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Macy smiled. A smile that was also a little bloodthirsty and didn’t mesh with her hippy, ethereal image.
“But,” I raised my hand, “I have a child. A daughter. One it’s my job to protect.” I focused my gaze back on Macy who was listening intently. “And letting my…” I struggled to find a title for Preston to say out loud. “And letting Swiss kill him, no matter what I want, would be failing at my job of being a mother.”
Macy tapped her lips. “Fuck,” she muttered. “As much as I would love to see that fucker hung from his entrails, I tend to agree with you.”
I blinked at the visual, and at the fact the sweet, fantasy-obsessed Macy was talking about hanging up Preston from his entrails.
Before the conversation could continue, honking of horns sounded from behind us. Macy glanced in her rearview mirror.
Her lips stretched wide. “They’re here!” she clapped her hands. “We’ll continue this later.”
“Swiss will come around, though,” she informed me while pulling into the driveway. “Of course, he has to throw the alpha male tantrum, which pales in comparison to any tantrum we could throw, and looks a little more like something my three-year-old would have.” She put the car in park in front of the colorful, chaotic garden. “But my three-year-old does not have a semi-automatic weapon…yet.” She reached over to squeeze my hand. “He knows you’re right. Even though it goes against every instinct he has. His most important one right now is to keep you safe. And he doesn’t know how to do that after he’s already failed.”
“He didn’t fail,” I argued.
Her hand squeezed mine. “I know, sweetie. You know that. All of us womenfolk know that. But we could hire someone to write it in the sky or tattoo it on our foreheads, and it still wouldn’t sink in for him,” she shrugged. “He will carry it with him. But it will get better. Trust me.”
And despite all of my traumas and fears, I did trust her.
A gentle tap on the window made me jump.
Freya was standing there, the bottle of champagne in her hand the source of the tapping.
“We can’t wait in here all day!” she called through the window.
“Time for your surprise!” Macy exclaimed, jumping out of the car.
I followed suit, albeit a little slower than her.
Caroline was standing next to Freya, a large bouquet of flowers in her arms. She was in jeans that fit her like a second skin, a simple white tee and bright red lipstick. Freya was wearing a tiny skirt, knee-high boots and a long sleeved, cropped tank. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head.
“Well, what do you think?” Macy asked, linking her arm with mine.
“What do I think about what?” I questioned slowly.
“Your new house,” Macy replied as if it were obvious.
I stopped in my tracks.
“Excuse m-me?” I stammered.
“Hansen and I invested in this place a little bit ago,” she waved a hand around. “Short term rental type thing. It’s been great, but I’ve been searching for an excuse to stop dealing with picky tenants who do weird shit. Don’t worry, we’ve had it deep cleaned. Twice.”
“And saged,” Freya chimed in.
Macy nodded. “And saged. We were just about to put it up for rent, then…”
“My husband beat me half to death?” I offered.
Macy winced ever so slightly. “Yeah, that. Well, we actually had been considering this before that happened. Just in the interim, while Swiss found the perfect house.”
I stared at her, my body freezing. “What did you just say?”
“Shit, that was meant to be a surprise, and not mine,” Macy clasped a hand to her mouth.
“Macy, what are you talking about?” I asked, more urgently this time.
She sighed, looking to Freya and Caroline for help, both who held up their hands and did a good job of checking out the garden.
