Epiphany (Legacy of Payne) (23 page)

“Now who’s being a distraction?” I murmured between kisses.

“Mmm, you definitely are.” He buried his face in my hair. “That cherry-vanilla weapon you call shampoo gets me every time.”

Pressed so close to him, I’d have to be brain-dead not to get his meaning. “Want me to stop using it?”

“Don’t you dare.” His words whispered against my ear. “Don’t let this rift ruin your relationship with your mother. Take it from someone who’s lived with a lot of regret.”

I tilted my head. “Was this your intention all along? Fluster me with your sex appeal and then hit me with a dose of reasonable Aidan?”

“I’m feeling far from reasonable.” He hoisted me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. “I’m thinking we have enough time to use the counter for something other than cooking.”

“Well by all means, don’t let me stop you.”

He was definitely unstoppable. It didn’t matter when or where, but whenever we came together, I never failed to lose myself. Raindrops drummed against the dining room window, and when we moved to the couch and fell onto it, rushing wind joined the symphony outside. He had me screaming his name and clawing at his skin in no time.

We left for my mother’s house afterward, and the storm was in full swing. Aidan slowed the car to ten under the speed limit due to the curtain of rain that pounded the road. During the two-hour drive to Eugene, my insecurities rose to the surface again.

“You’re obsessing.” His voice broke the thick silence.

“We should have stayed home.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s Thanksgiving. Leave the past at the door and spend some time with your family. It’ll be fun.”

The closer we got to my childhood home, the more the edgy feeling intensified. Aidan turned into the driveway, tires crunching over gravel, and parked behind my brother’s minivan.

“Nice place,” he said. “Hard to believe we’re so close to town.” The yellow farmhouse was the only house in sight; acres of farmland separated neighboring homes.

“That’s what I loved most about growing up here. It’s close enough to town, but we never had to worry about privacy.”

“You’ve got two eager fans waiting to greet you.” He gestured behind me.

I turned around and found my nephews staring at me from the other side of the passenger window, their faces pressed against the glass. Both were drenched from the downpour, though neither seemed to care.

“My nephews, Michael and Mason.” I grabbed the two pies Aidan had baked that morning and gently eased the door open. They pounced the minute I was out of the car.

“You brought pie!” Two identical voices screeched at me.

Aidan came around the hood. “They’re twins.” Water dripped from his hair and into the collar of his jacket as he swerved his gaze back and forth between the boys. Other than their clothes, there was little difference in appearance—both had the same curly, dark hair and blue eyes. A newcomer like Aidan would have a hard time telling them apart.

“Identical,” I said. “And they have energy in spades.” I smiled as the boys jumped up and down, paying no attention to the rain. “Come on, guys. We’re getting soaked.” The boys scurried to the wraparound porch before Aidan and I had taken three steps. They disappeared into the house, and an instant later my mom appeared in the doorway. She engulfed me in a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Kenz.”

I laughed as some of the hurt disappeared. I hadn’t realized how much I missed her. “Hi, Mom. Don’t smash the pies.”

She pulled away and eyed them. “They look homemade,” she said, throwing me a suspicious look as she ushered us inside.

I bit back a grin. “That’s because they are. Aidan made them.”

She took the pies from me and scrutinized Aidan with a tight smile. “I’m Jane. You must be the friend Mackenzie mentioned.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Aidan.” Even in the face of her less-than-welcoming smile, his never wavered. I could have kissed him for the way he handled my prickly mother. Hopefully she’d warm up to him by the time we left, though considering her bias for Joe, I wasn’t about to hold my breath.

“Kenz!” I barely had time to prepare for another hug, this one bone-crushing. “I’m so glad you made it. Mom wasn’t sure you would.” My sister gave me a once-over. “You look great.” Her eyes landed on Aidan, and she lowered her voice. “He looks even better. Who’s the hottie?”

I stifled a groan. Leaving my mom’s house sans-embarrassment wasn’t going to happen. “Aidan, this is my sister Mackayla.”

The following half hour was filled with more introductions, more questions. How did I like my job? When was I coming home? How long had I known Aidan? I was grateful when my brother Micah saved him from a brewing inquisition from my oldest brother Marcus. I cringed to think of what my mom had in store for him.

