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

by Lindsey Pogue

  “Have you even tried? I mean, really tried, Colton?”

  “Of course I have.” I can’t help the incredulity in my voice. “I called her Saturday night to talk things through and some other guy answered. I texted her. I called her twice the next morning and it went straight to voicemail, like she’s ignoring my calls or something. She can be mad at me, fine. But I’m done. I’m not calling her again. I look like a fucking idiot, especially after I just saw her with a guy outside the apartment. She had the nerve to look at me like I was the asshole.”

  “Wait, so you think she’s with someone else already?”

  “I don’t know, Kylie,” I say through gritted teeth. “I don’t really want to think about it.”

  “I’m just wondering if it’s a misunderstanding.”

  I shake my head because I don’t think Mac is the type of woman to go from guy to guy, but if she thought we weren’t together, then what would stop her, especially if she’s angry. “I don’t know what else to think anymore, Kylie. He’s right outside the building.” Then it registers. “David.”

  “David? David what?”

  I try to remember what he looked like, but I hadn’t really paid attention. “It was her brother,” I say, recalling the Durango I’d seen Cal bring into the shop for an oil change. Every wound tendon and muscle in my body uncoils for the first time in days. “But, David?” He’s not around.

  “See, a misunderstanding.”

  “Then why hasn’t she called me back if it’s just a misunderstanding?”

  “Maybe she’s been busy, it is the holidays.”

  Holidays or not, Mac would’ve called me back by now if she wanted to. “Well, the ball’s in her court.” Any flutter of hope I was feeling fades just as quickly.

  “Just don’t be stupid, Colton. Remember, Casey needs you to be—”

  “I know, Kylie,” I say and toss my towel onto the toilet. I pull the shower door open. “I know what my daughter needs. I’m fine. I just got off work. I need to get in the shower. I’ll see you Sunday.”

  “Fine,” she sighs. “But try Mac one more time.”

  I hang up the phone. I don’t need the last woman who broke my heart giving me any sort of relationship advice. But I can’t help the nagging curiosity of what if?

  Fifty-Seven

  Colton

  Just as I’m turning off the heater above my work stall, I hear the creak of Cal’s office door opening. He’s mostly been keeping his distance from me the past few days, but I’m unsure if he knows something’s happened between Mac and me or if he’s just being his normal, standoffish self.

  “Not only is it a Saturday,” he says as he approaches. “It’s Christmas Eve. What the hell are you still doing here?” He leans against my rack, his hands in his pockets. Cal seems more clean-shaven than I’ve seen him before, his goatee trimmed closer to his face.

  “I don’t have Casey until tomorrow, so I figured I’d get some work in.”

  Cal examines the new Civic in my stall. “Since Mac’s off, I’ll give them a call and let them know it’s ready for pickup.”

  I nod and start collecting my things.

  “You two have a misunderstanding?” Despite his question, there’s little curiosity in his voice. More judgment than anything. His eyes are hard and hold no warmth, making this perhaps the most threatening Cal’s ever been. I’m not sure how to answer him without sounding like an asshole.

  “You could say that,” I say, grabbing my lunch bag. When I turn around and he’s standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, I feel my muscles tensing, preparing for whatever he’s about to say.

  Cal’s expression is stone, completely unwavering, and he eyes me closely. “That was short-lived.”

  “Yeah, well, shit happens, I guess.”

  “That’s your reply? You break my daughter’s heart and that’s what you have to say about it?”

  My voice hardens. “No disrespect, Cal, but I haven’t heard from Mac in days. She’s not innocent in all this.”

  He chuckles dryly. “That’s for certain. She’s not the easiest person to get along with. She’s stubborn as hell, we all know that. But I’ve never seen my daughter mope. Ever. And for the last week, when she should be excited about her place, that’s all she’s been doing, moping. And I’m tired of watching it with my hands tied. You have a daughter, Colton, I’m sure you can imagine the feeling.”

  It’s true, I can, but I think Cal’s giving me more credit than I deserve. “She chose this, Cal, not me.”

