by Amy Knupp
Sierra scooted closer and added a gentle hand to Mackenzie’s back. “There’s no right or wrong in this,” she said, “but you can always change your mind.”
Mackenzie cried harder at that, ducking her face into Hayden’s hair, because she could change her mind till pigs flew, but that didn’t mean Drake would ever give her a long-term chance. She’d done nothing but turn him away and decide for him that he couldn’t be what she wanted. The worst part about it? She wasn’t looking for him to propose or anything like that. That would be super fast and sort of crazy, and she wouldn’t even expect that from a non-commitment-phobic guy. All she really wanted from Drake was the chance for something deeper to develop.
After another big inhale, she sat up straighter, nodding. “I think I want to talk to him. See if he wants to… I don’t know. Not break up but not get married. Something in the middle.” She laughed and wiped her eyes.
“That sounds fair,” Sierra said, smiling.
“What if he says no?”
“Then he’s an idiot,” Hayden said, “and the bat offer still stands.”
Mackenzie’s next big inhale was steadier as she thought it through. “I’m leaving for LA at the butt crack of dawn tomorrow. I’ve got meetings for the next two days, then an event Saturday evening. I’ll give myself the trip to think about everything and figure out what to say to him.”
“That sounds like a wise plan,” Sierra said. “You’re upset and full of emotions tonight. It never hurts to sleep on things. Or so I’ve been told.”
“Says the most impulsive woman in the world,” Hayden said, laughing. “I’m a big fan of planning. When will you be home from your trip?”
“Sunday afternoon,” Mackenzie said, her mind whirling over her plans and whether she should alter them to talk to Drake.
“You can talk to him Sunday then,” Hayden said authoritatively, and Mackenzie nodded, suddenly so tired.
“Thank you. Both of you,” Mackenzie said. “For letting me cry on you and snot in front of you and generally break down. I wasn’t going to do that.”
“Sometimes you’ve got to break down before you can build yourself back up again,” Sierra said.
Hayden nodded and added, “We’re here for you, no matter what happens with Drake.”
With an indelicate sniff, Mackenzie nodded and breathed and said, “Yeah. You girls are the best. And we should get back to the celebration that I totally derailed.”
“Let’s blame Drake,” Hayden said with a devilish grin.
They all laughed, and even though Mackenzie’s future was up in the air and she felt almost as much unsureness as she used to the night before her mom moved them to a new apartment, new suburb, new neighborhood, she swallowed it down and reached across the counter for the wine bottle to top off all three of their glasses. For the rest of the evening, she was going to try to lay her doubts aside and revel in the fact that, in one month, she would be living in her very own home.
And she knew, she felt it in her heart that if it didn’t go well with Drake on Sunday, these two would be there for her, with wine, junk food, a bat, and plenty of hugs.
Chapter Thirty
There was nothing springlike or gentle about the rain coming down. The Saturday-morning spring “shower” was closer to biblical proportions, cold, and miserable.
As Drake sat on the screened-in porch of the house Cole and Sierra were buying, he stared out at the rotten weather, feeling the gloom in his soul.
Cole had brought him along to take some measurements and get some other info for the minor repairs and projects he planned to do before they moved in. He’d also been excited to show Drake the house, excited in a way Drake would never have guessed his brother would be—at least not until he’d met Sierra.
Funny how the right woman could change things.
The house was nice. Better than nice, really. It’d be a great home for Cole and Sierra and a few rug rats. It was no surprise that Sierra had pushed for a farmhouse-style home that was close to a century old, recently restored—and restored right, according to both of them—so she and Cole wouldn’t have to do the major work themselves, and set on a two-acre wooded lot that was at the edge of the city limits. Actually, it fit Cole too, and Drake didn’t figure Sierra had had to push much at all. Those two seemed in tune with each other on a lot of things.
As well as it fit his brother and his wife-to-be, the house probably wouldn’t be Drake’s first choice for himself, but to each his own.
