Chapter Seventeen

Maren

I know it killed Mac to drive me to Benji's house only for me to walk home. I don't really care if he knows where I live anymore. We've gone far beyond the boundaries of what was supposed to be casual, but there are still barriers between us. Which is why I'm keeping my living quarters private, and why I still haven't told him I know he's the agent who sold my home—and I probably never will.

At this point, it's more embarrassment than anything that keeps my mouth shut. The fact that I ever cared as strongly as I did in the first place. Now that I've had some space from that apartment, I've gained some perspective on what a dump that place was. The funky smells. The mold growing in the corners. All the things that stopped working. The maintenance guy used to be prompt whenever something broke down, but eventually all requests for maintenance went unanswered—even though I was fucking Brock, the goddamn apartment manager.

But also, I was embarrassed that I couldn't afford anything more than that. Waking up in Mac's mansion of a house really highlighted that for me, even staying in Nina's house. I mean, I already knew my house was a shithole compared to other people's homes, but now it's even more apparent.

I've never been one to care what people think of me. Fuck them if they can't handle what I'm about. So it's dumb that it suddenly matters with Mac. But it does. So, Mac doesn't need to know that I lived in an apartment that probably should have been torn down ages ago. And to keep my barrier intact, my current living situation can just remain a mystery.

I laugh as I walk home, Google Maps leading the way, knowing the unfairness of the situation. I not only know where he lives, but I now know the exact location of his benefactor's home—where he's apparently been staying for weeks instead of his fancy McMansion, judging by his morning strolls. I can stalk him whenever I want…or avoid him. I'm stuck between the two, knowing I'm falling for him a lot more than I should.

Isn't this the point when I usually kick them to the curb? When I realize I'm starting to catch feelings?

But with Mac…

Last night—after a day of disaster—when it was apparent my family was no longer mine, he treated me with such care. He wasn't afraid of my tears. I never cry in front of anyone, but he was there for me in my lowest moment. The feral way we fucked on the side of the road, my knees probably scarred for life because of it. The gentle way he washed my hair. How he held me all night long in his massive bed.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to let him go, which means I've let this go on far too long. The thought of losing him scares me more than falling in love.

Now I have a full day ahead of me, thanks to Mac calling me out sick. It's kind of a waste since I won't be spending it with him, and while I get it, I can't help feeling a bit lost now that our plans fell through.

I hate that I feel lost, I hate that I'm even falling for him, and yet, I can't stop the reel of memories from last night that's on repeat in my mind. I'm not sure I want to.

The door is unlocked when I get home, which is so classic Nina. For someone who has a big house all her own, she sure is careless with it. But that's Nina for you.

I glance at the time on my phone. It's three hours into my shift, which means I have the house to myself for another —

"Last night's clothes, huh?"

I jump out of my skin at Nina's voice, and she laughs as she looks me up and down.

"What are you doing here? Why aren't you at work?"

"Headache," she shrugs, though the glint in her eye lets me know there is no headache.

"So who's running the shop?" I can feel a thread of obligation to turn myself around and head to Insomniacs, knowing that there definitely won't be enough coverage without both of us.

"Let Susan handle it for once," Nina says, flopping on the couch, then patting the pile of clothes beside her. "Spill," she says, "and leave nothing out."

"Spill what?" I ask, moving the clothes to the floor so I can actually sit. I kick off my boots, stalling to find a cover story as I feel her eyes bore into the side of my head.

"Spill why you're wearing the clothes I saw you leave the house in after work, and who you were with this whole time."

"I was with Claire, you know that," I lie, "Besides, why are you all of a sudden acting like my mom?"

"I'm not, but I do want some dirty details. Come on, Maren, it's not like you to have a slumber party at Claire's."

I contemplate playing it cool, keeping up this charade for…ever. But my body doesn't get the memo, starting wi th the grin on my face. I try to smother it, but she pulls my hand away.