  “Really?” He shakes his head. “Well, I’d like to say that what you two kids do and don’t do is none of my business, but the moment it was my daughter you chose to pursue, both of you working in my shop, you made it my business. I don’t know what the hell happened, I don’t much care about it, but you slamming stuff around all week and her throwing herself a pity party is about as much as I can stand. You kids need to get your shit together before I have to fire you both for breaking a no-dating policy or some shit just to keep my sanity.”

  His tone brooks no argument and I stand there like a speechless, dumbass kid. I wonder how long he’s wanted to say this to me and how much he’s holding himself back.

  “I’ll call the Kellys about their car,” he finally says. “Go home, spend time with your daughter. Don’t come back until Monday.”

  I nod, even though he can’t see me, and head for the side door. That conversation could’ve been worse, but now I’m more confused than ever. I reach for my truck keys only to find the Civic key in my pocket. “Oh.” I take it into the office to exchange for my own keys.

  Meeting Cal’s eyes again, I set the key on the desk when the guy I saw with Mac the other day walks in through the front door. He and Cal exchange a tense look that confuses me.

  “Colton,” Cal says, “have you met my son, David?”

  David eyes me closely, his head tilted to the side, and he outstretches his hand. “The not-boyfriend, huh.”

  “The what?” I frown.

  “Nothing.” David shakes his head. “Mac was pretty tore up the other night. I learned way more about you than I needed to. Then the toilet situation.”

  “I don’t want to hear about it,” Cal says under his breath.

  “At least she got a new phone out of it,” David muses.

  “Wait, she didn’t have a phone?” I ask, confused as hell and feeling like I’m the last one to the party.

  Cal shakes his head. “No, and now we’re on to number five. It makes me sick thinking about how often we’ve been through this.”

  She didn’t have a phone? That changes things immensely. Though I have a hundred more questions, I won’t ask them now. Clearing my throat, I nod for Cal to hand me my keys in exchange for the Civic’s.

  Proper keys in hand and mind reeling, I head for the door, suddenly anxious and wondering how much damage I’ve caused with all my assumptions.

  “Colton,” Cal says, his voice commanding me to stop. When I look back at him, his brow is knitted together, his dark eyebrows nearly touching. “Mac’s hosting supper at her house tomorrow. Two sharp.”

  Fifty-Eight

  Mac

  Christmas Day

  I can hear them out there, Bobby and David arguing about the football game, Sam giggling at something Reilly said; hell, even Alison’s tinkling laughter flitters into my room as she chides my dad for something he’s probably said or ate that he wasn’t supposed to. The living room and kitchen are the only areas of the duplex that are furnished and organized; they’re livable, at least as far as my family can tell. The scent of brown sugar and cloves drifts down the hall, and beneath the chuckles and banter, Burl Ives’s voice saunters through the house.

  All of it is exactly what I had wanted all along, but now more than anything, I want to crawl back under the covers and sleep the day away. It doesn’t matter that I’ve just taken my second shower for the day and I’ve dolled myself up for dinner; it feels as though I’ve aged a decade in the p
ast week. I’m exhausted, my body hurts, and my heart feels tattered and torn.

  “Mac,” Sam says quietly from my bedroom doorway. I glance over my shoulder as she wipes her hands on her apron. “Your ham’s done and I just finished up the green beans. The yams, potatoes, turkey—everything is keeping warm, so I think we’re just about ready.” She offers me a weak, somewhat knowing smile. Her long blonde hair is pulled half up and drapes over her shoulders. Even though Alison isn’t her real mom, there’s a resemblance about them still. I wonder if Sam’s father had seen that in them, too. “We’ll have plenty of food for the second wave”—she looks at her nonexistent watch—“in oh, about two hours.” I laugh because that’s what always happens. It’s why we eat so early and pass out a little after the sun goes down.

  Sam’s mouth quirks up in the corner and I know she’s trying to figure out what else it might take to make me laugh. “I’m fine,” I say. “Well, I will be fine.” Sam’s spent more time with me than anyone else has the past couple days, and I can tell by the way she’s watching me that she wonders if I’ll even make it out of my room today. “I promise.”

