Promise Me You Page 4

  Given her a shot.

  She’d worked every night shift she could, waiting for her mom to adapt to her new life, waiting for her own life to begin. It seemed as if Mackenzie’s entire life had been spent waiting. Until she’d forced her mother to take a big step—a step she wasn’t ready to take.

  The guilt was still suffocating and would have taken her under too, if she hadn’t turned to her music. Which was how she’d met Hunter. And he’d filled her world with some of the lightness that she’d been craving.

  Now everything was dark—and there was no escape.

  “We both know that can’t happen,” she said.

  “I don’t see why not—”

  The beep of his phone cut him off. He answered and turned his back to her. “Brody Kane here.” The person on the other end said something, and then Brody said, “No, I said seven, not seven fifteen and . . . You’re late . . . Uh-huh. Whatever, I’ll be right down.”

  Brody disconnected. “That was dinner. Fried chicken and waffles. Your favorite. I have to go let the guy in, since you refuse to come during normal business hours, when the front-desk clerk is still here.”

  Guilt for keeping Brody from his family rolled through her. Even stronger was the comfort that warmed her chest at the idea of sharing a meal in a family-like setting, even if it was just her, Brody, and some takeout. But she couldn’t afford to fall back into old patterns. Relying on others to make her world safe was a dangerous habit. “Thank you for the sweet thought, but I already ate.”

  “Uh-huh, and when was the last time you ate something that wasn’t from a microwave?”

  Well, there was that.

  “Last Sunday, when you used your same guilt tactics.” She stood and gathered her things. “Plus, you get to feed me next weekend at Caroline’s birthday dinner.”

  Immediately, the crushing uncertainty that came every time she left the familiar began to build and take hold. Her breathing picked up, her hands began to sweat, and her heart pounded erratically against her breastbone.

  Sensing her rising panic, Muttley pressed his body into her side, letting her know he was there. As quickly as it had come on, the unease and panic dissipated, leaving behind a feeling of serenity and autonomy.

  “I’m fine for tonight,” she finally said. “Plus, Savannah is probably waiting at home with supper in the oven.”

  Brody snorted. “She told me I’d better feed you or I was sleeping on the couch. She’s afraid you’ll lock yourself in a room, start writing, and remember your supper two days later.”

  “If Arthur ever thinks I’m working too hard, he lets himself in and force-feeds me,” she said, referring to her sweet silver fox of a neighbor who had become more than a friend—he had become her self-appointed keeper. “So, thanks, supper would be fun, but—”

  Brody sat her back in her seat. “Great. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a sec.”

  Mackenzie got comfortable in the chair with a small smile. Even though her continued success demanded independence, the occasional pampering was nice. Stall tactic to talk about Hunter or not.

  Her heart fluttered at the thought, which was all kinds of ridiculous. It wasn’t as if she could ever escape Hunter. Nope, when you were in love with a celebrity whose personal life was plastered all over the tabloids and entertainment news shows, trying to put him in the past was difficult. Steering clear of him when you worked in the same industry, lived in the same city, and had the same agent was damn near impossible.

  High five to her. Mackenzie had managed the impossible for nearly three years. Facing the impossible seemed a hell of a lot easier than sharing her secret.

  Her decision to remain anonymous had never been intended to hurt anyone—it was for their protection. Hunter would have insisted on taking care of her, watching over her. It was the kind of person he was.

  Luckily for both of them, she refused to be a burden to anyone.

  Not to mention Mackenzie was barely dealing with her own loss. She could only imagine how Hunter would react. God, the outpouring of concern would only add to the already staggering weight.

  Remembering the pain of watching the man she loved love someone else had her turning her head toward the exit.

  He’s single now, her heart sang. But the little voice in her head, the one who waited until she was ready to give in to hope, spoke up and reminded her that Hunter could never be hers.

  It wasn’t a new realization but a fact Mackenzie had accepted early in her life. And the reason behind her decision to leave three years ago.

