the press give Mack’s new girl the credit. The flash of a camera goes off, and I look over to see Mack grinning like a puppy dog with Kinley holding onto him for dear life, looking up at him like he’s the golden god of the NFL.
He is, and she clearly doesn’t appreciate that shit. She’s not just doing a favor for him—this is a huge deal for her too.
Wingate comes up to me as I watch the happy couple go about their business. He taps his elbow against mine, the way he used to do when we were freshmen in the dining hall at Brooks. Even though it’s just Wingate, the slight tap sends my nervous system into overdrive, and I jump where I stand.
“It’s just me,” he says, giving me a quizzical look. “You expecting someone else?”
“No.” I want to tell him this whole thing has me on edge, but I can’t quite form the words. They’re on the tip of my tongue, but I’m not the kind of sports agent who gets on edge. I’m the woman with a reputation for being cool, calm, and collected—always. I remind myself that this is the reason I should take my wine and leave—the reason why I said I didn’t want to interact with Mack in the first place. “No, I wasn’t expecting anyone at all. Just wanted to see if things were going okay up here. He seems to like her?” I glance over at one of the other football players who seems to be looking in our direction, and I give him a nervous smile. Most of them probably suspect that the relationship is a marketing move, but it’s not something we necessarily want to advertise.
“Yeah, he seems to like her fine—but…” Wingate’s voice trails off and he takes a glass of dark, rich red wine in his hand. He looks at me and shrugs.
“Cat got your tongue?” I take a sip of my own wine, letting the taste overtake my senses, letting it relax me as I stand there, watching the football players at their most well-behaved. “I’m in this for the money that comes after we finish our job here, W. I think I need to know what comes after that ‘but.’”
Wingate shrugs again, and I remember how he used to infuriate me—infuriate both me and Mack, come to think of it. Wingate was always the one watching, mulling things over. Mack and I always called ourselves “people of action”—act first, figure out the details later. That aspect of my personality is why I’m damn good at my job—but it’s also why I’m here in Charlotte in 95 degree weather, trying to smooth over my ex-fiancé’s image problem with a country singer who kind of seems like a bitch.
“He just didn’t seem like himself is all,” Wingate finally replies. He bites his lip and drinks more of the wine, nodding again at the football player watching us from across the room.
I can tell there’s more to say. My pulse quickens, and I can’t quite pinpoint the reason why. “What? Did he want the more authentic experience of seducing her himself and getting her into bed for a one-night stand?”
Wingate shakes his head. “Naw. Nothing like that. To be honest, Ren, he said he didn’t know why you couldn’t act as his fiancée. Or girlfriend, or whatever
your plan is for this. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good goddamn plan. But he seemed to be having second thoughts about it. And I did tell him—to my credit—that he knows goddamn well why you can’t be his stand-in girlfriend.”
I gulp. “Well good. Thanks, Wingate.” I stand there, stiff as a board, not quite knowing what to say. I would have thought that Mack hadn’t been thinking of me for years. After all, his brother made it clear that I wasn’t the woman he wanted anymore. He told me that I needed to go be on my own because Mack wasn’t coming for me, and he had no intention of pursuing our relationship. And when I felt I couldn’t go any lower, his brother Jared had said that Mack didn’t love me and there was no way in hell we were getting married.
How do you go from that to wondering why I can’t be his girlfriend? Even if it is six years later… and even if it’s only fake…
Not for the first time, I feel like something isn’t right, that there’s a piece missing from the story I’ve told myself for the past six years.
“You think you should be here? You said you were planning to keep away from this man while you were doing your job, Ren. And as much as I love Macklin, I think that was probably a good decision. And here you are, standing not fifteen feet away from him, your eyes wandering over… Maybe you should take your wine and go relax. I can come over after this whole thing is tied up.” Wingate pats me on the shoulder and goes over to his football friend again, not even looking back over his shoulder to see my reaction.
For the first time in a long time—years, maybe—I’m left wondering what to do. I came here to make sure everything was going well—and it is. But was there another reason, one I’m not acknowledging?
From across the room, Mack’s eyes finally meet mine. Kinley is hanging off of his arm and talking to one of the other players, glass of wine in hand. The wine is disappearing faster than it should, but she keeps her composure all the while she’s talking—just like the hostess she’s meant to be. The photographer’s camera keeps flashing, but once Mack’s gaze has caught mine, he doesn’t look away. I stand there, sipping my own wine until it starts to taste sour in my mouth. Eventually, Kinley’s arm falls away from Mack’s, and I watch as he crosses the room toward me. Time nearly stops, going in slow motion, as he approaches. My heart catches in my throat, stomach dropping to the bottom of my body, nerves on fire. Each bodily reaction gives me shame. It’s not the same sensation as watching a new lover from across the room—instead, I’m watching someone who broke my heart, someone who still maintains control over me for reasons I don’t fully understand. When he’s close enough to reach out and touch me, he stops, putting his hands in his pockets just like he always did when he was nervous. He wears an uncertain smile on his face, and the top button of his immaculately tailored button-down shirt is unbuttoned, showing a hint of his white t-shirt beneath. I can smell him—the scent of his piney cologne, mixed with the smell of his skin, the thing that makes Mack uniquely himself. Heat floods my body, and I step back, nearly bumping into the wine bar with its selection of expensive, bold wines.
“How am I doing? Up to your standards?” He gives me a once over, eyes stopping at my breasts, and I’m suddenly conscious of what I’m wearing, of what I look like in my own skin.
