Chapter 5

DYLAN

"H ello, father." I cradle my phone between my cheek and shoulder as I use one hand to open the skip bin and the other to throw in the bag of empty glass bottles. I glance around the tavern's unoccupied courtyard, ensuring I'm alone.

This was the fourth time my dad had tried calling me this morning, and talking to him is really the last thing I want to be doing, but I know if I continue to ignore him, he'll continue to call. I figured at some point I'd have to listen to his criticism. May as well just get it over with now.

"Dylan." My father's voice echoes sternly across the line. "How are things?"

I scoff under my breath and shake my head, knowing my father could care less about what I'm up to these days. "Things are great, Dad. How are things for you?"

"Why don't we just cut through all the pleasantries," he suggests curtly.

"Of course," I say. "I'm sure you don't want this conversation to take any longer than necessary. You are a busy man after all."

I hear his exasperated sigh and I picture a hand coming up to his forehead, his fingers smoothing out the frown lines that have accumulated there from… well, too much frowning. "When are you going to come home?"

"I told you already, Dad. I am home."

I've lost count now of how many times we've had this conversation. This push and pull routine is getting old.

He clears his throat loudly, a sign he's becoming agitated. "We both know this is just another one of your little projects. It's a phase. I don't want you making decisions you're just going to regret later."

"This isn't a project. This is my life." His condescending tone is exhausting. I lean my weight into the tavern's external brick wall behind me and slide down till I'm sitting on the ground with my knees bent upward. "You make it sound like I'm a child. I told you a long time ago that this is what I want, Dad. I have a plan."

"Oh, I see. A plan, huh?" he retaliates arrogantly. "You mean the plan that entails you slogging it out in a bar and squatting in some poorly maintained beach shack?"

Despite his words, a laugh burst from me. "You just don't get it."

"No, son. I don't think you get it. I've worked hard to give you a good life and now you're squandering any chance you have at being successful, all because you're too damn proud to admit that you've screwed up. If you'd just come home, we can move past all of this. We can support you if you make the right decision."

My jaw clenches as the weight of his words sink in. "So, what you're saying is you'll support me on your own terms, but you won't support me following my dreams?"

I'm about done with this discussion. I knew he would refuse to see things my way. The same way he always has.

Another audible sigh fills my ears. "Don't be stubborn, son. It's okay to admit when you're in over your head."

"Over my head? It's like you're not even hearing me," I mutter as disappointment floods through me. I've had enough. "This conversation is over, Dad."

With that, I hang up on the call, tossing my phone across the courtyard in frustration. I shake my head, raking a hand through my hair, pulling my knees in closer to my chest. I'm sick to death of having this same damn fight with my parents. I realise to them that it does look like I gave up everything to work in a bar. That I'm unthankful for the life they provided me.

That isn't the case though. My parents have given me everything and I'm more than grateful. I've been given opportunities that most people can only dream of. I'm guaranteed success in life because of them, but it comes with one condition.

That I follow in their footsteps.

I try to believe that my parent's defiance comes from a place of love. That maybe they're afraid to see me fail because it will break their hearts to watch their only son struggle. But more than likely, they're worried I'll embarrass them.

To be honest, I think I probably already have.

I've tried to keep my activities here on the downlow but it's important to me that I forge my own path. And yeah, there's a chance I'm going to fall on my ass doing it, but failure is a risk I'm willing to take.

I want a life of adventure.

Of passion.

And I know I won't have that back home. They see me working at the tavern as the biggest mistake of my life. I see it as my ticket to bigger, better things.

They're incapable of envisioning the bigger picture.

Or they don't want to see it.

"Geez. Looks like your day just turned to shit." A voice echoes off the tavern's brickwork, startling me out of my pity party for one.

"Jesus!" I grasp at my chest in shock, pivoting to my left in time to see Mackenzie creeping out from the corner of the building. "Where did you come from? Have you been standing there this whole time?"

"Guilty," she says, placing her hands up in the air as though in surrender. "Came out for my break and then I heard you talking. It sounded serious so I didn't want to spring out from nowhere. You know, until after it was over."

I snort out a laugh. "Your honesty is refreshing."

"Sorry," she offers, suddenly having the sense to look a little sheepish.

"It's okay."

"What's with the temper tantrum?" She nods her head at the ground where my phone lies, probably with a cracked screen.

"Parental problems," I admit. "My father is really overbearing."

"Oh." I'm a little surprised when she wanders over to where I'm sitting and slides down onto the ground next to me. "Can't say I know what that's like."

"Shit," I murmur. "I'm sorry."

I'm always putting my foot in my mouth around this girl.

She waves my apology away with a hand. "It's fine. It seems we both have issues. Just on different ends of the spectrum. Not having parents at all comes with a whole set of different ones." Despite her obvious sadness, she smiles and if anything, it shows her strength.

