Her frown stayed firmly in place as she watched me edge closer and reach inside the cooler for a drink.
This close, I could see the tiny wisps of dark hair that had escaped her ponytail. Despite her casual appearance, there was nothing about Mac that was relaxed. She was on high alert with me in range. I might as well have been an incoming warship on her radar. She was at battle stations, prepared for attack.
And I couldn’t blame her. That was how it had always been between us. We gave each other shit and expected the worst.
But maybe it didn’t have to be that way.
Abruptly, Laramie Burke came over and threw an arm around her cousin’s shoulders. “Whoa! Any bloodshed over here?”
I grabbed the first drink my hand touched in the icy water and took a step back.
“Not yet,” Mac answered, still stone-faced as I cleared my throat awkwardly.
Laramie—everyone called her Larry—slapped me on the back. “Well, then you owe me one for saving you, Brady.”
I gave an awkward laugh and popped the top on my can of—I checked the label—Natty Light.Great. “No need. Just saying hi. Weapons are set to stun.”
Larry’s smile wilted in obvious confusion, but Mac’s nostrils flared, and she countered, “Speak for yourself.”
I took in Mac’s unwavering glare and the animosity that radiated from her in waves. Then I gave a slight nod and stepped away. I didn’t always know when to back off and retreat, but, right now, it seemed like a good idea.
As I returned to the circle of chairs surrounding the bonfire, I shook my head at what an idiot I’d been. I’d walked over there without a game plan, but I’d known that I didn’t want to fight with Mac tonight. Maybe the idea of a truce had been swirling around with all that guilt and confusion from earlier.
I spent the rest of the night avoiding MacKenzie Clark and whatever complicated feelings were preventing me from thinking straight.
A week later, when I ended up at her table during study hall, I once again attempted a civil conversation, but Mac looked at me like I was something she pulled off the bottom of her shoe.
Our encounters for the remainder of junior year were few and far between, but whenever our orbits did collide, Mac seemed extra combative. No matter what I said or how I said it, she took offense and responded in kind. I chalked it up to hormones or just being a terrifying teenage girl. Or maybe our patterns and mannerisms had long been established, and it was too late now to do anything about it.
It was easier to revert to learned behavior anyhow.
Mac loved to hate me.
It didn’t seem to matter that I didn’t hate her back.
one
MAC
Eleven Years Later
Every single day in Kirby Falls had the potential to be a class reunion, especially when half the people I’d graduated with never bothered to leave.
It was the first Friday in September, so I knew, without a doubt, that the bonfire on Cole Abernathy’s property would be full of former classmates. Barring any county or statewide burn bans, the bonfire happened every week, no matter the weather. And, without fail, this particular seasonal shift meant that Kirby Falls High alumni would be out in droves. There was just something about September, when the setting sun meant chilly nights. People were more than ready for the choking humidity of August to give way to crisp, clear skies and cozy flannel.
Obviously, I wasn’t immune as I parked my Jeep in the bumpy field beside Abby’s barn and grabbed a six-pack and my maroon flannel from the passenger seat. The smell of woodsmoke permeated the air as soon as I opened the door. My boots sank into the dry ankle-high grass, and I heard the sounds of people gathered, laughing and talking—folks I’d known my whole life. The bonfire was a tradition born out of boredom and familiarity, one that was as reliable as death and taxes and Connie Hixson’s hummingbird cake taking home the blue ribbon at the county fair.
The faces had changed a bit over the years as former classmates went away to college, paired off and got married, or had kids. But they usually cycled back around as they came home to visit and mingle with us townies who hadn’t managed to escape.
The crowd around Christmas was usually the biggest as folks returned to celebrate the holiday but managed to sneak away from their families long enough to get drunk in a field with their friends.
The invitation was always open for Friday night bonfires at Abby’s. It had been a tradition since high school, and I didn’t see it changing anytime soon. Things rarely did in my hometown.
You could count on familiar faces and the usual suspects. Hell, I wasn’t one to talk. I still showed up at least once a month.
After all, I’d never bothered to leave Kirby Falls either.
I slipped through the crowd easily, greeting friends and acquaintances, slapping backs, and giving hugs. I dropped off my six-pack of Firefly cider in one of the coolers beneath the covered patio on the other side of the barn, snagging one of the bottles for myself.