  A decision that not everyone agreed with or even understood. But not having someone to fall back on would force her to stand on her own two feet, reemerge as a stronger—healthier—person. It had taken a lot of convincing on her part, but Brody and Savannah had reluctantly supported her decision to withdraw into anonymity. It had been necessary for her healing, but she hated that she’d put Brody in the middle.

  The door squeaked behind her, and Muttley let out an impressive whoof. An unwelcome prickle of unease raced down her spine, as the feeling of being watched sent her senses into hyperdrive.

  Mackenzie jerked her head around to face the door. A faint hint of something earthy and dangerous made her breath catch.

  “Who’s there?”

  Hunter hadn’t even started negotiating and already he knew it was a nonstarter. No amount of beer or shooting the shit was going to make this a successful pairing. Because his good old boys weren’t boys at all.

  And Brody was a fucking liar.

  This meeting was with a petite brunette with bright mossy eyes. Eyes that had haunted his every thought for the past three years. She was wearing one of those long sweater dresses that clung to her body, showing off enough curves and manufactured bravado to level a guy. But it was the way she struggled to straighten those delicate shoulders, which he knew were strong enough to carry the entire world, that had his heart clenched so tight he thought he just might pass out.

  All the fear and worry he’d harbored came back in full force, quickly followed by confusion and finally anger. White-hot anger that burned the back of his throat.

  He was calling bullshit. On the whole thing.

  Hunter had looked everywhere for Mackenzie. Spoken to friends, his family, industry connections. No one had heard from her. Leaving a giant hole in his world since that last dance.

  Mackenzie had bailed on his wedding, not even bothering to show up for his big day, then did him one better and left for good.

  Mackenzie hadn’t just been his writing partner. She’d been like family to him. But she’d disappeared and hadn’t said a fucking word.

  To anyone.

  Or so he’d thought.

  Except there she was. Sitting in his cousin’s office, looking like the answer to all his problems. Gorgeous as ever. Like nothing was amiss and he hadn’t spent the past few years obsessing over what he’d done to deserve her silence.

  Wondering if she was okay.

  Jesus—he felt his eyes burn with relief—she’s okay.

  She was alive and well and his prayers had been answered.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her. In a pair of red cowgirl boots and matching red lips, she didn’t look anything like the timid coed she’d been a few years ago. Her wavy hair spilled down to the middle of her back, her hands rested on the chair as elegant as ever, and there was an inner strength that radiated from her core.

  Mackenzie Hart was even more stunning than he remembered. That sensual beauty in contrast to her petite size brought out a protectiveness in him that he hadn’t felt since that first time he’d seen her all those years ago at Big Daddy’s.

  The band had been finishing up their practice session when a pretty little waitress in a skirt that showcased one bombshell of a body came walking over.

  “Last call,” she’d said, her sweet Georgia drawl rolling over him like honey. “Can I get y’all anything?”

  “A Lone Star,” he’d said. And then, because
he’d been a cocky twentysomething with a hard-on for spinners, he’d added, “And maybe a kiss.”

  “One Lone Star.” She’d scribbled it in her little notepad—which told him she was new. Big Daddy didn’t let waitresses write stuff down unless they were in training. Plus, he’d have remembered a face like hers. “Anyone else?”

  “Aren’t you going to even ask me where I want that kiss?” he’d asked.

  “Not interested.”

  “You sure looked interested a few minutes ago when I was picking up my guitar.” The guys had laughed, but not Mackenzie. Nope—she’d yawned. “Couldn’t keep your eyes off me. Or my instrument.”

  “Actually, I was trying to figure out what you were doing with your hands. I mean, if you can’t get the chords right, what makes me think you’d be any better with your lips?”

  Hunter had redefined his type right then. Oh, he’d liked his women bold, and her bite-me attitude was right up his alley. But there was something about her melt-your-soul eyes that drew him in.

