Sidelined (31 page)

I take a deep breath and look down at my feet.
What if that’s true?
I know that Jack wants me. I feel it every time we’re together.

“So, what you’re saying is he wants me so badly that he’s willing to let me go?”

“That’s exactly it.”

“On what universe does that make sense?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Well, thanks for clearing that up.” I roll my eyes. “Okay, I’m done talking about me. You broke up with Amy?”

Cal rubs his hands through his hair. “Yeah. We had a massive fight after I got home on Monday. She tore me a new asshole because of how you spoke to her. I should have ignored her, but you know we left late. I was tired, and I think I told her that, if she weren’t so desperate to get into Jack’s pants, you might have been a little nicer.” He shrugs, while I cover my mouth to stop the giggles escaping. “Anyway, she slept in the spare room, and the next morning, I told her it would be better if she packed her stuff and moved back in with her parents. I mean, shit, Mace. I’m twenty-eight. I don’t have the time to be fucking around with a twenty-four-year-old who isn’t serious about me.”

“Totally. I mean, you’re thirty in two years, and thirty is practically ancient. You need to find yourself a good little wife-material woman who’ll wash your socks and bear your babies.”

He launches a cushion at my head. “She hated my job anyway. I wasn’t always around to do stuff for her, and I had to run out on dates because, you know, someone got themselves shot or something.”

“How dare they?” I gasp.

Cal grins. “I know, right?” A small laugh leaves him. “It’s been a long time coming. It ain’t a shock.”

“It’s like an early Christmas present!”

“Mace.”

“What? I’m only telling the truth.” I squeeze my cushion tighter. “Jesus. Our love lives are fucked up, aren’t they?”

“Nope,” he replies, getting up. “Yours is. My love life has been replaced with a sex life, and
that
is far from fucked up.”

“Asshole!” I call as he slips out of my front door, closing it behind him.

Eh. He has a point, I guess.

My phone hasn’t stopped buzzing from calls and texts from Mitch. Which I understand. Okay, I told him I’d see him today, but I’m totally pissed about his random showing up yesterday. I’m not entirely sure what he meant to achieve by turning up. There’s only so many times he can use the “we need to talk” excuse.

What do we need to talk about, really? We’ve been over the past a million and one times. We’ve talked it into the ground and then stomped it in a fair amount, too. There really isn’t anything left for us to discuss where that’s concerned, which leaves the here and now and the future.

It should be easy. Getting to know someone, even all over again, shouldn’t be as hard as it feels. There’s almost too much water under the bridge. I fear that, every time we talk, we’ll make rods for our own backs and flip straight back into the past.

Like I told him, I won’t forgive him. I can’t. I find the idea of that insane—or maybe I’m just too harsh. Perhaps I need to forgive and forget, and in that, I’ll find the closure I need. At least, in forgiving. I’m not sure I’ll ever forget it. It’ll probably hit me in fifty years’ time, but maybe holding on to the bitterness is standing in the way of something that has the potential to be better than my relationship with Mitch ever was.

I can’t keep falling back on the “what if?” excuse, either, because, let’s face it, whatever I choose, I’m going to question it for maybe the rest of my life. If I go back to Mitch, I’ll wonder what my life could be like with Jack. If I choose Jack, I’ll wonder what would have happened had I chosen Mitch. And if I choose neither of them, I’ll have both questions attacking me like a swarm of bees.

There’s no way to escape the what-ifs. What if I hadn’t quit law? What if I’d gone straight to my master’s? What if I take a job in forensic science and hate it? What if I stay in retail for the rest of my life? What if, what if, what if.

No matter what I do, I will always be surrounded by what-ifs.

I’m starting to think that I might as well make those what-ifs worth it, and that means choosing the person who makes me happiest. And that means today, not twelve months ago.

It’s that easy and it’s that hard.

“I don’t appreciate the lack of warning for this, you know,” I whisper as Jack leads me up the gorgeous, flower-surrounded path to his mom’s cute, little house.

“I like surprises,” he whispers back, his fingers twitching at my waist. “Keeps things spicy.”

I roll my eyes.

He knocks twice and pushes the door open. “It’s me, Mom.”

“Hi, honey.” A woman slightly older than my mom appears in the hall, wiping her hands on a small towel. “Oh!” Her eyes brighten when she sees me. “Is this Macey?”

“Sure is. Mom, this is Macey. Macey, this my mom, Julia.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” I say with a polite smile. I don’t feel polite at all. I feel sick with nerves.
I’m not his girlfriend, but crap. What if she hates me?

Jack nudges me forward when she steps toward me for a hug. She wraps her tiny arms around me, and I return the gesture, trying my hardest to stop the shaking of my hands.

“Jack brought a girl home?”

“Scott, I won’t have your bickering tonight,” Julia scolds. “Macey is my guest, and you will be civil toward your brother and treat her with respect.”

“Of course, Mom.” Scott comes into view. He’s Jack’s double, but clearly a couple of years older. His eyes are also more of a green gray, opposed to Jack’s startling, emerald-green gaze. “Scott. Jack’s older and better-looking brother.”

