CHAPTER 19
Rain beat down on the roof and hail pelted the windows, rattling the panes until Mackenzie feared one would shatter. The house moaned under the awesome force of the roaring wind.
The storm had raged for three days, flooding parts of town, knocking over trees, downing power lines, and shredding her already frazzled nerves. It had left her virtually housebound, not that she had anywhere she intended to go, but the thought that she couldn’t left her feeling suffocated, out of control.
Muttley whimpered, his collar jingling, and fabric rustled as he turned in circles before nuzzling farther into his doggy bed.
“For such a big dog you sure can be a scaredy-cat,” Mackenzie teased in a soothing voice.
Everything stilled. An eerie silence emerged a fraction of a moment before the crackle of lighting overhead. She counted the seconds, anticipating the thunderous clap to arrive.
One.
Tw—
A boom of thunder shook the entire house. Fear snapped in Mackenzie’s heart and rattled beneath her ribs, making her breath stutter. Muttley yelped and darted to the foot of her bed, his wet nose seeking her hand. She felt small and weak beneath the onslaught of Mother Nature. As soon as the fear ebbed, the pain of losing Hunter crept in, followed by anger.
White-hot anger. With Hunter for holding on to the hope that things between them could be different—that their worlds could somehow coexist—and refusing to see that sometimes hope was nothing more than the inability to accept reality.
She was angry with herself too. Angry that she lacked the confidence and skill to adapt to change faster—to become the person he needed her to be for their relationship to work.
But mostly she was angry with the situation. The reason letting go was so incredibly painful was because it was the only choice—for them both.
Mackenzie fisted the soft flannel of Hunter’s shirt and closed her eyes. And for just a moment she allowed herself to remember how he’d felt lying next to her. The comforting weight of his body, the smell of his skin, the stubborn superhero complex that drove her nuts.
And a strangled laugh escaped her lips, followed by a sob so small and so broken her chest ached at the sound.
“Gawd, you’re pathetic,” she said, lying on her back and flopping her hands to her sides.
Refusing to dissolve into more tears, Mackenzie pulled back the covers and swung her legs out of bed, hoping some tea would quiet the what-ifs that had haunted her for the past two weeks. Her limbs were leaden and trembled as she stood, not from fear now but from sheer fatigue.
Mackenzie had worked so hard to keep it together when saying goodbye to Hunter that the second she’d been left alone, the floodgateshad opened. And she was still trying to plug all the little cracks—without much success.
At first, the only way she could get the tears to stop was to sleep. So she’d spent most of the first few days in her room, sleeping in Hunter’s shorts and spooning her dog for dear life, which placed her on the corner of Pathetic and Dramatically Tragic.
Then on day four, Savannah had come over with a T-bone, an umbrella, and a dozen doughnuts. The steak was for Muttley, the umbrella was for their daily walks around town, and the doughnuts—those were for celebrating the end of Mackenzie’s pity party.
A party Mackenzie was determined to end. Her heart was a little slow on the uptake, but she knew from experience that if she put on a brave face, the bravery would eventually come.
This time there was too much at stake. So every day she pulled out her umbrella and courage and walked a block farther than she had the day before.
Mackenzie found a numbing slice of solace in her daily routine. The tedious monotony kept her busy enough to avoid thinking about Hunter and forced her to rejoin the world of the living. Not that she could call barely eating, sleeping, or writing living, by any means. But every day got easier.
The nights were another story—a rather embarrassing one that still involved a little canine spooning and that damn shirt she’d hidden from Savannah, unable to let go of her last piece of Hunter.
She stroked the soft fabric now as she half shuffled through the kitchen to make herself a much-needed cup of chamomile tea. Just her, her panties, her sleep tank, and Hunter’s shirt.
Oh, and an unharnessed Muttley, who was usually one step in front of her. Tonight, however, he was right at her heels, brushing his body against hers, not in a signal of danger but to offer comfort and request it in return.
Another clap of thunder shook the walls, knocking something to the floor, and a loud thud filled the air. Confused, Muttley shoved against Mackenzie’s legs in a command to stop. She bent down and ran a soothing hand through his coat.
“It’s okay, buddy,” she said, tugging at his collar and directing him to his pillow in the corner. “You just stay here while I make some tea.”
In a strange way Mackenzie felt an affinity with the storm, which had been labeled by the news as turbulent, violent, and angry. Mother Nature was PMSing, and Mackenzie could relate. Her emotions had been all over the map and would hit with such volatile force she’d been left at their mercy.
Five steps forward and two to the left, Mackenzie grabbed the teapot and filled it. After two more steps left, she placed it on the front burner and turned the switch to high. The familiar muffled click followed by the coil heating never came. Mackenzie moved the pot and held her hand over the burner, palm down, and waited.
Nothing. No heat rose up to meet her skin. She clicked it off and back on again.