"I knew it! Just tell me his name, how good he is in bed, how long his penis is…"

"Meh, names aren't important," I say, ignoring every other question she asked. But if I want to keep the details under wraps, I need a distraction. Like the truth. "I did run into my sister, though."

Nina's eyes widen, and she gestures for me to continue. Nina knows about my past, and that I no longer talk with my family. So I share about how I saw Lydia, drunk off her ass, surrounded by predators.

"How did you get her away?"

I hesitate for a moment, recalling the way Mac beat down two of the guys before they all took off.

"I can be scary when I want to be."

Nina stares for a moment, scrutinizing me. Then she nods.

"This is true. Hey, you want some coffee?"

Nina has just spent the whole morning in a coffee shop, and I'm still riding the high from that exquisite coffee at Mac's, plus everything that came with it. But I'm also feeling the drama of the past twenty-four hours pulling at my energy. It's either coffee or a long nap.

"That sounds great."

I follow her into the kitchen as she jabbers on about the latest gossip, which is basically a rundown of our morning regulars because this is our life.

"Did you know Paper Guy has a boyfriend?" she asked, referring to the well-dressed guy who comes in every morning with a newspaper tucked under his arm. He always wears suspenders and a hat, which feels ironic since he's got to be younger than us. But it's the newspaper that really stood out, since no one under the age of thirty gets their news in print. Hence his nickname.

"And Strawberry Shortcake is back with that Scottish dude." This is the red-haired girl who came in once wearing a dress with giant strawberries on it. "But they don't live up north anymore. Apparently, they now live in Wisconsin."

"What's in Wisconsin?" I ask, only half listening as I look out the window. I can't help wondering what Mac is up to right now. Is he thinking of me? Does he miss me?

"Bees, I guess," she says, handing me my coffee, then peering out the window. "Oh wow! I thought he was a no show today."

I lean forward, my heart pounding at Mac's flawless half naked form making his way around the corner and up our street. Surely Nina can hear the thunder in my chest as Mac slows once he nears his house.

"Oh my god," she murmurs.

Mac pauses next to my car, then runs his hand over the dent in the hood, as if he's running it over a warm body. My body. Fuck . I love how he touches my car.

And then it hits me. He's touching my car.

It's like a slo-mo roll when he lifts his gaze to the kitchen window where both Nina and I are peering out like dumbass schoolgirls. We immediately move out of view, but Nina's eyes are like saucers, and I can see she's slowly putting the pieces together.

It honestly never occurred to me that he'd recognize it. But why wouldn't he? It's how he found me at Insomniacs, and now he knows where I live.

Nina peeks back out, and I can't help but do the same.Mac is still there, and his face breaks into a grin upon seeing us. He points to the window and gives a slow nod, his crooked smile still in place. Then he turns and continues his walk. Meanwhile, my face is burning hot and probably a brilliant shade of scarlet.

"You slut," Nina laughs, pushing my shoulder. "Of course it would be you that lands Naked Coffee Guy."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, twisting my coffee cup in my hands. When I look at her, she has a look of awe on her face.

"Right, and you're also not wearing yesterday's clothes and don't look like you've been fucked sideways. You're banging him, aren't you?"

I say nothing, taking my coffee with me back to my bedroom.

"Maren! You have to give me something. I need details!"

But I just chuckle as I close the door and lock it, considering an afternoon of remembering everything that happened last night with Mac…by myself.

Mac never shows up at my work the next day, even though I jump every time I hear the jingle of a new customer walking through the door. It's for the best, really. Nina spent all last night trying to get information from me, and she spends this shift doing the same. But I'm as closed up as the KFC recipe vault. I can only imagine how annoying she'd be if he showed his face.

He also doesn't text me, just like I don't text him. I'm not disappearing, but I also don't want to appear as eager as I feel. Still, it doesn't keep me from checking my phone every five minutes. But all in good fun, It feels like a game to see who will cave first.