“I like him,” Micah said, pulling me into a one-armed hug. “Any guy who can talk football with such ease has my vote. It’s about time Joe had some competition.”

Marcus disappeared into the kitchen, and my mom reappeared a moment later. Her hair, nearly as dark as my own, fell below her ears in the simple bob she’d worn for the past decade. All four of us kids had inherited her smoky gray eyes.

“Dinner will be done soon, but we need more Cool Whip.” She glanced down at the brown turtleneck she wore and picked off a piece of lint. “Aidan, would you mind driving Micah into town? I’m afraid he’s already hit the beer.”

“I’ll go with him,” I said, reaching for my jacket.

“Actually, Kenz, I could use your help in the kitchen, if you wouldn’t mind.” She disappeared into the other room before I had a chance to reply.

“It’s okay. I’ll go.” Aidan leaned down and kissed my cheek. “We’ve got everyone blocked in anyway. I’m sure your mom wants a moment to grill you without me around.” His eyes twinkled as he pulled away. “Good luck.”

I grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him down for a real kiss. “Don’t be gone long.”

“I won’t.” He and Micah left, keeping their heads bowed against the continuous downpour.

“Don’t worry,” Mackayla said as she closed the door behind them, “I’ll play mediator so Mom won’t steamroll you.”

I laughed. “Thanks, I appreciate that.” Delaying the inevitable confrontation with my mom, I wandered around the living room, and Mackayla followed. The room hadn’t changed much over the years—same fireplace in the corner, same well-used leather furniture. Only the pictures above the mantle had morphed with time. Weddings and graduations replaced the photos of adolescence, and the twins’ portraits were now accompanied by their baby sister’s in the montage. I ran my finger along my graduation photo, unsurprised to find it free of dust. “Where’s Alicia?” I asked, referring to Marcus’s wife.

“I think she’s napping with the baby.”

“I haven’t seen her yet. How old is she now?”

“Four months.”

I folded my arms. I’d been raped four months ago, which was why I hadn’t gone to Salem to meet my new niece.

Leave the past at the door.

The past always had a way of knocking. The doorbell rang, and Mom materialized from the kitchen. She sent a furtive glance in my direction as she headed for the foyer.

Oh shit. I recognized that look. It was her I’m-meddling-and-you-won’t-like-it look. Maybe it was someone she was dating. Yeah, fat chance. I knew who was on the other side. I followed, rounding the corner as she turned the knob and pulled the door open, and there stood Joe, looking so calm it was irritating. His blue eyes zeroed in on me.

“Hi, Mac.”

What had Aidan said about this day being fun? How could I leave the past behind when it literally walked through the front door?

“What is he doing here?”

My mom didn’t display an ounce of guilt as she glanced at me in her typical stubborn manner and answered with a shrug.

“Come on,” Joe said. “You had to know I’d show up here. You won’t answer my calls. How else was I supposed to talk to you?”

“You wanna talk? Fine, let’s talk.” I headed toward the kitchen, sending my mom an accusatory glare on the way, and didn’t bother to check if he followed. I knew he would. I busied myself with washing the few dishes that littered the counter. “You have five minutes,” I said, sensing Joe’s presence behind me. I finished rinsing a mixing bowl and picked up a casserole dish.

“Can you stop for a minute and talk to me?”

“No.” I hated how my voice shook, how my heart tripped and my body grew warm. Too warm.

“Mac, please . . .”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What?” He sounded surprised. “I’ve been calling you Mac for years.”

I dropped the dish and whirled around. “So did your dad.”

He looked broken; there was no other word for it. “I messed up bad. I just . . . I need you to know how sorry I am.”

“
You
need? What about what I needed?” I blinked, holding back a range of emotion varying from despair to rage.

His expression cracked. “Don’t cry, I didn’t mean to . . . I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t,” I said, holding my hands up when he reached for me. Falling apart because he’d had a change of heart was pointless. “Now you know he did it. Still doesn’t change anything between us.”