It was weird to even think about houses, but think about them he had been, maybe because both Mackenzie and Cole were in the buying process. Or maybe because he was tired and the thought of moving into another apartment in a few weeks as he’d always planned wore him out.
Of course, he didn’t have to move. He could sign another lease, stay put for another year or two. He’d never put too much thought into a place regarding the long-term though, knowing he would only spend a year or two there before he found something new and different. Though he lived in a luxury apartment, there were some elements he didn’t love.
He was starting to think maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to buy a house. Financially, of course, it would be smarter, but he’d never worried too much about that, more concerned about his lifestyle.
It seemed his lifestyle was changing.
After Mackenzie had walked out of his life a week and a day ago, Drake had sat there in his car, a little stunned, a lot crushed like a bug. And then he’d raced off and reverted to his old ways, stopping at his apartment to change out of his suit and then hitting the bars. It hadn’t taken him long to catch up with some people he knew—even though he hadn’t been out and about much in weeks, his bar friends were creatures of habit and hadn’t altered their routines.
He, on the other hand… Nothing was the same with him or in him.
He’d spent the rest of Friday night and early Saturday morning fighting that fact to an extreme. First, he’d only lasted till ten p.m. at the bars, the people and the scene wearing on him quickly. Second, he’d gone home and curled up with a bottle of scotch, thinking that was the only way to get Mackenzie out of his mind.
Although he was a social guy who had always loved parties and nights out, he’d never been a heavy drinker. Knew too well what that shit did to the body in large quantities. But that had slipped his mind Friday night.
He’d woken up on his couch late Saturday morning to only the dregs of the bottle left on the coffee table, an empty pizza delivery box, and a hangover to end all motherfucking hangovers.
As much damage as the bender had done physically—he’d felt like hell for a full thirty-six hours as he tried to detox—it had screwed him up even more mentally. Because he didn’t drink to drown his sorrows. He didn’t lose his mind and his self-control because of a woman. He didn’t let himself be bothered by anything for too long.
The joke was on him, apparently.
More than a little shell-shocked by his reaction to Mackenzie’s goodbye, he’d veered to the opposite extreme by Monday morning and thrown himself into work—both the new job and the old one. There was barely a moment between seven a.m. and midnight this past week when he hadn’t been working one or the other.
He’d finished out his last four shifts at the gym, hung out for a full hour at the goodbye party they’d thrown him, and fully moved into the office Mason had had emptied for him at NBS. He’d spent hours enmeshed in plans for the new division, hammering out everything from the physical setup of the space to the nuances of the branding. Not only did it allow him to avoid downtime at home, by himself, but he was also genuinely that absorbed in the project itself.
Last night at 9:27 p.m., Gabe had come into Drake’s office and told him, in a kind but firm tone, to get the hell out, reminding him he wouldn’t be an official employee until Monday morning. He’d said he didn’t want Drake burning out before he even started and had gone so far as to ban him from coming into the office this weekend. Mason had backed the fucker up on it.
So here he was, with an entire weekend looming. No shifts at the gym, not allowed into the NBS offices, not in the mood to go out and be social. When Cole had texted him this morning, asking for help at the house, he’d easily said yes. When they’d finished measuring, Cole and his agent, Calvin Broderick, had gotten wrapped up in a conversation, and Drake had excused himself and escaped out here.
The door behind him squeaked open and Cole came out. He sat next to Drake on the rudimentary wood-plank bench the previous owners had left behind.
“Hey,” Cole said. “So what do you think of the place?”
Drake dragged his mind back to the house. “It’s impressive. It fits you and Sierra. I’m guessing it must have a ‘good soul’ for her to have fallen in love with it?”
Cole laughed. “You got it.” He shook his head, half a goofy grin still on his face. “I never would’ve pictured myself in something this big and striking, but it feels right.”