The game stops being fun, though, when I reach the end of my shift and there's still no word from Mac. I mean, I could text him myself, but then I'd lose.

Losing would be worse than not hearing from him all day. Right?

Nina and I head to her car once the coffee shop is locked up. I regret not taking my own car as she continues peppering me with questions about Naked Coffee Guy. Meanwhile, I'm keeping my eyes peeled, trying to appear casual and unbothered while searching for him.

I am the epitome of unchill, and I know I need to get a grip. Thank goddess for tonight's gig. If anything, it will serve as the perfect distraction for a few hours while I get lost in my music.

When I arrive at Hillside, I immediately head to Claire's table in the back where she's sharing a plate of fries with Finn. I haven't had a chance to fill her in about everything that happened—about Mac, but especially about the drama with my family. I feel terrible that Nina knows at least part of the story before her. That said, we have little ears listening to everything we say, so I give her the Cliff's Notes version.

"There's so much to unpack, I don't even know where to start," Claire says.

"Well, we can save the stuff about Mac for another time." I tilt my head in Finn's direction for emphasis, and she nods her approval.

"Good plan," she laughs, but then grows serious. "So, how about your family? I can't believe Lydia treated you that way after you saved her."

"It hurt," I admitted. I pull out my phone, flipping to her Instagram page and showing it to Claire. "I mean, I see her in these photos and she appears so nice and approachable. But when we came across her, she was not only drunk off her—" I pause, looking at Finn, who's looking back at me, waiting for me to say the word. "Butt," I say with a grin, shuffling his hair. "It seemed out of character for her. But she's also grown up hearing stories about me that you know weren't flattering. She probably thinks the worst of me, thanks to my father."

I glance away, then do a double take as I see a familiar face walk through the front entrance, looking around as if searching for someone.

Lydia .

"Speak of the devil," I say, nodding my head in my sister's direction. Claire gasps as she catches sight of Lydia, just as my sister's eyes land on us. She freezes, and I can see how uncomfortable she looks.

Good.

Lydia looks at her feet, unmoving, and as much as I want her to suffer, I also want to hear what she's going to say. So when she looks my way again, I give her the slightest of nods.

"We're going to see what Ethan's up to." Claire takes Finn's hand, coaxing him to his feet.

"I'm not done, Mom," Finn complains.

"Dad has more fries in the kitchen," she counters, pulling him with her. She glances back at me and mouths be nice . I roll my eyes but shoot her a small smile as if to say I'll try .

"Hey."

I turn my head slightly at Lydia's voice, noting her twisted hands and lowered eyes.

"Can I help you?" I ask, then turn back to the plate of cold fries as if they're the most interesting thing in the venue. I hear her sigh, and she moves around the table and sits across from me. She doesn't say anything, and when I finally look at her, I see the tears brimming her eyes. I exhale hard, shaking my head. I also hand her a napkin, which she uses to dab her eyes.

"How'd you know I was here?"

"I've seen you here before," she admits, "I was with some friends and you were playing, and I realized it was you. I heard there was live music tonight and hoped it would be you. And, well…"

She trails off, and I watch her for a moment. I see the bits of her I used to know, the shy kid who used to follow me around when I let her. But I also see the woman she's becoming…as long as she doesn't fuck it up.

"Did you survive the hangover?" I ask, and she releases a watery laugh.

"I felt like I got hit by a sledgehammer all day yesterday. Mom and Dad think I have the flu. Mom made me stay home from school again today, just in case."

"And they let you out of the house? Wow, times have changed." I wave down one of the waitresses. "Hey, can I get a soda water with a splash of tonic and some lime?" I look at Lydia, then back at the waitress. "One for her, too."

"They haven't changed," Lydia says once the waitress is gone, "If anything, they're worse. They're on my back about everything. My grades. My friends. What colleges I'm signed up for. How I spend my free time. They won't even let me quit the track team. They say it will be good for my college application, but I think it's because it takes up so much of my time. They monitor me constantly. It's as if they think they can prevent me from getting in trouble by filling up my day and keeping tabs on me at all times."

