Chapter 1

MACKENZIE

I 'm falling. And not in the way that makes your heart flutter in your chest or clumsy butterflies roil in your stomach. It's definitely not the kind of falling associated with that overwhelming euphoric sensation of dopamine flooding your brain cells.

Not that I would know what that feels like.

Nope. This is just plain old falling. Arms flailing. That sinking drop in the pit of your stomach as you attempt to fight the Earth's undeniable gravitational pull. I'm caught in that moment when you know you're about to meet your doom, aka faceplant. When everything plays out in slow motion for just that little bit, before catapulting back into real-time.

Somewhere, between all of it, I manage to cry out. "Holy shit!"

An arm reaches out across my waist, suspending me in mid-air, my long blonde hair draping mere inches above the bonfire I've almost tripped into. The sudden jolt causes the margarita in my hand to slosh forward into the open flames. I rare back as it flares up, the heat of it stifling, the flames licking dangerously close to my left eyebrow.

"Easy there," I hear him say as I'm dragged backwards, his solid arms clamped around my midsection. He pulls me further, drawing me a safe distance away from the fire. Firm palms steady my shoulders, before his hands awkwardly drop to his sides. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I say, huffing out a breath, and smoothing out the uncomfortable cocktail dress that suffocates my frame. I'm not one for playing dress-up and this frock is definitely not me. It's too sophisticated, too frilly. Give me a t-shirt and shorts any day of the week.

"You sure?" His head tilts to the side, concern painting his features.

And there it is. The indisputable glare of pity that I'm so often subjected to in this town.

"I'm fine," I say in an unreasonably annoyed tone. "Relax. You don't have to act like I'm some sort of damsel in distress."

I hate that I sound like a bitch, but if one more person treats me like I'm a fragile porcelain doll, I might actually break.

I look up in time to see Dylan's sideward smirk, his eyebrows shooting upward. "Sure," he casually waves off my statement, then adds, "I mean, you almost dove headfirst into an inferno, but I'm sure you had it under control."

A slight frown builds on my brow, but I can't help the way the corners of my lips turn upward. I actually appreciate his sarcasm. Maybe he doesn't think I'm so fragile after all.

"Whatever." I roll my eyes and offer a sigh as I flop down onto the makeshift log seat nearby, sticking my now half-empty margarita glass into the sand beside me.

I let out a groan of relief as I begin peeling off the strappy high heels that adorn my pained and blistered feet – the culprits of my almost-fall into the flames mere moments ago.

These shoes have been killing me, but Kristen insisted I borrow them for Liv and EJ's wedding. The only shoes I had brought with me to Cliff Haven were the ones I'd been wearing when Henley helped me escape from my abusive ex-boyfriend's house in the middle of the night.

A pair of casual sandals, of which the soles were wearing thin, would simply just not cut it for such an elegant event, but these death traps Kristen has me wearing tonight are not exactly ideal for the uneven ground behind the tavern or the sandy shore where I now sit. Especially when I'm a little more than mildly tipsy, and I'll admit, not accustomed to prancing around in such high-fashion footwear.

"Why aren't you up there enjoying the party?" Dylan nods toward the outdoor dance floor where Kristen, Liv, Henley, and EJ sway merrily, and albeit a little drunkenly to an upbeat, punk-pop cover of a Taylor Swift song played by the live band.

I could tell him the truth. That being up there with my newfound half-sister and her friends had felt both heartening and unbearable. That even though I love my sister and her fiancé, the man that saved my life, being around them reminds me that we are worlds apart.

Instead, I choose to deflect his question. "Why aren't you?"

"It's more chill down here." He shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his navy-blue suit pants. "I'm not much for crowds, I guess."

"Same," I agree.

Dylan and I are not all that well-acquainted, but as his eyes dart to the wedding party behind the tavern and then back down to me, I get a strange sense that we're kindred spirits. That maybe in some way, through our mutual introversion, we understand each other.

Though I know he couldn't possibly comprehend. That nobody really knows what goes on inside my head. I make damn sure of it. Letting people in is dangerous and not something I'm interested in doing any time soon. If ever.

Of course, Dylan knows of things that have happened in my life. Everybody in this town does. It's kind of hard to escape prying eyes when your face has been plastered all over the evening news.

But none of them really know me. They couldn't possibly.

"How are you?" he asks.

