Nothing But Trouble (A Saratoga Falls Love Story Book 2)

by Lindsey Pogue

  “Why aren’t you getting an apartment at Promenade, like Nick? I like the idea of you being close to him, in case you need anything.”

  I stop in front of a duplex. “There are no apartments at the Promenade—trust me, I looked. Plus … it would be weird.” Colton and Casey living in the complex, too? As much as I like the idea, I’m not sure it’s smart.

  “I spoke with him yesterday.”

  “Who? Nick?”

  My dad stares at me a moment, his dark eyes and bushy black eyebrows making him look so severe in the night shadows it almost makes me uneasy. There’s a fine line between grumpy-Cal and stern dad-face.

  “No, with Colton.”

  I feel my face drowning in red and I look away.

  “I told him I would kill him if he hurt you.”

  “Dad!”

  He raises an eyebrow at me this time. “You thought I wouldn’t say something to him? You know me better than that, Machaela.”

  I smack his arm. “How embarrassing.” My heart stops for the second time in the span of ten seconds. “What else did you say to him?”

  “That’s it, I only threatened him.”

  “Oh, good then.” I shake my head.

  “Sweetheart, he’s the first guy you’ve ever gotten serious with—to my knowledge, at least.” He looks at me sideways. “You’re delusional if you thought I wouldn’t say anything.”

  I rest my head on the steering wheel. “You couldn’t even be sly about it?”

  He simply stares at me, brow hardened. “No.”

  Leaning my head back against the seat, I stare out the window. I guess the fact that my dad told him he’d kill him and Colton chose to sleep with me again anyway means he’s more committed than I thought.

  When I realize my dad is staring at me, I shake my head again. “I still can’t believe you. Back to house hunting …” I look out the window. “There aren’t a lot of apartment complexes to speak of, so you’re going to have to lower your standards a bit, I’m sorry to say.”

  My dad peers through the windshield at the small tan duplex with a rusty red trim and the sizable front yard that’s covered in a layer of snow. “I’ll help you with the cost of an apartment at Saratoga Downs. It’s a safe community and the condos are new, so you don’t have to worry about things breaking.”

  I let out a grateful sigh, his words giving an endearing tug at my heart. His offer is sweet, but … “No, you’re not helping me with my rent or a mortgage. We talked about this. That defeats the purpose of me being on my own.”

  He shakes his head, his expression unchanging as he continues to assess the neighborhood. I glance at the duplex, trying to see what he sees. The neighbor has a new Acura and it’s a decent neighborhood, just in an older part of town. All the houses are cute and lit up with twinkling lights, making the whole street glow in the darkening winter evening.

  “What’s wrong with this place? Why do you already hate it?” I peer around again. “If anything, you should be grateful. I think that’s the owner that lives next door, in case I need anything.”

  He appraises it again, his upper lip curling into a snarl.

  “Come on,” I say and unbuckle my seat belt. “The owner’s probably waiting.” Flinging the door open, I’m prepared to be accosted by the brisk wind as I step out of the Jeep.

  The Jeep protests as my dad climbs out. “What about a loan?” he asks. “I could loan you money and you can pay me back, that way you can buy a cute little place.”

  “How about,” I say as he comes to stand next to me, “we pick a place for me to live in now, then we can talk about me buying something?”

  My dad eyes me for a second and starts for the front door. I guess that’s as good of an agreement as I’m going to get.

  Forty-Eight

  Colton

  “Dude, what’s up with your sandwich?” Bobby asks, shoving a HoHo into his mouth. It must be a Carmichael thing—HoHos. Cal generally eats one with his lunch, at least on the days he joins us, and I’ve even seen Mac sneak one on occasion when she doesn’t think her dad is looking. “Where’s the crust?” Bobby looks at me like I have a second head sprouting from between my shoulders.

  I chew a bite of my PB&J and shrug. “It’s just habit,” I say and take a few swigs from my water bottle. “I do it without thinking now; you’ll get it when you have kids.”

  The break room door is thrown open and Mac marches in with a broad smile on her face, eyes flashing excitement as she peers around. “Where’s Dad?”