Striking was a good word for it. Striking in that the historical details were intact, just the way Sierra loved, and it made quite a showpiece while still being homey and livable. There were lots of rooms and lots of space, but to Drake, it felt a little closed off and segmented, the way older houses did. He would choose something more modern, full of openness and light.
“Major upgrade from your dumpy apartment,” Drake said.
“My apartment’s not dumpy. You’ve never been inside of it.”
“I’ve seen the outside. That’s enough.”
“I’ve remodeled the inside, asshole.” Cole let out a half scoff, half laugh. “Not nearly as nice as this place though. Don’t know what we’re going to do with so much square footage.”
“Make some babies, I believe is how it goes,” Drake said.
“Never pictured myself doing that either, but now I can’t imagine not.”
“Sad.” Drake was giving him shit. He himself would love to be an uncle and have little nieces and nephews running around who he could rough-house with and tickle and spoil.
Cole ignored his dig and said, “The yard is good for kids. Trees to climb, grass to roll in, space to run.”
“Lots of all of it,” Drake agreed. He personally would want a little less lawn to mow and more of an intimate entertainment area. Maybe a barbecue area, a couple of tables, loungers, lots of trees…
It hit him like a sledge hammer that the yard he was imagining and the house he’d envisioned with openness and light and a more modern appeal were…Mackenzie’s dream home. The one she’d showed him online that was double her budget. The one with the beautiful wood floors throughout the main level, the crisp white trim and gas-log fireplace, the roomy master bedroom, the perfect-for-Mackenzie’s-home-office bonus room above the garage. He’d only browsed through it for a few minutes at Mackenzie’s kitchen counter, but he’d liked what he’d seen. Apparently a lot.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “Where’s the Realtor?”
“He got a call from another client. Took it to his car for privacy. Told us to take our time.”
“Are you done with everything you needed to do?”
“Yep.”
Neither one of them moved; both just sat there on that uncomfortable bench, watching the low spots in the yard puddle up. Drake’s mind was on anything but mud and water though. He was thinking about Cole, his antisocial, formerly grumpy-as-hell brother. Thinking about all the changes he’d made. Wondering if he ever had moments of doubt.
“How hard was it for you to let yourself fall for Sierra?” Drake asked him.
Cole scowled at him as if trying to figure out where that came from. “Falling wasn’t hard. Admitting it to myself was.”
“Why?”
Another glare. “Because I was an asshole who didn’t like people. I’d ask you why so many questions, but Sierra said you fucked it up hard with Mackenzie.”
“There was nothing to fuck up,” he said, irritation ringing in his voice. Technically, wouldn’t he have to have an actual relationship in order to fuck anything up?
Technically.
“That’s not what I heard.”
Drake hesitated, because he wasn’t sure he could handle the answer, but finally, he asked, “What did you hear?”
“Just that Mackenzie came over a few days ago and was nursing a broken heart, direct quote.”
He felt the sting of that in his chest, an actual physical sensation. Fucking hell.
A gust of wind came through out of nowhere and blew rain in through the screen, getting both of them wet, but it wasn’t enough to pull Drake all the way out of his dark thoughts.
“You ever worry about losing it all? With Sierra, I mean?”
Cole turned to look at him again, at first with a frown, but then he gawked and looked thoughtful. It made Drake antsy, and he fought the urge to jump up and pace or maybe punch his assessing brother.
“No, man. You can’t do that. You’ll make yourself crazy. It’s like worrying that someone’s going to get in a car wreck. It could happen any damn day, but if you let yourself think that way, you’re going to lose your mind.”
A car wreck was something they were all way too familiar with as that’s what had taken their dad away from them. Drake had worried, for months afterward, whenever his mom got in a car.
“I’m talking more about something like you screw things up and she leaves you. Or she finds someone she likes better and she leaves you. Or—”
“No,” Cole said. “I mean, I did. Before I decided to go all in. I held back because why the hell would a woman like Sierra want to be stuck with me?”