  “Not only am I great with my hands,” he’d said, hopping off the stage, “but these fingers here have been hailed as poetic genius.”

  Unlike the rest of her gender when under his scrutiny, she’d never once broken eye contact. The closer he got, the bigger she tried to make herself appear—head high and shoulders squared as if she could handle anything.

  He’d leaned a hip against a booth and said, “I believe the Nashville Tribune wrote, ‘The most skilled since Merle Travis.’”

  “Merle might have had something to say about that.” She’d shrugged but couldn’t seem to help stealing glances at his satin vintage Les Paul Junior—a present from his dad. “Especially about those last notes.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  That time when she’d smiled it had been big and real, so bright it lit up the entire room. And her eyes, those warm green eyes, had twinkled. “The last notes you played were wrong. You know, the ones going into the chorus.”

  “I wrote it. There’s no way they’re wrong.”

  “If you say so. I’ll be back with that Lone Star.”

  But he hadn’t wanted her to go. She was the first woman who didn’t pretend that his shit didn’t stink—which was exciting. And sexy as hell.

  Then there was her confidence. Hell, he’d started to question his own freaking chords. “Hold up a second, Trouble. I don’t want to look like an ass. Well, at least a bigger ass than I already am. Show me what you mean.”

  She’d shoved her notepad into the V of her top, securing it under her bra strap—her black lacy strap—and held out her hand.

  He’d offered up his guitar, but when she grabbed for it, he didn’t immediately let go. “What’s the magic word?”

  “That would be asshole, remember?”

  He’d laughed. Cocky twentysomething Hunter knew jack shit about women. But he knew there was more to Mackenzie than a pretty face and smart mouth.

  Without asking permission, she’d taken the guitar and cradled it close to her body, balancing it on her knee. Her familiarity with the instrument said she’d put in a lot of hours strumming. And when her hands glided over the strings with grace and patience, Hunter had known she’d been playing her whole life.

  She’d strummed a few chords before her fingers came to rest and she closed her eyes, blocking out her audience, and transitioned effortlessly into the song he and the band had been hashing out all morning and the better part of the afternoon.

  “Well, shit.” Confident, sexy, and talented.

  She’d played the entire riff from memory, chord for chord. Her beautiful voice had hummed the melody as she played the chorus then stopped, hitting him with a pair of double-barreled dimples that stirred up all kinds of trouble south of his buckle.

  “See? Way too flashy,” she’d said. “With your voice, you don’t need to go all American Idol. It takes away from your talent. It would sound better like this.”

  Mackenzie played a more complex combination of notes that called for rooted singing. Her version ended up landing them their first paying gig at a bar by the university.

  The unexpected connection that hummed between them that night had been so intense and so right it was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Then he’d discovered she was nineteen—a little too young for his twenty-eight-year-old self—and put her firmly in the friend zone. And by the time Mackenzie was old enough to be an option, she was so ingrained in the band and such an important person in his life he was afraid to go there.

  Hunter didn’t have the greatest track record when it came to women. And he didn’t want to risk screwing things up and losing her. Only she’d left anyway.

  But she was back. And that chemistry he’d done his best to ignore over the years? Yup. That was back too. A blast of heat strong enough to take him out at the knees.

  Lust wasn’t the only emotion humming through his veins. There was plenty of anger and frustration pumping, a lethal combination that had him dialed to shit just got real.

  Hunter knew Mackenzie was a loner. Had learned that she’d rather go it alone than rely on anyone else. One of the many cruel lessons life had taught her early on. So yes, he understood her obsessive need for independence. But to disappear on him when all he’d ever done was care for her?

  Yeah, there was a serious come-to-Jesus meeting headed their way. It wouldn’t be fun, but Hunter needed answers. Long-overdue answers.

  He stepped past the threshold into the office, and Mackenzie whipped around. Placing a startled hand on the back of the chair, she rose and faced him.