“Macey,” I reply, taking his hand and shaking it. “His…friend.”

Jack laughs and quickly disguises it as a cough.

Scott doesn’t miss it though, and his hand tightens around mine as his eyes flick to Jack. “Friends, huh? Jack doesn’t often bring his
friends
home for dinner.”

“What? I can’t be friends with a chick?” Jack asks.

“Not when your arm is clasped around her waist,” his brother replies.

“Maybe we’re the kind of friends who link arms and skip down the street in the rain while singing.”

Scott makes sure their mom is in the kitchen before he answers. “Really? Because I don’t see you as a skipper, bro. Looks like you’re friends with benefits to me.”

“So what if we are?” I interject, feeling Jack’s arm tighten. “I don’t see what that has to do with anyone but us.”

“You’re in my mom’s house,” he replies, a slight smile on his lips.

“Really? I totally blanked out at that point. No offense, Scott, but you’ve just met me. This is the first time you’ve seen me anywhere near Jack. What makes you think you have the right to fit whatever kind of relationship you may think we have into a tiny, little, neat box? What if it fits in a whole bunch of boxes, ones that are all different shapes, sizes, and colors, hmm?”

This time, Jack doesn’t disguise his laugh.

“I get the feeling you don’t want me to answer those questions,” Scott—rightly—observes.

“You’d be correct.” I smile tightly and turn to Jack. “I’m going to see if your mom needs help.”

“You don’t argue with her often, do you?” I hear Scott ask.

“I try to, but I always fucking lose, so I give up before I start most of the time,” Jack answers.

I roll my eyes and join his mom in the kitchen. “Can I help you with anything, Mrs. Carr?”

“Oh! Call me Julia, sweetie. Mrs. Carr makes me feel old.” She winks. “Besides, that’s my mother-in-law, and I thankfully avoid her dear old soul since Jack moved me here.”

Wait. “Jack moved you here?”

“Yes,” she replies, grabbing a teaspoon and tasting some sauce from the pan. “More pepper,” she mutters, reaching for the small grinder. “After Mike died, I was terribly lonely up in Rhode Island. All three kids had moved away, and Jack was forever trying to convince me to move. Then,” she chuckles, “six months ago, during the off season, he flew to Rhode Island with a moving company in tow and told me he’d bought me a house in Long Beach and I was moving whether I liked it or not. Well, I wasn’t arguing with him, I’ll tell you that. Takes a smart woman to argue with him.” Another wink.

“I never knew that.” My smile widens into an amazed kind of grin. “You had no idea?”

“None at all. And the best part?” She stops cooking and turns to me, her own green eyes fixed on me. “He put me up in his spare room while he had this place renovated. Oh, Macey. He had the kitchen and the bathrooms remodeled, it was painted throughout, new carpets, and he even bought me some new furniture. Just two weeks ago, he was insisting on buying me new bedding!”

“No way,” I whisper, mostly to myself.

Julia catches it though. “He’s not a bad kid.”

I glance through the hallway and meet his eyes. “So it seems,” I reply softly.

Fuck me. Is there anything sweeter than a guy who dotes on his mom as much as Jack clearly does?

“He hasn’t been perfect the last few years, but he’s had his reasons,” she continues, obviously changing the direction of the conversation.

“He told me about Lucy.” I look away from Jack, feeling somewhat guilty for talking about him behind his back.

Julia nods. “He was so destroyed by what she did. I’ve never seen my baby so hurt before.” She sighs. “Took him forever to get over it. He moved out here to L.A. almost immediately and threw himself into training and making it onto the team. With his dad ill, too…” she trails off. “It was hard for him.”

“He’s said,” I say quietly. “It must have been hard for all of you.”

Julia snorts. “The hardest part for me was Bella—that’s Jack’s sister—being best friends with Lucy. She had no qualms bringing the little bitch into my house.” She claps her hand over her mouth and looks at me with wide eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Excuse my French.”

“Please. Carry on. Don’t feel like you have to censor yourself around me. I happen to be fairly skilled in French myself. I think it’s a side effect of spending time with Jack.” I grin.

She laughs and leans in. “He’s sweet as sugar, but he sure is an infuriating little bastard sometimes, huh?”

I laugh into my hands just as Jack and Scott walk toward the kitchen. Try as I might, I can’t kill my giggles, and Jack raises an eyebrow at me.

“You all right, babe?”

“Fine,” I sputter, glancing at his mom.

“Nice to see you’re getting along.”

“Don’t be. They’re probably laughing at you,” Scott adds.

I turn away, still laughing.

“There we go.”

“Mom,” Jack groans. “What’d you tell her?”

“Nothing, honey,” Julia replies. “Be a dear and pour us two glasses of wine.”

“Thought I was a guest,” he mutters.

“No, you’re part of the furniture,” his mom retorts. “Wine. Glasses. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Warmth spreads through me while watching him interact with his mom. I get the feeling his relationship with his brother isn’t quite as happy, but he’s clearly a total mommy’s boy. And that makes my heart pitter-patter a little more than usual.

“Thank you,” I say gently, taking the glass from him, fully aware of the way his eyes drop to my mouth.