“I’ve wondered the same damn thing,” Drake said, grinning, lightening the tension in the air just a little.
“Jackass.” Cole didn’t say more on the topic, just left Drake to his thoughts once again, which wasn’t a comfortable place.
Drake leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, barely registering the wood flooring of the porch. “I’ve been keeping people at arm’s length for years because I didn’t want to get too attached. Didn’t want to get hurt.”
“Nobody wants to get hurt,” Cole said. “We Norths seem to be particularly screwed up though.”
Because of their dad’s death—at least in part. No one had to say it out loud.
“Kind of stupid when you think about it,” Drake continued, “because by trying to avoid losing her, I’ve already lost her.”
Cole exhaled a sort-of laugh through his nose. “Kind of true and kind of stupid. Not gonna lie, it’s scary as hell to put your whole life into someone else’s hands by choice.”
“Yeah,” Drake said and pushed out a breath full of stress.
“Know what’s scarier?”
“What?”
“Thinking about some other guy giving her everything she wants, getting everything she’s got to give.”
“Shit.” Drake’s stomach literally turned, and a wave of nausea and panic swept through him.
“Yep.”
Drake lifted his head as the rain lightened in intensity, gazed out at the yard. He imagined for a moment…himself…with a fat plastic baseball and a fat plastic bat and a chubby-cheeked little boy standing a few feet away from him as he lobbed the ball in a gentle pitch. Imagined the giggle when the toddler made the bat connect with the ball.
His reverie switched to a little girl with two pigtails sticking out of her head like antlers, her eyes big and brown and irresistible just like…Mackenzie’s.
It wasn’t this house he imagined, but it didn’t matter. It was a home filled with love, with a mini Mackenzie and a mini him and a white fireplace and a rambunctious puppy and… Hell.
He not only wanted that future, he wasn’t sure he could survive without it.
“Well,” Cole said nonchalantly, “you about ready to head out?”
Still staring at the sopping acreage but seeing a sunny backyard with a play area instead, with his heart suddenly racing, Drake stood. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
As
they made their way out to Cole’s truck, Drake began to formulate a plan as to how he could possibly win over Mackenzie.
Chapter Thirty-One
A few hours later, Drake rode the elevator up to the twenty-second floor in Ezra’s condo building. Though it was, according to the pilot on his flight, a beautiful spring evening in Houston and a temperate seventy-two degrees, Drake was sweating his balls off.
His entire future depended on the next half hour. Bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, batter up. He had to hit it out of the stands.
For the hundredth time, he checked the Find My Friends app on his phone to make sure Ez was still here, that his own device showed as nearly on top of his friend’s. It’d been a joke of sorts when they’d given each other access to their whereabouts, one that came about when Drake was giving Ez shit about never knowing which continent he was on from one night to the next, but thank God they had. He was hoping the element of surprise would work in his favor.
The doors dinged open, Drake muttered a nervous curse to himself, and he exited. The walk to Ezra’s unit, where he’d been plenty of times before, was short. And then he stood there facing the door, heart racing, like a goddamn pussy, going over all his talking points in his mind as if it was a presentation for the NBS board.
“Fuck it,” he said, and he knocked on the door.
It took a while, but just as he was about to beat on the door again, he heard movement inside, and then the door opened and Ezra stood in front of him, eyes narrowed, brows dipping down.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Ez said, his tone chilled but more confused than outwardly hostile. He wore plaid pajama pants and a plain white T-shirt and his hair was mussed, as if he’d been in bed or something, but Drake didn’t ask. Didn’t care. He was going to force this conversation regardless.
“Can I come in?”
Their eyes locked for a moment in a stare down, a visual game of chicken to see who would back down first, and then without a verbal reply, Ezra stepped back and let Drake inside.
Drake shut the door behind him, turned around, and found Ez leaning against the wall of the entryway, arms crossed over his chest, waiting.