  Hunter put on what he hoped came across as a fancy-meeting-you-here smile but didn’t bother to hide any of the worry or heartache she’d caused. Those green pools hit his, and not an ounce of recognition registered on her face. No regret, no shame, not a single glimmer of apology was aimed his way.

  Nope, she stood there, arms at her sides, shoulders back, eyes wide with confusion. As if she was the offended party.

  And, okay, those wide eyes weren’t aimed at him, per se. It was more like she was staring off into space. Collecting her thoughts for some BS explanation or whatever. So Hunter crossed his arms too, determined that she would be the one to do the explaining.

  “Brody?” she asked. “Is that you?”

  Hunter didn’t know what pissed him off more. That she was still playing some fucking game or that in less than six-tenths of a second her sweet drawl settled right in his chest.

  He was about to tell her that he wasn’t pussy enough to be confused with Brody when Mackenzie took a hesitant step forward, her foot catching on the leg of the chair. For a solid heartbeat, he froze as she stumbled. Her second step wasn’t much better, and she pitched forward, thrusting her hands in front of her to break what would have been an epic fall.

  Only she didn’t fall. Before Hunter could move, a dog shot out from behind the chair and placed itself under her, maneuvering his big body into the perfect position and bracing himself like he’d done this a million times before. Even more shockingly, Mackenzie grabbed on to the dog’s back and avoided toppling over.

  She let out a frustrated breath, then straightened. With her eyes closed and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Mackenzie reached down to pat the enormous dog, who was anchored to her side. The furry savior was also wearing a leather harness with a green vest.

  The dog’s eyes locked on to Hunter’s—friendly but fiercely protective. The same expression Hunter had worn whenever he’d been around Mackenzie.

  “That was close,” she said with a self-conscious laugh, her hand on her heart and her breathing labored. “You’re a good boy, Muttley.”

  For a solid heartbeat, everything stilled. It was as if a freight train were coming straight at him. He could feel the floor vibrate, smell the truth as it careened right into his chest.

  Then it stopped. A full stop. His breathing, his heart, his anger. It all stopped and refocused with a single thought. Mackenzie couldn’t see
his anger or his worry.

  Mackenzie couldn’t see a fucking thing.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Hunter barked as he pushed through the front door of Big Daddy’s.

  It was the question he should have asked Mackenzie ten minutes ago, back in that office. Only, instead, he’d run like the hounds of hell were on his ass and hadn’t stopped until he was good and pissed.

  Sixteen flights and a few uphill blocks left ample time for the anger and frustration to reach dangerous levels. Thankfully, the perfect target sat at the end of the bar, sipping from a frosty mug and wearing a shit-eating grin.

  “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine.” Brody pulled from his beer, as if Hunter’s world hadn’t just been flipped on its fucking head. “I take it the talk went well?”

  Hunter didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Because there weren’t enough words in the English language to sum up exactly how many different levels of fucked-up that meeting had been. Which worked for Hunter, since the kind of come-to-Jesus meeting he desperately needed had little to do with words and more to do with action.

  Some swift fist action—right to Brody’s face.

  And three years of lies and complete bullshit packed one hell of a punch.

  Brody’s head flew back, the impact knocking him off the barstool and onto his ass, splashing beer onto the bar top and a few nearby patrons.

  Brody righted himself and wiped at the blood trickling from his nose with his shirtsleeve. “What the hell?”

  “My thoughts exactly, bro.” Hunter grabbed Brody by the shirt, their faces so close he could feel his cousin’s heart pounding with adrenaline.

  “Hey, thanks, Brody,” Brody said in his best Hunter imitation. “I can’t believe you put your entire career on the line by violating a binding confidentiality agreement with one of your biggest clients. I mean, that bonehead move could lead to a lawsuit that could ruin you. So thanks for doing me a solid, bro.”

  “Thanks?” He shoved Brody into the wall hard enough to send a few platinum records crashing to the ground. “Three years and you said not one word.”