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The next morning, Mac says nothing when he sees my packed bags. Just stares, empty coffee mug in hand. I don’t have a suitcase, obviously, so I’ve made do with stuffing all the clothes he bought me over the last few weeks into his canvas grocery bags. They’re waiting by the door in a huddle.
“When we get there, I’ll pay you for the bags.” My throat aches already from crying silently into Mac’s pillow all night, but my voice sounds normal. That’s good. “And the clothes.”
The harbor master grunts and puts his mug down on a side table, then snatches everything up in two massive handfuls. He shoulders the front door open, then marches to his storm-gray truck. He doesn’t look back at me once.
Oooh-kay.
So he’s not a morning person. So the intimacy of last night is long gone. No need to break down in sobs.
He’s not going to ask me to stay. Why would he?
“Or we can empty them out when we get there and you can bring the bags back.” My flip flops slap against my heels as I follow, pulling the door shut behind me. “If you’d rather keep the clothes and sell them or whatever—”
“Cocoa.” He’s got his long-suffering voice on. The one he uses after the locals force him to stop for twenty minutes in the town square, chit-chatting about the weather and tide times and road works along the coast. “I don’t care about the damn bags. Or the clothes. Get in the truck.”
Ouch.
Hurt squeezes my throat, but I yank the passenger door open like he says. If Mac wants to be rid of me already, I’ll go.
Never mind that packing those stupid bags was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Never mind that I’ve cried more this morning than I’ve ever done in my life—and I can say that now, because I remember.
Maybe not every single detail and event. But enough. The rest of my memory seeped back into me in the night, like water spreading through soil. I know who I am—or was, anyway.
But things are different now. I met Mac. I became Cocoa.
I don’t want to go back. But I don’t have a choice, do I?
The path along the coast is rocky and winding. We keep the windows rolled down, salt air rushing through, and Mac doesn’t look at me once. He’s gripping the wheel so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t break off in his hands. When I told him our destination, he shook his head and didn’t say a word.
The sea’s choppy in the distance, the waves gray and topped with foam. The white flecks of seabirds bob out there, riding the swell. Little thrill-seekers. Right now, I wish I was one of them.
“Thank you so much for everything.” My fingers twist in my lap, and I’m not sure the harbor master can even hear me over the wind and the truck, but I need to say this. “You saved my life.” In more ways than one.
“Don’t.” Mac scowls through the windshield, and hestillwon’t look at me. “I don’t want to hear it, Cocoa.”
The truck rocks into a dip, throwing me against my seat belt, and that’s what this queasiness is. Probably.
The big top tent is striped blue and purple in the distance, so vivid against the rolling cliffs. Vans, trailers, and an ancient touring coach cluster behind it on the grass. My old home.
“They won’t have come into town. They won’t have seen the posters.”
Mac sucks on his teeth.
“It’s normal for folks to come and go from the circus. People have their own lives, their own business. It’s not that they don’t care about me, they just… they value freedom and privacy. I did too. They’ll have assumed I’m fine. I’m usually fine.”
Mac’s grip flexes on the wheel. I sigh.
How to explain to the world’s most protective man that these people care about me, they just don’t keep tabs? It’s alien to Mac. Ever since he first laid eyes on me, he’s followed me with that steady gaze; he’s always known where I am, and if I’m cold or hungry. Whether I might want a blanket or a hot tea or a hug. Heknows.
He sees me.
“You haven’t even asked me about my act.” I try for a smile, but it’s wasted. Mac stares straight ahead. “I’m an acrobat. I could show you some tricks when we get there if you like.”
Mac blows out a long breath. His thumb taps against the wheel. “Need to get back. Got stuff to do in the marina.”
Right.
Shrinking into myself, I pull my legs up and rest my chin on my knees. The left one is stiffer than ever.
