Page 62 of Take What Hurts

Mackenzie followed her, eyes wide and blazing with white fire. “Elliott, it did. It meant fucking everything⁠—”

Elliott wrestled with the cap on the Advil and whirled around, body extended toward Mackenzie, who stood stiff and braced herself against the kitchen island. “Then why the fuck⁠—”

“—didn’t I tell you?” Mackenzie spat, hands slapping on the countertop. “Because there was nothing to tell, Elliott. She said some weird, cryptic thing that made no fucking sense, and—” She pushed herself off the counter, pressing a palm to her forehead as a mirthless laugh cracked out of her. “I know she’s a lunatic, but honestly?” Her hand dropped with a heavy crack on her thigh, and she rolled her eyes. “I thought I’d dealt with it, and I didn’t think about it again until this morning. I had other things on my mind.”

Elliott narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you think maybe it would have been worth mentioning anyway, knowing what she probably did to that pianist?”

“To Matilda?”

Elliott growled and pushed down harder on the Advil cap. “No, that other pianist who was supposed to headline instead of Matilda at the Hollywood Bowl.” Mackenzie frowned, the crease between her brows deepening. Elliott could have screamed, but she sucked in a low breath instead. “You know—the one who pulled out of the performance because of some ‘freak’ injury to his hand?” Elliott stared at Mackenzie expectantly.

She watched the color drain from Mackenzie’s face. “You don’t think⁠—”

Elliott’s hands leapt into the air and came down on her thighs with a slap. “I do think. And so does Matilda. Surely Anna told⁠—”

Mackenzie was already shaking her head. “No—no, never. Only some comment about the fact she’d done things for Matilda. But she was her manager, so I didn’t—I never—” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Elliott, I swear I didn’t know.”

Elliott gave up on the Advil and threw it down on the countertop. It rolled into the sink with a clatter. She sighed and, scrubbing her face with her hands, leaned her elbows on the counter in front of her. With each breath she took in the silence, she noticed the way the anger that had sat heavy in her chest started to ebb. It stood to reason that Anna wouldn’t have been open with Mackenzie about her less-than-savory exploits. Elliott wasn’t sure why she assumed Anna—slimy as she was—would be honest with her lawyer. “I’m sorry,” she gritted out, voice muffled behind her hands. “Everything above my chest hurts and I have the worst headache, and I can’t get the fucking thing off the Advil. Of course you didn’t know.”

Mackenzie’s body heat passed behind her. Moments later, the cracking of the child-safe cap on the Advil shot through the thick silence, followed by the rush of water out of the tap. She pushed herself upright to find Mackenzie standing, with her hands held out in front of her—one with Advil, one with a glass of water. “Take them and go sit down.” She nodded toward the sofa. “I just need a minute.”

Elliott was flat on her back, an arm thrown over her eyes, but the depression at the other end of the sofa and the touch of a cold hand on her foot told her Mackenzie had joined her in her convalescence. Elliott cracked an eye open and found two mugs of steaming tea on the coffee table, and the fury charging through her fizzled as she closed her eye against the light in the living room. “Why are your hands always so cold?” Elliott murmured.

Mackenzie laughed and gave Elliott’s foot a squeeze. “So you can warm them up.”

Elliott lifted her arm for a moment—long enough so Mackenzie could catch the roll of her eyes, before it flopped back down, lights pulsing in her darkened vision.

“Are you all right?” Mackenzie’s voice was a whisper, and Elliott groaned, hauling herself upright, vision blackening around the edges.

“Not really. And I quit my job.”

Mackenzie’s eyes went wide. “You quit your—why?” She shook her head, hands twisting in her lap.

Elliott collected her mug of tea and wrapped both hands around it. The mug was almost too hot against the skin of her palms, but she held on, the undercurrent of pain in her hands taking away from the pain in her head. “I got attacked by a client on the other side of a matter because that person clearly made an assumption that was totally off base.” She rubbed at the short hair on the back of her head. “What’s to stop that from happening again?” She picked at a spot on the mug and lifted her eyes to find Mackenzie studying her. “I accepted, finally, that it’s just not worth it. For me, anyway.”

Mackenzie fidgeted with the handle on her own mug, eyes downcast. “It wasn’t Anna making an assumption.” When Mackenzie lifted her gaze to Elliott’s, her eyes were brimming with tears. “My mom—” She choked on a sob, shoulders shuddering.

Elliott’s stomach lurched. This wasn’t going to be good. And whatever was left of her anger burned out with the way Mackenzie collapsed in on herself like a dying star. Elliott placed her mug back on the table and pulled Mackenzie tightly to her, one hand on the side of her head, the other around her waist.

“It was my mom. From when she burst in on us that day you were at my house and saw the file on the table? Well—” Mackenzie shuddered against Elliott’s chest, her shoulders curling further inward. Elliott’s anger reared again, but the aching in her chest kept it at a simmer. “She’s always been a bit of an opportunist.” Mackenzie pulled away from Elliott by inches—enough to bring a soft hand to Elliott’s stinging cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

Elliott’s eyes closed at the touch, and she leaned into it, resting her hand over Mackenzie’s. “No, I’m sorry. Your own mother—I can’t even imagine.” Her eyes fluttered open to find tears rolling down Mackenzie’s cheeks, and Elliott erased them with her thumbs, stroking the tracks away.

Elliott gently pushed Mackenzie’s bangs out of her face, and Mackenzie sucked in a breath. “I—I cut her off,” Mackenzie stammered. “Told her I don’t want to see her again or hear from her.” Mackenzie choked out a laugh. “Of course, I’m sure she’s already tried to send me a barrage of messages in the last half hour, but”—Mackenzie waved her phone at Elliott—“I blocked her a couple of weeks ago, so, you know.” Elliott ran her index finger under Mackenzie’s chin and gently lifted it to her. She lightly pressed her lips to Mackenzie’s and found them dry from argument and tears, but so, so plush and sweet.

Elliott pulled away before she could lose herself in the taste of Mackenzie’s mouth. “I almost hate to ask—” Her fingers moved to the skin on her thumb, but Mackenzie took Elliott’s hand, a small smile tugging at her lips as she squeezed. Elliott huffed out a laugh. “What happened at the meeting?”

Mackenzie dropped Elliott’s hand and sank back slowly into the sofa cushions. Elliott picked up her mug of tea again and sipped, the tea probably still too hot, but helpful to the pounding in her head. “Basically, Anna is as opportunistic as my mother.” She laughed, but it was devoid of humor. “The firm cut a deal with her to protect its reputation. Either way”—she fiddled with the sleeve on her shirt—“I’m pretty sure I’ll lose my job. If I resign, they’ll give me a small package.”

Elliott choked on her drink. Spluttering, she managed to suck in a breath. “What? But⁠—”

Mackenzie waved a hand at Elliott with a small shake of her head. “I know. But she threatened to make a complaint to the bar⁠—”

“But—”

Mackenzie rested a hand on Elliott’s jackhammering leg. “Honey, I know.” She squeezed Elliott’s knee, eyes urging Elliott to take a breath. She did. “It doesn’t matter to them whether we did anything wrong or not. The partners don’t want to take the chance, so they cut a deal. It should protect us from having to go through a long, drawn-out bar investigation.” Mackenzie’s eyes were wide and soft and pleading, and Elliott huffed, dropping back against the cushions, defeated.

“I feel like, having attacked me, that might take the wind out of any latent desire Anna might have to make a complaint, at least.” Elliott tugged at a thread on the cushion she’d pulled into her lap, and Mackenzie chuckled, eyes sparkling.