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Becca joined them, and the five of them sat down to dinner. His mother said a small prayer of thanks and told everyone to dig in. There was meatloaf, mashed potatoes, fresh green beans from her garden, and a tossed salad.
It was simple stuff, but his mom was a pro, and Mac sat back, feeling a sense of pride as Lily dug in and gave a wholehearted thumbs-up when she tasted the meatloaf.
Conversation was light—they talked about the state of the Detroit Tiger’s season, the fact that old man Lawrence was finally gonna sell his bait and tackle, and bets were taken on whether Liam’s ball team was going to win their next game.
His sister was quiet, which kind of surprised him, but Mac didn’t have time to dwell on it—he was too busy eating up the good vibes, happy smiles, and the fact that in the space of half an hour, Lily had managed to charm his mother in the same easy way she’d charmed him.
It struck him then. Lily St. Clare was a whole lot different from the woman he’d met New Year’s Eve. Heck, she didn’t bear any resemblance to the one he’d run into Memorial Day at the Edwardses’.
He raised his wineglass and took a sip, unable to take his eyes off her as she smiled at something his nephew said. Her entire face lit up when she smiled, and he was pretty sure it was the nicest damn thing ever. He thought that maybe he had something to do with it.
He took a sip of wine and settled back in his chair. He was good with that.
After dinner was done, he helped clear the table and wished that his mother didn’t make such a big deal about it. Christ, it wasn’t as if he’d never cleared a table before—at least he was pretty sure that he had.
Maybe. Back in the day.
His mom had baked an apple cobbler, and he grabbed some napkins and tossed them onto the table. There was just enough time to have dessert, maybe a cup of coffee, and then he and Liam had to take off for the ballpark.
His cell rang just then—O’Malley—so he gave a quick apology and headed outside to take the call. It was quick, just a few questions pertaining to the golf course, and Mac had just pocketed his cell when Becca joined him on the deck.
He knew something was up as soon as he caught sight of her. She was way too quiet, way too tense, and when she worried her bottom lip like th
at, he knew that whatever it was, he probably wasn’t going to like it.
“What’s going on, Becs?”
He asked the question even though he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know. Because if she told him that she was getting back together with David—that she’d forgiven the bastard and they were going to play nice again, he just might lose it.
Becca blew out a short, harsh breath and glanced back into the kitchen, making sure the door was closed securely before she turned to him.
Okay. The covert shit? That wasn’t good.
“Don’t freak out,” she said.
And that wasn’t good either.
Mac fingered his cell in his pocket, staring at his sister and wondering where this was all going.
“Just spit it out, Becca.”
She ran her hands through her hair and muttered, “Shit,” before staring up at him and Mac’s blood went cold when he got a look at what was there.
Fear.
Cold. Hard. Fear.
“God, I should have waited,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Becca, you’re starting to piss me off. What the hell is going on?”
She took a moment, tugging on the edge of her faded blue T-shirt. She smoothed out the tops of her shorts, her fingers lingering, moving in circles, and by this time Mac’s nerves were stretched tight.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
He shouldn’t have come. He should have known that there was no way this night could have ended well.
“I heard Mom on the phone this morning.”