  Bobby points toward Cal’s office, remnants of his HoHo on his face. Mac walks over to the counter, grabs a napkin from the pile, and hands it to Bobby, motioning to his upper lip. “I got the duplex,” she says, her eyes sweeping the room, roaming over each of us. She claps her hands together and does a bunny hop in her heels.

  My eyes widen. “That’s talent,” I mumble.

  Reilly and Felix laugh, and Mac’s continues, “I mean, I just looked at it last night, but they said I can start moving my stuff in next week.” She stalls and the excitement in her eyes fades for a second, then they’re brilliant and glimmering again. “I hope none of you have plans next week after work. I’ll need your help moving my things.” She turns on her heels and heads back out the door, toward her dad’s office.

  “Wait,” Bobby says, jumping out of his seat and following her. “I thought dad was buying you a condo or something.”

  Their voices turn to murmurs out in the shop and Reilly looks at me. “Wow, that was fast. Good for her.”

  Felix nods in agreement, but I’m not sure how I feel, and when Bobby practically drags his feet back into the break room, shoulders hunched, I wonder if I’m not alone in having displaced feelings. He’s still staring out the door as he lowers himself back down into his chair.

  “Are you okay?” I ask him. Bobby’s rarely at a loss for words.

  He glances at me and nods, but he’s hesitant and reserved. “It’s just weird how much everything is changing.”

  I nod, but not just because I understand—I agree.

  Bobby looks at me. “Are you guys, you know, together now, officially?”

  His question comes completely out of the blue, and I have to think before I can answer. “I—it’s kind of complicated,” I finally say. “We’re just taking it slow.”

  Bobby eyes me a minute, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. And then I feel Felix and Reilly’s eyes on me, too. I know they’re all thinking the same thing Cal is every time I catch him looking at me. They have standards and expectations, and I can’t think about that right now if I want to stay focused on me and Mac. Will she be moved out by the time I get back from San Francisco? Maybe it will be good for us to have distance while I’m gone this weekend. Maybe we’re getting too comfortable too fast, even if the thought of not seeing her so often does make me uncomfortable.

  Just as I’m about to clock back in on the ancient, not-worth-saving piece-of-shit Taurus I’m working on, I hear Mac’s hurried footsteps coming my way. The sound of her heels echo through my area, and before I know it, she grabs my hand and pulls me out the side door, out into the alleyway blanketed in an inch of snow.

  I shiver as the twenty-degree weather assaults me, but Mac’s oblivious. She pushes me up against the cool brick of the building, but I forget about all of that the moment her lips are on mine. I’m stunned, but ridiculously pleased.

  Mac’s lips are soft and warm, her kiss deep and lingering. Thoughts I should not be having at work around her dad spark to mind. Mercifully, she pulls away, leaving behind the taste of something sweet and fruity, like strawberries. She rests her hands on my chest, palms open, and grins up at me.

  “I’m more excited about getting a new place than I thought I’d be.” Her eyes are sparkling with delight and I take this unexpected make-out session to be a really good sign. “I want to celebrate. Do you know any good tattoo places?”

  An hour after work, we finally arrive at Barney’s in Benton. Not
the uppity clothing store that my father shops at, but the best tattoo shop in Benton County, according to my cousin Ben.

  I pull the truck up to a stop outside the brick building; it’s graffitied in old-school tattoo art, no doubt the work of one of the artists in the shop. Brown slush lines the street, and between the wind and darkening sky, the last thing I want is Mac slipping and breaking a leg or worse. “Wait a second,” I say, turning off the truck. “I’ll help you.” I can imagine Cal killing me for a number of reasons. Mac breaking a bone while she’s with me could easily be one of them.

  I open the driver’s side door, accosted by the angry howl of winter, and hurry around to her side of the truck, rolling my eyes as she climbs out on her own. Of course she is.

  “Thanks anyway,” she says playfully, and she reaches back inside for her camera. Her hair floats in the breeze around her shoulders and beanie. I can smell her, a warm, floral scent, and I’ve come to miss it when she’s not around.