"What happened to them?" I dare to ask.

I feel her stiffen beside me and for a second, I think she isn't going to answer. That maybe she'll throw some sarcastic comment into the air and be on her way, but she stays silent, her eyes locked on the vines that wrap their way around the trellis attached to the far wall. I'm usually great at reading people, but she has me completely baffled. Mackenzie isn't like everyone else, and it doesn't take a genius to see that.

"You don't have to answer that. I shouldn't have asked. I'll mind my own business."

She looks down at her hands where they fall into her crossed-legged lap. "It's okay. I'm sure you heard my dad is an alcoholic. Mine and Kristen's dad, I mean. He's on his third stint of rehab."

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

I had overheard pieces of conversation between Kristen and Liv about their father's situation. From what I'd heard, he'd come to Cliff Haven on his way to rehab the first time.

"Who knows? Maybe third times a charm." Her nostrils flare as she chews on her bottom lip. She's trying to act cool about it but it's obvious it bothers her. "My mother left when I was young. I don't really have any memories of her."

"Do you have any idea where she went?"

She shakes her head slowly. "No. I have no idea where she is or why she chose to leave."

"I'm sorry," I say again, feeling stupid that at this point, these are the only words I can think of to say.

Her shoulders lift in a shrug. "It's fine. I guess you can't really miss what you don't remember."

Her words make my heart ache, my problems seem that much smaller. Mackenzie and I have come from extremely different worlds but right now, the one thing I can empathise with is her loneliness.

It seems you can have nothing and be lonely. Or you can have everything, and still be lonely.

"Have you ever tried to find her?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "No. I don't have any interest in looking for someone who clearly doesn't want to be found."

She's giving off those tough girl vibes again but something about the way she speaks has me thinking she might not actually mean what she says.

"Fair enough."

"I know how people see me," she continues. "After what happened with Ethan. It's hard having everyone in town thinking that they know me because they saw my face plastered all over the evening news, or they read what some stupid newspaper printed about me. Like that's my whole story right there on that tiny piece of paper. The damsel in distress from the wrong side of the tracks." She uses her fingers to air quote that last part as she lets out a weak laugh. "I didn't make that up, by the way. That was an actual headline."

"Really? I hope whoever wrote it got fired because that's cheesy as fuck."

She chuckles at my lame attempt at a joke, but I can't help thinking that this is the most I've ever heard her say. At least about something so personal. I'm suddenly hyperaware of what a privilege it is to have been given an insight into the mind of Mackenzie Riley.

I can't imagine what she has been through in her life. It's one thing to have absent parents. It's a whole other thing to be wrapped up in an abusive relationship with a criminal. I only know what the news has reported and random things I've heard from Henley and Kristen, but I have the good sense to recognise that that's not even close to her whole story.

I know from my own experience, albeit a very different one, how easily the media can twist the narrative to their favour.

Mackenzie is right. Those that judge her based on a bunch of news reports are shallow. It's becoming more apparent to me with each conversation I have with this girl that she has so much more depth, so much more personality and strength than she's probably ever been given credit for.

And there's something else I know about Mackenzie. Something I've known since I met her. She doesn't want my pity. Or anyone's for that matter. She doesn't need it. And though she might possibly be one of the strongest people I've ever met, she carries with her the sense that she doesn't really belong.

Another feeling I'm more than familiar with.

I watch as she tucks a blonde ringlet behind her ear, the silver stud in her helix glinting in the sunlight that pours in from the open alfresco.

"For what it's worth, that's not how I see you." I lay a palm on her knee, my fingertips unintentionally grazing the patch of skin that peaks through the shredded threads of her distressed, baggy, light blue denim jeans.

She looks up and her grey eyes meet mine, uncertainty swirling in their midst. "But you don't really know me."

"Maybe not. But I know you're not that. You know," I lift my hands to air quote the phrase she had used earlier. "A damsel in distress."

She nods and then we sit in silence as the moments pass by. Finally, she playfully digs an elbow into my ribs. "Are you planning on slacking off out here all day, boss?"

"I'm thinking about it." I snicker as I nudge her back with my shoulder.

"I mean, it really says a lot that no one has seemed to notice that you're gone." Her tone drips with sarcasm but there's a slight grin twisting the corners of her mouth upward. "You're obviously invaluable around here."

A laugh surges from me as I rise to my feet. I'm getting used to these sassy one-liners. "You know I could fire you for being such a smartass."

"Then who would unpack your deliveries and give you hell," she says. "Face it. Life would be boring around here without me."

I know that she's joking. That she doesn't really regard

herself that highly.

But as we return to the bar to serve customers, wash dishes and clean tabletops, all I can think about are those grey-blue eyes and the way her smooth, tanned skin felt underneath my fingertips.