He moves toward me and takes a seat to my right, carefully positioning himself on the smoothest part of the log.

I pick up the glass near my feet and drain it in about three gulps. "Fine," I answer stiffly, turning my gaze on him. "How are you ?"

"Nice deflection." He nods once but his chestnut eyes don't leave mine. There's a warmth and sincerity in them I'm not entirely used to. He tilts his head to the side, then tries his question again. "I mean, really. How are you?"

I inhale a breath, hoping I appear calmer than I feel. "Kinda sick of people asking me how I am actually."

I know my words come off rude, which is why the subtle smirk that pulls his lips up at the corners surprises me.

He nods again, his eyes glimmering under the glow of the festoon lights. "Fair enough."

"How are you though? I mean. Really." This time my tone is serious, and his chest rises subtly with a sharp intake of breath as he contemplates his answer.

Dylan had been the one to find Henley after the attack, something I'm sure will stay with him forever.

"I see what you did there. Yet another deflection," he replies with a mischievous wink, his pointer finger tipped in my direction. I know he doesn't owe me an answer when I didn't give him one for the same question, but he gives me one anyway. "I'm okay most of the time. When I'm not seeing images of stab wounds and blood. I guess it all could have been a lot worse."

I think he says something else, but I'm not listening anymore. His words have taken me somewhere far away to a place I don't want to be. I've been trying so hard to leave the past behind, but all it takes is a phrase, the mention of a name or place, and I'm right back there.

I can vividly recall the pain inflicted by my ex-boyfriend, Ethan. The dull thud as his fist struck my cheekbone before he savagely pulled me from the foreshore on my early morning run. The way his hands clawed at my face to smother my screams, the air inside his van thick with the scent of marijuana.

"Shit." Somehow a muttered curse word pulls me back into the moment. "I'm sorry."

Dylan's eyebrows are pinched in a frown as he brings a hand to his forehead, guiltily raking his fingers through his chestnut brown hair. I can tell he's berating himself for the way his words have affected me.

"It's fine." I shake my head, as if doing so will rid my mind of the thoughts my screwed-up brain has just concocted. "Seriously."

He looks uncertain. Like he isn't sure if I really am as fine as I say I am. I worry he's going to keep talking, to make a big deal of this. The last thing I need is to rehash the tragic events of the past, so I'm relieved when he says something completely unrelated.

"So, listen," he begins, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Me? Why?" I can't help my defensive tone. It's how I'm wired, though I'm still thankful for the subject change.

"I heard you were interested in a job at the tavern."

"Really? And where would you have heard that?" His assumption has piqued my curiosity, but mostly my distrust.

He isn't wrong. I'd asked Henley months ago if he could put in a good word for me at Steve's Tavern, the local pub where he works, but he hadn't wanted to complicate things with Kristen at the time. I've been struggling to find work in Cliff Haven since my arrival almost five months ago now.

Kristen's mum, Pamela had offered me a few shifts helping out at her veterinary clinic. Honestly, I'd probably get more enjoyment working with animals than I would people, but she was unable to offer me a position with regular hours so I'm yet to find something solid.

"Henley may have mentioned it to me," Dylan answers. "And if the rumours I've been hearing circulating this wedding tonight are true, I'm going to need to find a replacement for him when he gets his business off the ground. The job's yours if you want it."

"You're offering me a job? Just like that? No questions asked?"

And after I've been less than polite to him, though I'm not going to voice that argument. I squint at him in suspicion wondering what the catch is. There's that distrust rearing its ugly head again.

"Well, yeah." He shifts uncomfortably on the log seat, and I almost feel bad for my accusatory tone. "Come on. It's not like you're a complete stranger."

"Right."

Except that's exactly what I am to him. If he thinks he's learned anything about me from some silly little news article, he's sorely mistaken. My life has been way more complicated than most people care to imagine.

"So, what do you think?" He splays his hands out, elbows resting on his knees as he awaits my response.

What do I think? I think hell yeah. I need that job more than anything right now. I could hug this guy and dance a jig right here on the spot I'm that ecstatic, but I'm not the type of girl to let my emotions show.

"I'll think about it."

"Okay," he replies. "Let me know then."

"Mackenzie!" I look up as my name is called, echoing across the expanse. My sister, Kristen stands on the edge of the lawn, smiling and waving her arms wildly at me, her hot pink gown shimmering beneath the soft glow of the lights strung above. "Hurry!"