Slowly, I nod. “Yes. You’re fine. And Kinley seems great.”
“I’m just fine? I thought I was good. I’m talking to all these guys and their wives, and I haven’t even touched this wine.”
I gulp and then laugh a little. “That’s not like you, I must admit. I haven’t seen you touch any alcohol since that party.”
“I haven’t. I can’t see that look of disappointment on your face again. Not while you’re right here in front of me after all these years.” He leans forward and lifts his hand like he’s going to brush a lock of hair away from my face, but he stops instead and lets his hand drop down by his side.
I brush my own hair back, all the while remembering the touch of his hand against my skin. What would it feel like now?
I come to my senses quickly. “I don’t think that’s appropriate, Mack. If anyone heard you, they might think you’re stepping out on your girlfriend.”
He laughs. “She’s not the real thing. Not like you were, Ren.”
I put my hand up to stop him. “Stop. Please stop. I think I’d better go.”
I turn to leave, but Mack catches my arm with his long, thick fingers. “Let me walk you home if you can’t stand being around me. I know about that clause in your contract—and I know it’s because you don’t want to be around me. But let me assure you, the feeling isn’t mutual, Ren. I wish I could go back in time and—”
“Mack, no. Please, no.” He lets go of my arm, and it’s only then that I realize my skin is burning hot where he touched me. “Don’t talk about—about what happened.”
“Okay, okay. I promise I won’t go talking about any of that stuff in the past. I won’t. But let me walk you back across the property. Could be coyotes out there…” His voice trails off, and I smile.
“There aren't any coyotes in Charlotte,” I retort.
“Those things are everywhere.” He cranes his neck towards the door and cups one hand to his ear. “If you listen close, you can hear ‘em howling. And it’s almost a quarter of a mile back out there. Bats too. I’m sure some of them are rabid.”
I can’t help chuckling. Even though I should hate this man, there’s no way that I can. Not truly. When he’s standing next to me, it’s simultaneously like no time at all has passed… and like there are decades between us. The rift he created still stands, but there’s so much in me that holds on to the man he once was. Is he still that person?
Maybe I need to stay away from him still because I feel this way. Because there’s something inside of me that wants to forgive him.
I chew on my lower lip and look up at him, cocking my head to one side.
Say no.
“Yes, you can walk me back.” I barely hear the words when they escape my lips, but Mack latches onto my yes and takes my arm gently, leading me back to the door. He turns and nods politely to the partygoers and leads me out of the door, onto the front porch, where we can see the stars rising and filling the sky. There’s a slight breeze on this night, floating over the fields that surround Mack’s house. He leads me off of the porch and down the stone walkway that leads out to the guest house. For once, there aren’t justifications or arguments. There’s only him and me. I shouldn’t be thinking this way, but yet I am.
“Renata,” he whispers when we get back to the guest house. “There’s so much I haven’t told you.”
My pulse quickens again. “You said you wouldn’t mention any of that.”
“It’s worth mentioning that it wasn’t my intention to leave you. Even if you don’t want to hear it—and I don’t blame you for not wanting to hear a damn word I have to say.” He takes my hands in his, and that jolt of white-hot electricity sears through me again.
My throat tightens, tears coming to my eyes. I haven’t grieved in such a long time, and I haven’t cried for this man in ages. I don’t want to now, but the tears fall from my eyes anyway. “Then why—” The words won’t come.
Slowly, hauntingly, he moves his hands up my arms to my shoulders and pulls me into his body as the tears continue to fall from my eyes. He lifts my head and looks at me, that gaze hiding years of dark secrets just below the surface. Is it true, what he says? That he didn’t mean to leave me? Was there more? Things I left undiscovered? Instead of asking him, I stand up on my toes and reach my arms around his neck, skin touching skin, lips tantalizingly close to his. There are so many reasons I should turn around and leave him where he stands. Instead, some magnetic force compels me to stand where I am, beneath the stars and the gentle breeze. Mack leans in and kisses me, his lips gentle and warm against mine, strange and yet somehow intimately familiar. The kiss intensifies, growing hungrier and bolder, warmth and light filling my body as his hands find my waist and pull me in closer, fingers roaming
over the silken fabric of my dress. I feel the hem of my skirt rising, fingers finding my thighs, leaving a trail of shivers in their wake. His lips are far more skilled than they once were, and deep in the back of my mind, I wonder if his hands and body share the same level of muscle memory, of practice. When the kiss finally ends, I realize I’ve been holding my breath, and I gasp as I draw away from him. My hands find his upper arms, fingers exploring his tight, sculpted muscles. My body still feels energized, electric, like it could lift off from this very spot. I haven’t had that feeling since the night before he left, the last night he was mine.
“Mack,” I breathe. There’s something special, almost transcendental about saying his name after his lips were just on mine. “Tell me… tell me why.”
He brings his hand to the hollow of my neck, fingers caressing me there. “I can’t, sweet pea. Not yet.” He shakes his head sadly. “I know it’s not good enough. I know you need more. It has to do with…”
I back away, gently moving his arms away from my body. In the dim starlight, I can see his eyes watching me, assessing me. There’s a spark inside of me that wants to trust him fully, wants to run into his party and tell that silly little girl to leave. But between us, there’s six years of silence. If what he says is true, there’s six years of deceit as well.
“If you can’t tell me,” I say, my voice gentler perhaps than it should be. “I can’t do this. And maybe that’s why I shouldn’t have come. If I’d known you’d try something like this—”