  I shut the door behind her, grab onto her red mitten-covered hand, and usher her toward the building. The instant we step inside the parlor, I let out a breath of relief. The place is warm and smells astringent, which generally means it’s clean, and I can relax a little. Framed images cover the walls from ceiling to floor. The place is two stories, but by the looks of it, upstairs is the business side of things. The shop is wide, with six stations, three on the right and three on the left, all open for viewing, and they’re tidy and clean. There are a few artists hunched over their canvases, all of them in jeans and short sleeves. You’d never know it’s a cold winter’s night outside by the looks of them. The woman closest to us glances up at us and adjusts the purple glasses resting on her pierced nose.

  “Hello there, welcome to Barney’s,” she says. “Are you Colton?”

  I nod. “And this is Mac.” The woman’s eyes shift from me to Mac and back again. “Nice to meet you. I’m Tanya. Feel free to look through the sample books and see if there’s anything you like. I’ll be with you in a few. I’m just finishing up.”

  Both Mac and I nod, but I feel her stiffen beside me. When I look at her, scouring the place, her expression is open and welcoming, curious if nothing else. But I can’t see her eyes …

  “You good?” I ask and help her shrug out of her peacoat.

  With reluctance, her eyes meet mine, and I see a shadow of uncertainty—but Mac being Mac, she plays it off with a nod and a smile. “Yeah. I’m good.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I know she said she wanted to celebrate, but this doesn’t seem like much of a celebration, especially if she’s having second thoughts.

  Mac meets my gaze, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, a telltale sign that she’s undecided and a little nervous. “Definitely. I’m just not a needles person. They kind of make me woozy.”

  “I see.” And I guess that makes sense. I wouldn’t guess her dad’s ever stopped her from getting a tattoo given the number of them he has on his arms and who knows where else. “Well then, maybe you should start with something small? Just an idea.”

  Mac nods and takes a look around. Before I know it, her camera is in her hands and she’s taking a photo of the place. “Um, Tanya, do you mind?” she asks, holding up her camera. Mac’s face is flushed, like she just realized she might be doing something wrong.

  Tanya shakes her head. “Hell, if they’re any good, I might buy a few off of you.”

  Mac’s head tilts to the side and she considers that a moment. “Sure. I won’t know until I develop them, though.”

  Tanya turns back to her canvas. “You let me know,” she says. The burly man in her chair is staring up at the ceiling, his black ponytail so long it nearly touches the ground. He’s already covered in tattoos. I wonder where she could possibly be fitting another one.

  Mac and I exchange a surprised grin before she snaps a few more shots. She makes her way deeper and deeper into the shop, completely in awe. Pausing next to an empty work station, she bends over to take a shot. I wonder what beauty she sees in a rainbow of plastic ink bottles. She crouches down to get another angle.

  “As much as I enjoy the view,” I say playfully, leaning over the counter, “you should probably be picking a tattoo, since you’re up next. Or do you already know what you want?”

  With a sideways grin, she makes her way back to my side of the counter, her eyes never leaving mine. With her full pink lips pulled into a sideways smirk, she sets her camera down on the counter and stops in front of me, toe to toe, our faces only a hairsbreadth apart. “You enjoyed the view, did you?” she says with a suggestive lilt. Her gaze flicks from my lips back to my eyes. “Good to know.”

  I’m glad she’s not thinking about needles anymore, but now I’m starting to get a little too warm and riled up, eager to get out of here. I clear my throat and gesture to the row of books labeled by the styles of tattoos that fill their pages: tribal tats and cover-ups, new school and portraits … the list goes on and on.

  “What were you thinking about getting?” I ask, opening a portfolio with mythical creatures in front of me. The pages are so worn they are falling out of the binding.

  “Honestly, I always thought I’d get one of my favorite life affirmations tattooed somewhere, but that won’t really work for this one.”

  “No?”

  Mac flips open a traditional-style portfolio beside me. “I’d like to get something simple but that also means something to me.”

  Meaning. I assume she’s not talking about her favorite color or her initials, which means it could be a number of options. “I’m not sure that’s something I can help you with.”

  I turn to face her and for the second time, I can’t help the way my eyes do a quick scan of her body, appreciating every inch of her low-cut sweater, her tight jeans, and her heeled, brown boots. “Where, may I ask, are you going to put this meaningful tattoo? In this particular case, size does matter, you know.”