My chest deflates with a heavy sigh, my eyes rolling involuntarily knowing that my reprieve from the party is now over.

Dylan lets out a soft chuckle beside me. "Looks like you're being summoned."

"I guess so."

There's a moderate tugging sensation as I stand, followed by the sound of fabric tearing. I cringe as a draft of warm air wraps itself around my knees. Knees that should be covered by the long dress I'm wearing.

My eyes snap to Dylan's in time to catch one dubious eyebrow shoot toward his hairline. His lips have curled into a thin line, fighting to keep a grin contained.

"Please tell me that was just a rip in the time-space continuum." I squeeze my eyes shut as I anticipate his response, knowing it won't be the one I want to hear.

"Yeah. Sure. That," he says, obediently playing along. "Or… the bottom of your dress got caught on that log and tore clean off."

"Dammit!" I cry as I inspect the once-floor-length frock that now resembles a mini dress.

"Bad luck really seems to be following you around tonight, huh?" Dylan laughs, but the grin is wiped clean from his face when he sees the hurt in my expression. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that how it sounded. I just meant… how you tripped and then…" He gestures to the gaping flap of material at my feet.

I'm sure he probably didn't mean it how it sounded, and I don't know why his remark even upset me. This notion that my life is somehow cursed isn't new to me.

I huff out a breath, ignoring his apology. "Kristen is going to kill me."

Because of course, I'd borrowed this from her closet too.

"No, she won't. You know Kristen. She'll understand." His tone is sympathetic, his eyes kind.

I haven't known Dylan all that long, but despite my natural tendency to suspect the worst in people, I have to admit he seems dependable.

When Henley had been in trouble, he'd been there. When Kristen needed a friendly face, he'd been the one to console her. But right now, his words of comfort irritate me.

They shouldn't. But they do.

Because I've just realised what irks me about my future boss right here.

He's nice. He's too nice.

And I can't trust nice.

"Mackenzie!" Kristen calls again from behind the tavern, waving me to the makeshift dancefloor. "Let's go!"

I look up to see all the female guests of the wedding grouping on the dancefloor behind Liv, our blushing bouquet-toting bride.

"Ugh," I groan. "You have to be kidding me."

Despite it all, Dylan lets out another chuckle.

"You better hurry. Looks like you're up for the bouquet toss."

I scoff. "As if! Like I want to catch that stupid thing."

Dylan is subjected to one of my filthiest scowls as I sling the pair of heels over my shoulder and hike up the torn pieces of my dress.

"Finding a man is literally the furthest thing from my mind," I mutter, as I stomp up the slight incline in the direction of the crowd, the tattered material trailing behind me.

A crease forms between Kristen's brows as I approach. No doubt she's assessed the discomfort on my face, but she might just be inebriated enough to bypass the current state of the dress she loaned me.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"Yeah. Fine," I sigh. Though, to be honest, I wish I was at home watching Netflix in my pyjamas.

"What was that all about?" she waves an arm between me and Dylan, still standing near the bonfire down on the beach.

I open my mouth to tell her it's nothing, that everything is fine. But the words are knocked straight out of my mouth as Liv's bridal bouquet sails through the air in my direction, colliding so forcefully with my teeth, I fear an inevitable trip to the dentist. I splutter, puffing away the tiny petals that have embedded themselves in the shiny lip gloss that Kristen also insisted I wear.

Once I've recovered from the initial shock, I spare a glance down at my hands where my fingers clumsily grip the flowers, my black nail polish a stark contrast to the pale pink.

"Eww!" I screech. "I don't want it!"

I drop the bouquet in an instant and several women dive down at my bare feet, clawing at each other in a desperate attempt to claim the prize I've rejected.

Pamela Riley rises a moment later, lifting the bouquet to the sky in victory. "I got it!" she squeals.

Still gaping, I turn around slowly to find Kristen giggling beside me.

Henley is doubled over in laughter too. And behind him in the distance, his skin aglow in the firelight, Dylan watches the scene play out.

In his defence, he does try to disguise the smirk that's intent on making its way across his features. Too bad I can see the glint in his eyes from here as they crease at the corners.

My stare locks on his for a fleeting moment before Kristen's shriek pierces the night. "Hey! What the hell happened to my dress?!"