When neither moved, Wade dabbed the corner of his mouth with the cloth napkin he’d carried in with him. “Or I can go get Mom and tell her you broke Dad’s favorite beer mug. The one they got on their honeymoon. We’re having dinner with some of Dad’s friends in the back room. Your call.”
Both men looked at the chipped mug and swore.
With one last shove, Brody rolled off Hunter, and they sat up.
Wade set down the bucket and walked to the bar fridge beneath the desk. He fished out two cold beers, tossing one to Brody and the other to Hunter—hitting him square in the gut.
Hunter grunted. “What was that for?”
“Being an ass.”
“What about him?” Hunter pointed to Brody, who was leaning back against the wall, holding the can to his eyebrow.
“He’ll get his when his wife sees that black eye. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to head back to dinner. Sheriff Bradly was telling Mom about his new proposal to promote positive police and citizen engagement. Which will come in handy when he busts in and arrests you for being stupid and disorderly.” Wade didn’t wait for a response and instead slammed the door as he left, causing a framed family photo to fall to the floor.
Hunter looked around at the disaster of an office. Files strewn across the floor, overturned alcohol cases, a smear of scarlet on the white leather chair Cash had brought in when he took over running the bar. The room looked like a crime scene.
“Always hated that chair,” Brody said.
“Right. What kind of man buys white leather?”
“The kind who drinks imported espresso in one of those dainty little cups Cash keeps in the top drawer,” Brody said with a laugh, thengrimaced as he touched his split lip. “I should call Mackenzie, beg for her not to fire me.” He eyed Hunter. “Again.”
“Don’t start crying like a little girl. You’re out of the woods.” Hunter touched his rib, which hurt like hell and immediately sobered. “At least with her. Me, I’m still weighing my options.”
“Fire me. It would make my life so much easier,” Brody said, standing. “But I’m still going to go check on her, make sure she’s okay.”
“She’s okay.” Hunter wasn’t so sure he’d ever be. Just picturing her sitting there, staring blindly at the door frame, brought a fresh dose of emotion. This time it felt a hell of a lot closer to guilt than the anger he’d been clinging to. “She didn’t even know I was there.”
“Wait. What?” Brody spun around, his face hardened with anger. “You just left her sitting there? Jesus.” He pulled his keys from his pocket and headed for the door. “She won’t know where I went and—”
“I didn’t leave her there,” Hunter cut him off. “I’m not a complete asshole.” Not that his family would agree. Otherwise they wouldn’t be in this situation. “I ran into your assistant in the lobby on the way out. Told her there was some mix-up with the dinner and you’d be back in a little while. Raydeen said she’d keep Mackenzie company until you got back. So you’ve got a few minutes to explain to me what the fuck is going on.” A rough laugh escaped, and Hunter’s chest caved painfully in on itself. “You at least owe me that.”
“The only thing I owe you is another black eye.” Brody’s words were softened by the fact that he collapsed in the chair and rested his head in his hands. “I can’t believe you walked out. Do you have any idea how much I put on the line to make this happen?”
“Do you have any what it felt like when I saw her sitting there?” Hunter dropped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “You didn’t even warn me, give me time to prepare.” Hunter met his cousin’s gaze. “All those times I asked where she was, if you’d heard from her. You lied to me. I mean, did you know when she left the rehearsal dinner she wasn’t coming back?”
“No. I knew something was up, but she only said that she needed space to think, to clear her head.” Brody let out a breath, then picked his beer up off the floor and cracked it open. After he took a long swig he added, I didn’t expect her to disappear.”
Hunter should have known better. The months leading up to his wedding she’d been acting strange. Distant and withdrawn. He knew she’d been struggling with migraines, or so she’d told him, and he’d chalked it up to stress over the upcoming album.
But he’d hoped that she’d trust him enough to come to him if there was a problem. Now he was starting to realize the problem went far deeper than trust.
“How long before the wedding did she know?”
“Remember when she had her eyes checked after she ran that red light?” Brody asked, and Hunter sighed.
He remembered all right. She’d nearly T-boned a delivery truck in the middle of the night. She’d called him from the side of the road crying. “She promised to go see her doctor.”
“She did. The diagnosis was the same as her mom’s.”
A statement that hurt worse than Brody’s titanium fists. Mackenzie had been given a diagnosis that to her must have felt like a death sentence. Leber’s hereditary optic neuropathy wasn’t some disease she’d have to look up. Mackenzie had already experienced it firsthand.
Had watched her world be torn apart by her mom’s disease, watched as Susan’s career as a photographer came to an end. Watched her own dreams of music school die when she sacrificed a full ride to the Berklee College of Music in Boston to take care of her mom.
With one diagnosis, Mackenzie’s life had gone fromthe world’s your oysterto serving oysters at a pub and caring for her mom.
It was just like Mackenzie to face her own diagnosis alone.