"And yet, they had no idea where you were that night, and would probably flip their lids if they knew you were here with me right now. How'd you escape their surveillance?"

"I leave my phone at home," she admits, "As of right now, they think I'm still in bed because that's what my phone says. But if they looked closer at my bed, they'd find a mountain of clothes under my blankets, and my phone under my pillow on a snore loop." She offers a sheepish grin.

"A modern-day Ferris Bueller ," I say and can't help but laugh.

"Who?" Lydia's face is twisted in confusion .

"Movie reference," I say, "Never mind. So, you snuck out the window. Do they still have the spiny cactus garden planted there?"

"Yup, but I know where to step and how to hide the evidence."

This time I belly laugh. When it was my room, I'd perfected the art of knowing exactly where to place my foot so I wouldn't get speared by the thorny plants, and then how to drown my prints clean.

"A glass of water?" I ask, which is exactly what I used to use. The waitress hands us our drinks, and I push Lydia's toward her. She takes a sip, then picks it up and mimics pouring it over imaginary footprints.

"Works like a charm."

She bites her lip and looks down at the table for a moment. When she glances at me again, it's with utter seriousness.

"I'm really sorry. I don't remember a lot from that night, but enough to know that you kept it secret from Mom and Dad. They would have killed me."

"Lydia, if I hadn't stepped in, you'd have a whole hell of a lot more to regret. Do you remember the guys you were hanging out with?"

She shrugs. "It was just Austin and a few of his friends. They're harmless."

"Harmless?" I laugh, "Hardly. Those guys were getting you drunk on purpose. If you were paying attention, you'd have noticed none of them were drinking."

Lydia stares at me, blinking slow. Then she shakes her head. "You don't know that; they were just being nice."

I'm trying so hard to keep my cool, reminding myself that she's still just a kid. But I'm also seeing red at how na?ve she is.

"You know what I saw, Lydia? I saw a bunch of predators getting a minor drunk. I saw the looks they were giving each other as you got more and more wasted, and I saw what would have happened if I hadn't stepped in. You know why?"

The look of annoyance stays on her face, but she waits for me to answer.

"Because it happened to me."

"I'm not you," Lydia says, but she shifts her eyes to the table.

"Right. Because only a drug addict deserves to get raped, right?" I push up from the table. Kid or no kid, Lydia's elitist attitude is going to make me punch something.

"No, Maren. That's not what I meant." She reaches across the table for my hand, but I yank it away. I also sit back down, because even though I'm pissed, I have a shred of resistance to cutting off ties with her completely .

"Here's the thing," I hiss at Lydia, "getting raped could happen to anyone, whether you're sober or drunk. But the best thing you can do when you're with people you don't know very well is to keep your wits about you, and always bring a friend. I'm not telling you that you can't drink, but just be smart about it."

Lydia lifts her soda water and studies it. Then she nods her head at mine.

"Do you still drink?" she asks.

"I've been sober for seven years and counting." I clink my glass with hers, then take a sip. "And I'm not one of those sober pushers either. I don't care if you drink. I just learned from experience that I don't have limits, so it's better if I don't mess with any of it."

"I had no idea." Lydia is quiet for a moment, then she shakes her head. "The things they've said about you…"

She trails off without giving specifics, and I can only imagine what she's been told. Part of me wants to push for more information, but I also know that anything she tells me will hurt even more than it already does. Besides, it won't change anything. Our parents hate me, and there's nothing I can do about it.

I shake my head like it doesn't matter, then push up from the table just as Claire and Finn approach. "I have to warm up for my set. But stay. You remember Claire, right?"

Lydia nods, holding out a hand. Claire leans in instead, giving her a big bear hug. I haven't even hugged my sister yet, but it's not like I'm much of a hugger anyway.

