TONY WEST
Max. Paperwork’s in. Congrats. You’re officially married.
The legal name change came this morning. Congrats to Mr. and Mrs. McKinnon.
I don’t know what I expected, but the feeling I had now was… relief. Honestly? It felt right. I felt more like Mackenzie McKinnon than anyone else I had ever been.
The phone vibrated in my hand, and I looked back down.
You need to be on high alert from now on.
And keep what we discussed about her confidential. Delete these messages.
What was confidential? What had West and Max discussed behind my back? Anger bloomed low and mean in my stomach. Nurse Campbell’s words from earlier echoed: “Never trust anyone. Not even Max.”
He was my husband. I could trust him.
Right?
The word didn’t feel like an answer. It felt like a lie I was telling myself.
I was about to text West back on Max’s behalf when he stirred, shifting under the sheets. I slid his phone back onto the nightstand. His eyes cracked open slowly, groggily, and unfocused. But as soon as they fixed on me, a grin spread across his face.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice rough from sleep. “Morning.”
“Morning,” I said, hunching over slightly, covering myself. I was still naked.
He didn’t miss a beat. His arm snaked around my waist, careful not to touch my bandage, as he pulled me back onto the bed. He pressed me into him.
“Don’t cover yourself,” he groaned, pressing his chest to mine.
“Sorry… it just feels weird.” My voice was small. “Being like this with you.”
He brushed a strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering.
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” I exhaled, looking away from him. “We’ve been friends forever. This is new to us. Exposing this side of me feels… strange.”
He leaned back slightly, one brow raised, a mix of disbelief and amusement twisting his features.
“Are you kidding me?” His grin turned wicked. “You’re my wife. Married, remember?” He pointed to his wedding ring. “I can see you naked anytime I want. And I saw a whole lot of you last night.”
He squeezed my hip, and I flushed, heart hammering in my chest. His hand drifted downward, and I snatched it away.
“No,” I whispered. “I’m too sore.”
He groaned, stretching across the sheets, but his eyes darkened with that familiar, dangerous glint. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Fine.”
Steam from the bathroom curled into the room, warm and inviting.
“Shower?” he asked, voice low.
I swallowed, nerves and desire twisting together. “I was going to, but, yeah, you’re welcome to join.”
The tension snapped, charged with heat.
He shut me up with a kiss—hot, wet, open-mouthed. Iwrapped my legs around his waist, and he got out of bed, walking me to the bathroom. He set me down right outside the glass doors, then pulled me into the shower by the wrist.