  She comes into the room, wraps her arms around me, and squeezes tightly. “You look like you feel great, if that’s any consolation,” she says and kisses my cheek.

  “Ha. Thanks, Sam.”

  I glance down at my watch. It’s a quarter past one. “I’m just going to finish getting ready and make a phone call, then I’ll be out.”

  She holds my gaze for a few moments longer before she nods and heads back down the hall.

  I remove my cell from the charger beside my bed and scroll down until I find her number. The phone rings and rings, and I think she isn’t going to answer when a surprised voice finally comes on the line. “Machaela?”

  My heart swells and constricts at the same time. “Hey, Mom.” I have no idea why I’ve called her after weeks of radio silence, but for some reason, she’s been on my mind all day—a lot of things have—and I just needed to hear her voice.

  “I’m happy you called,” she says, and although I wouldn’t go so far as to say she has a smile in her voice, she does seem happy to hear from me. That makes my heart hurt a little more than it already does. “Merry Christmas.”

  I beam, surprising myself. “Merry Christmas.” I throw my legs up on my bed and lean back against my pillow. “What are you and Charles doing?” I’m curious, but I’m also procrastinating going out into the living room and putting on a happy Mac show for everyone.

  “Oh, nothing really. We have a couple friends over. We’re watching old Christmas movies and having a few cocktails. None of us have families, really, or at least—”

  “I get it,” I say, trying to save her from a conversation turned stilted and awkward. “Watching Christmas movies on Christmas Day is one of my favorite things to do. I wonder if I get that from you.”

  “You and Bobby used to love A Charlie Brown Christmas,” she says a little whimsically and my smile broadens.

  “It’s still my favorite,” I admit. “Though there are others, too. Home Alone is a classic, that’s Bobby’s favorite, and I also like the animated Grinch, or, rather, I think Dad does. Sometimes I think he can relate.”

  We both laugh, and after a moment I remember she has company. “I can let you go, I just wanted to call and wish you a Merry Christmas.”

  “Thank you, I’m glad you did, but I’m happy to talk. They have cocktails, they won’t miss me.” I wonder if that’s the first joke I’ve ever heard my mom utter.

  “That’s probably true.”

  “How is your new place? Bobby was telling me about it. He says he misses you, but it sounds perfect.” Although she’s talkative—more so than I’ve experienced—there’s still reservation and a timidness to her voice. She’s trying, and that’s all I can ask for right now.

  “It’s”—I gaze around the room at the boxes and disarray—“good, but there’s lots to do and it’s a little lonely at times.”

  She’s quiet for a minute. “It hasn’t been that long; I’m sure it will take some time to get used to it. I think that once you’re there for a while you might come to really enjoy being on your own.”

  I pick at a loose thread on my comforter, trying and failing to imagine it. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  “Is everything okay?” she asks. Her voice is tentative, and I can’t help but think that even though she barely knows me, she’s still my mom and has a mothering instinct in her somewhere. “You sound a little down.”

  I feel my lip quiver as the weight of every emotion I’d tucked into a box, wrapped, and stowed away until after Christmas pours out. And I wonder why now, because of a stupid guy, I can’t keep myself together. And why, of all people, I’m confiding in my mom. “I—” I swipe at the dampness under my lashes, trying and probably failing not to smear my mascara. “I’m sort of a mess right now, actually.” I force out and exhale a long breath.

  She’s silent, waiting. My hand is clammy and I switch the phone into my other hand. “There’s this guy,” I manage to say and I feel like a fourteen-year-old girl with high school problems, but I don’t care and I couldn’t help it even if I tried. “I’m pretty sure I love him and I scared him away completely.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true, sweetheart.”

  I’m nodding as I squeeze my eyes shut. “It is. I was scared and I rushed him, and I’ve successfully made him hate me for it.” I suck in a breath and try to control my breathing. “I miss him. I miss his daughter, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “He has a daughter?” she asks.