  Her eyes shoot from the book to me. “Doesn’t it always?” Only after she says it does she blush.

  I wink, unable to suppress a chuckle. “Touché.”

  Mac turns back through the sample book and flips through the final pages, pursing her lips as she thinks. “I was thinking my shoulder blade,” she finally says. Her voice is surprisingly tremulous and hesitant, though I’m not sure I understand why. A lot of people get back tattoos, me, for instance. And that’s when her meaning dawns on me.

  Her scar.

  I meet her gaze. “I think that’s a great idea.”

  She shrugs like this isn’t some significant steps she’s taking in her path to ridding herself of weighted memories that have been dragging her down most of her life. “I figured, ‘out with the old and in with the new.’ New house, new me. I might as well change a few things up while I’m at it.”

  The fact that Mac chose me to be a part of this in even the smallest way feels amazingly significant.

  I look for fear in her gaze, a shadow of uncertainty, but there’s nothing alarming in her hypnotic green eyes.

  I straighten, remembering a tattoo I saw in the book I was looking at. I can picture it on her shoulder perfectly and it embodies everything she is, fire and rejuvenation and life.

  “What about this?” I say and flip through the book, finally landing on the very one. “But add something like this …”

  Forty-Nine

  Mac

  My cell rings as I pull into the shop parking lot and turn off the Jeep. I glance down at it in my purse, surprised. The fact that it’s seven-thirty in the morning and an unfamiliar number flashes across the screen makes the hair raise on the back of my neck. I answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Mac, it’s Alison,” she says, a little out of breath. My first thoughts are of Sam and that something must’ve happened. “I’m with your dad. We’re at the hospital—”

  “What?”

  “He’s okay, he had a pretty bad dizzy spell this morning, but I wanted you to know. He’s in outpatien
t, they’re just monitoring him to make sure he’s okay for a little while before they release him.”

  My heart’s thrumming and my eyes burn with tears even though she says he’s fine. “I’ll be right there.” The Rumbler pulls up beside me and I plug my ear so I can hear her.

  “I’ll give Bobby a call for you,” she offers.

  I nod. “Thanks. Bye.” I end the call and fling the door open. Grabbing my keys from the steering column, I fumble to get the shop key off the ring as I stumble out of the car. “Josh!” I call for him, barely paying attention as I hurry over. “I need you to open the shop for me. My dad’s in the hospital—”

  “What?” He stops mid-step.

  “Supposedly he’s fine, he had a dizzy spell, but …”

  “Yeah, I got the shop, don’t worry about it—here.” He takes the key ring away from me and removes the key, since I’m clearly incapable.

  “Thank you.”

  His hand squeezes my shoulder. “I’m sure he’s fine. Drive safe and we’ll take care of things here.”

  I nod and backtrack to the Jeep. I can’t help but think how I knew something like this would happen if I wasn’t there to watch over him—to make sure he keeps taking his meds and eating healthy.

  Ten minutes later I’m hurrying into the reception area at the hospital, and I ask the elderly volunteer woman at the information desk what floor and room he’s in. She taps a few things in her keyboard and peers over her glasses at the screen.

  While I wait, I register the number of people that are already milling around the hospital at such an early hour. Filtering in through the front sliding doors. Waiting outside the elevator—hurrying up the staircase because time here is of the essence.

  Then, it hits me. Whatever happened to my dad, it was bad and scary enough for Alison to bring him here.

  “Here you go, sweetie.” She hands me a piece of paper she’s scribbled on.

  I’m already turning away as I nod and thank her. All I can think about as I walk to the elevator is my dad’s heart and what all of this means—how bad his cholesterol really is and if he’s been lying to me so that I won’t worry about him. So that I wouldn’t decide to stay with him. Although Alison mentioned “outpatient” and “observations,” a profuse sense of unease makes it difficult to walk any faster. As I ride the elevator up, I picture him in a hospital gown, hooked up to tubes and monitors with an ashen face and a weakened, self-preserving smile I’ll have to pretend not to notice.