His blue eyes took on that familiar determined glint. “It changes everything. I know I messed up. I should have trusted you.” He moved toward me, lifting a hand to touch my face, but let his arm fall instead. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I stopped missing you weeks ago.” I faced the sink again and picked up the forgotten dish, putting all my energy into scrubbing away the last remnants of crusty yams. If only I could make the hole he’d left in my heart disappear so easily. It had grown smaller over the last few weeks, but it was still there, and my hurt whistled through it now. He was clueless if he thought an apology could resurrect the ashes of our relationship. “My mom obviously wanted you here. Why don’t you go mingle with her for a while? I’m sure she’s missed you.”

“That’s cold, Mac.”

“That’s how I feel when it comes to you. Cold.” It was true. The guy I’d experienced my first taste of love with—the man who’d promised me forever—had shattered my love for him so completely that only dust remained. “You hurt me more than he did.”

He sucked in a breath. “I still love you.”

“Your five minutes are up.” I left the kitchen and grabbed my jacket, ignoring the curious stares of my family as I slammed through the door. I didn’t allow thought or emotion in; didn’t do anything but focus on putting one foot in front of the other. The wind tore through the branches above me, whipping my ebony locks into my eyes, but I didn’t slow down.

“Mac!” Joe’s footsteps pounded the gravel behind me.

“Leave me alone!” I hastened my stride and turned onto the main road, paying no attention to the raindrops sluicing in rivulets down my cheeks. He kept pace with every furious step.

“I’m sorry!” He pushed his dirty blond hair out of his eyes. “I hate myself for what I put you through. Please . . . please let me make this right.”

“You can’t,” I cried. “You ripped my fucking heart out! No one . . .
no one
has ever hurt me the way you did.” I wiped the moisture from my cheeks, not entirely certain it was only rain at this point. “An apology can’t erase the past, Joe.”

He grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop. “I know it can’t.”

I kicked at a rock on the muddied ground. A nightcrawler inched away, working hard to escape the threat of danger. “I wanted to hate you.” I still wanted to. So, so much. Hate was easier to hang on to than hurt, easier to get through. Hate had kept me going. I buried my face in my hands and wished it would all go away, wished he would go away. He brought his arms around me, and I stiffened until the familiarity of his embrace crumbled a little piece of the wall I’d erected.

“I hate you! I hate you so much.” I pounded my fists against his chest. He took every blow without a wince. Finally spent, I slumped in his arms and sobbed. After all these months, everything finally poured out; the emotions I’d buried deep . . . but not deep enough.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he murmured those words over and over again, his breath exhaling in gasps against my neck as he held me tight, one arm bracing my back while the other tangled in my hair. “I want to kill him for what he did to you.”

It was tragic, because after all this time, most of which I’d spent alternating between hatred and intense longing to be where I was now, all I could think of was how these were the wrong arms.

This was Joe. The kid who’d pushed me on the swings during recess, the guy who’d used my math homework as a cheat sheet for his own. The guy who’d snuck into my bedroom in the middle of the night when he was sixteen, heartbroken over his parents’ divorce.

I had no doubt that I’d loved him. But it wasn’t enough. I gently untangled from his hold and stumbled back a few steps. Joe’s gaze darted behind me, and when I turned around, I found Aidan and Micah parked on the side of the road. Micah peered through the passenger window, his face a blanket of curiosity. Aidan stood on the other side, and only now did I register the annoying ding that indicated he’d left the door open with the keys still in the ignition.

“You okay?” he asked, his gaze moving between Joe and me.

I quickly wiped my eyes and nodded. His face was tense with what I recognized as worry. If I wasn’t so forlorn, I would have smiled. That was Aidan, my perpetual worrier. When it came to me, he had the role of protector down to an art.

Joe flung an arm around my shoulders. “Who’s the guy?”

I ducked out of reach, and before I could reply, Aidan beat me to it. “I’m her boyfriend. Who are you?”

My eyes collided with Aidan’s, and his mouth twitched at the corners, as if we shared a secret. “Come on,” he said, “get in the car. You’re both drenched.” His expression hardened when he looked at Joe. “You know how to drive?”

Joe scoffed. “Of course.”

Aidan rounded the car and grabbed my hand. “Keys are in the ignition,” he told my ex before opening the back door for me. He slid in after me, and I snuggled against him as Joe settled into the driver’s seat, where he slammed the door shut, making his displeasure at this new development known.