  I nod. “Her name is Casey, she’s five and adorable. And I work with him at the shop, so it’s going to be really … hard.” Taking this week off has been quasi-helpful, but soon I’ll have to face reality.

  “Have you tried to talk to him again since your argument?”

  Tearing open a new tissue box from my bin of vanity stuff, I pull one out and wipe my nose. “Not really. It’s been a week and when I saw him the other day—” I shake my head and take in a steadying breath. “He was so angry.” Hotter tears sting my eyes, but I keep them at bay this time. I can’t lose it right now. “I’m not sure it will do any good, only upset me more.”

  “Maybe he just needs a little time.”

  With a caustic laugh, I let out a ragged breath and dab the tissue beneath my eyes. “That’s what he said.”

  “Well, I wish there was something I could do. And this isn’t going to make you feel any better, but the truth is, this probably isn’t the last time you’ll feel this way about a man. Love is tricky like that. But, if he’s smart, he’ll come around, and if he doesn’t, then it’s his loss. I know parents are supposed to say those things, but it’s true. You are beautiful and intelligent and from what I’ve heard you have the biggest, most loyal heart. The loss is truly his.”

  I hear a knock on the front door, which means it’s exactly time for dinner because Nick always makes it just in time. I blow my nose one more time and wipe the smeared makeup from under my eyes as best I can before I take in a deep breath and clear my throat. “I need to get it together. People are waiting for me to eat.”

  “Alright, well, I’m sure they’ll understand if you need a minute or two to yourself.”

  “I know, thanks. And—” I lick my lips. “Thank you for letting me blubber in your ear.” I sniff.

  “Thank you,” she says softly, “for calling me. If you need anything, I’m happy to talk, or I can drive up there to meet you.”

  I smile at that, deciding it’s actually nice to have someone other than my dad to talk to about this sort of stuff, even if I’m not sure what my relationship with my mom really looks like yet. She’s here now, and that’s a gift in and of itself. “Thank you.”

  Just as we say our last goodbyes and I hang up, there’s another knock on the door. “Someone let Nick in, please!” I shout down the hall. “Jesus, a house filled with people …” I grumble and try to fix my face in t
he mirror. Everyone’s going to know I’ve been crying, there’s no escaping it, but with any luck we’ll all pretend I wasn’t.

  I open my bedroom door and hear a small chirp of a voice. I pause in the doorway, listening.

  “… and it’s nice to finally meet you, Casey. I’ve heard a ton about you,” Alison says.

  I stop breathing, my heart racing in my ears, so loud I almost don’t hear what is said next.

  “Colton.” It’s my dad’s voice. “Good to see you, son.”

  My feet are carrying me down the hallway, my knees nearly knocking together I’m so nervous and hopeful and surprised. The moment I step into the mouth of the hallway, everyone looks at me and silence fills the room … but I can only stare at Colton. When he realizes I’m standing there, he turns to me. His eyes scour my face. His brow twitches. His eyes narrow infinitesimally.

  “Hi, Mac!” Casey chirps and I exhale as steadily as I can and peer down at her, trying to be as natural and normal in front of everyone as possible. “Merry Christmas!”

  Crouching down, I pull her in for a hug. “Merry Christmas, Case. I’m happy to see you.” My legs tremble beneath me.

  Casey pulls away and grabs something behind her. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. “Look what we got you for Christmas …” She hands me a sparkly Christmas bag. “Look inside!”

  I can’t help my tiny laugh as her excitement loosens the knot that’s been solidified inside me this past week. I push through an excessive amount of tissue paper to find nearly a dozen nail polishes. All different brands in a variety of purples.

  “Do you like them?” she asks, barely able to contain herself.

  “She picked them out and wrapped them herself,” Colton says quietly.

  I peer up at him, at the shadows beneath his eyes and the hard set of his jaw. “I wasn’t sure,” I joke easily, surprising myself. Pulling one of the nail polishes out of the bag and unable to resist a truly joyful smile, I look back at Casey. “I love them. Thank you so much. This is the best Christmas gift ever.”

  “Really?” Her eyes widen and she looks up at her dad, then starts jumping and clapping in place.