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I nodded. “He probably knew Martin would be the perfect weapon against him. Get him in the right place at the right time.”
Tick, tick…boom.
“If I’d known that was his plan with those extra tickets?—”
“You didn’t know,” I told her.
“I don’t hold anything against Macon, Marin. If anything, I feel for him. There’s only one villain here tonight. And it’s not him.”
One villain and one very sad old man.
“It’s true, what Ray’s wife said. He had been sober for a while,” she went on. “Of course, we’ll never know. And I’m sure that’s what Macon has struggled with. Jake has the same problem.”
“Why?”
“He asked Dean to stay back and catch the last ferry with him. Dean almost died. So, he feels like it’s his fault.”
So much guilt over the same event.
“We should have a support group or something,” I joked.
She looked at me and blinked. “You know, that’s actually not a bad idea.”
“What?” I laughed. “I was kidding.”
“I know, but I’m not. It’s been five years, and the people in this town are still messed up because of that accident. It wouldn’t hurt.”
“No.” I blinked, slowly agreeing. “I guess it wouldn’t.”
Just then, Macon looked up, and our eyes met. Whatever he was saying stopped and he excused himself, stalking forward. His gaze never left mine.
“Well, I’m going to go wrangle my husband away from the festivities,” Molly said, quickly making herself scarce.
Macon’s expression was a mixture of emotions as he slid the patio door open and walked straight toward me.
Apprehension, fear, guilt.
His steps slowed as he closed the distance between us.
He was still dressed in that midnight-black suit.
Still devastatingly gorgeous.
Still mine.
“You left,” he stated.
“Yes,” I said softly.
A silence settled between us.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “I was worried…” My eyes drifted back toward the lawn to where the bartenders were cleaning up.
He swallowed, but there was a hesitation in his voice. “I’m all right.”
“You fought with the sheriff?”
His throat worked slowly. “Not my finest hour.”