"And this is Finn, Claire's son. His dad owns the place, so order whatever you want and he'll pay for it."

"Maren!" Claire laughs, and I give her an evil grin.

"I'm kidding," I say, "Put it on my tab."

"I got it," Ethan says from behind us, sliding a hand around Claire's waist and kissing the top of her head.

"Ugh. If they start macking in front of you, you have my permission to leave." I reach over and squeeze Lydia's hand. "You'll stay though, right?"

Lydia nods and pulls on my hand, bringing me closer. Then she hugs me. It's awkward at first, and I don't know what to do with my hands except hold them straight down to my side. But then I tentatively reach for her and return the hug. I'm surprised at the tears that form in my eyes, and I do my best to sniff them away. When we finally release each other, her face is wet, and I'm wiping my makeup all over my sleeve.

"Great," I laugh. But I don't really care about my ruined face. The relief I feel at having Lydia back in my life makes me feel lighter than I have in years.

It feels like a different night as I perform each song in my set, and I know it has everything to do with Lydia being a part of the crowd. But it's more than that. This past week, it's like my whole universe has shifted in a way I've never experienced. I started out this week saying goodbye to my independence as I moved from my apartment into Nina's. But then I saw Mac, and despite all the ways I fought it, he made me fall for him. I learned how much I needed his kind of love, and I no longer care that he was the agent who sold the apartments. It's not like they were his, and it's not like he even knew. It doesn't even matter. I see now how many doors this whole change opened up. I never would have run into my sister, and I never would have known what it's like to fall in love.

Because that's what's happening. I'm falling in love, and instead of fighting it, I'm going to ride this all the way as if my heart can't get broken.

I carry these feelings through my whole set, pouring my heart into every word, every chord. When it's over, my smile shines through my tears as I leap from the stage and engulf my sister in a hug—our first in years—before we all go home for the night.

It's late when I finally pull up to the house, but I don't feel tired. I sit in my car for a moment, mentally reliving the events of tonight. I reach for my phone, wanting to share it with Mac, but then remembering that he hasn't texted me all day. I pause, my fingers aching to reach out to him, but my mind reminding me it's against the rules.

"What rules, though?" I say aloud, then laugh. Fuck the rules. I find his name, then send him a quick chat.

Me: I missed you today.

Then I hold my breath, waiting for a reply. I don't wait long. My face breaks into a smile as three dots appear. Then his text.

NCG: Then get out of the car, silly.

I quickly look toward the house and see a dark human shape sitting in the shadows on the porch. I throw open the door and run to him. He stands and catches me, kissing my mouth as if it wasn't just yesterday we were waking up together, but years ago.

"You didn't call me all day," I protest when we break apart.

"It was a hard day," he says, and my heart lurches.

"Benji?" I ask. He nods, but then shakes his head.

"He's okay, but he's going downhill. Today he was more agitated than usual, and I couldn't find it in me to leave him alone with the nurse. I came here as soon as he fell asleep. "

I take a hard look at him, though the lights from the streetlamps make his features look pale.

"How long have you been here?" I ask.

"Just a few hours." He pecks me on the nose, but I jerk my head back and swat his shoulder.

"You knew I had a gig. You could have come."

"Yeah, but I needed to stay close. Just in case."

Just in case this is the end. I know that's what he means. I rest my head on his chest, realizing just how hard this must be for him. It's so much more important than some silly romance. Still, now that he's here, I don't want to let him go.

"Do you want to come in?"

He winces, then shakes his head. "I'd love to, but I can't. I probably should have been back a while ago, but I just had to see you. and I wanted to be here to ask you a very important question."

His tone is so serious, I look back up at him, studying his face for a clue.

"Maren, I'd like to take this relationship to the next level," he says. My expression must be giving me away, because he grins then closes my dropped jaw with a finger. "Relax, I just want to take you on a date. A real date, to make up for the day we lost yesterday. Can I?"