Promise Me You Read online

  “Whoa, not cool,” Cash said, looking at the spectacle they were making. As the oldest Kane cousin and the owner of their dad’s bar, Cash didn’t like people making a mess in his place. And because Cash was six-foot-three and 220 pounds of tattooed hothead, most people knew better than to try. “You know Big Daddy’s rules. No one fights in here except the owner. And that would be me.”

  “Special circumstances,” Hunter said, his eyes never leaving Brody’s, his fists still bunched in his cousin’s starched shirt.

  “Is this about the time Brody got all hormonal over Savannah and shoved you into the gym locker and hurt your little man feelings?” Cash asked with a grin.

  Brody sent Cash an eat-shit-and-die look. Hunter kept his eyes locked on his target. “Something like that.”

  Cash let out a big, irritated sigh, as if he were the one whose whole world had been flipped upside down. “Fine, but you know the rules. No blood on the customers, so take it elsewhere.”

  “You really want to do this, Hunter?” Brody asked.

  “Yup.”

  “Beating the shit out of me won’t fix things.”

  “Nope. But it’ll make me feel a hell of a lot better.” And right then Hunter needed to feel something other than this ache of betrayal.

  Without a word, Brody shoved Hunter back, then wiped the blood off his lip. He headed through the bar, nodding and smiling at startled customers, not stopping until they were in the back office.

  Hunter did his best to keep himself in check until they were behind closed doors.

  “You already got in one shot,” Brody said, slamming the door. “Now you’re going for two, and that’s just greedy.” Brody underscored his last statement with a quick advance and sharp right cross to Hunter’s jaw.

  Jesus. Did his cousin have titanium knuckles?

  Hunter’s adrenaline pumped hard, making him feel like a freaking gladiator and helping him rebound from the blow faster than expected. He rushed Brody, lifting them both up off their feet and toppling them over the desk. The impact was enough to rock both their worlds, but neither missed a beat.

  Fists flying and arms jabbing, each fought for the dominant position. They tumbled over and over, finally landing with Brody on top, his fist cocked back and ready to deliver another blow when a bucket of ice-cold water rained down over them.

  Gasping, they both looked up to find Wade. Brody’s younger brother stood in a starched suit and tie worthy of dinner with their mom, Vivian Kane, an empty ice bucket in his hand. The look he shot their way said he was having dinner with Aunt Viv, and they’d interrupted it.

  “You ladies finished? Or would you like to take it to the alley out back?” Wade said in that southern gentleman’s tone that always pissed Hunter off.

  When neither moved, Wade dabbed the corner of his mouth with the cloth napkin he’d carried in with him. “Or I can go get Mom and tell her you broke Dad’s favorite beer mug. The one they got on their honeymoon. We’re having dinner with some of Dad’s friends in the back room. Your call.”

  Both men looked at the chipped mug and swore.

  With one last shove, Brody rolled off Hunter, and they sat up.

  Wade set down the bucket and walked to the bar fridge beneath the desk. He fished out two cold beers, tossing one to Brody and the other to Hunter—hitting him square in the gut.

  Hunter grunted. “What was that for?”

  “Being an ass.”

  “What about him?” Hunter pointed to Brody, who was leaning back against the wall, holding the can to his eyebrow.

  “He’ll get his when his wife sees that black eye. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to head back to dinner. Sheriff Bradly was telling Mom about his new proposal to promote positive police and citizen engagement. Which will come in handy when he busts in and arrests you for being stupid and disorderly.” Wade didn’t wait for a response and instead slammed the door as he left, causing a framed family photo to fall to the floor.

  Hunter looked around at the disaster of an office. Files strewn across the floor, overturned alcohol cases, a smear of scarlet on the white leather chair Cash had brought in when he took over running the bar. The room looked like a crime scene.

  “Always hated that chair,” Brody said.

  “Right. What kind of man buys white leather?”

  “The kind who drinks imported espresso in one of those dainty little cups Cash keeps in the top drawer,” Brody said with a laugh, then grimaced as he touched his split lip. “I should call Mackenzie, beg for her not to fire me.” He eyed Hunter. “Again.”

  “Don’t start crying like a little girl. You’re out of the woods.” Hunter touched his rib, which hurt like hell and immediately sobered. “At least with her. Me, I’m still weighing my options.”

  “Fire me. It would make my life so much easier,” Brody said, standing. “But I’m still going to go check on her, make sure she’s okay.”

  “She’s okay.” Hunter wasn’t so sure he’d ever be. Just picturing her sitting there, staring blindly at the door frame, brought a fresh dose of emotion. This time it felt a hell of a lot closer to guilt than the anger he’d been clinging to. “She didn’t even know I was there.”

  “Wait. What?” Brody spun around, his face hardened with anger. “You just left her sitting there? Jesus.” He pulled his keys from his pocket and headed for the door. “She won’t know where I went and—”

  “I didn’t leave her there,” Hunter cut him off. “I’m not a complete asshole.” Not that his family would agree. Otherwise they wouldn’t be in this situation. “I ran into your assistant in the lobby on the way out. Told her there was some mix-up with the dinner and you’d be back in a little while. Raydeen said she’d keep Mackenzie company until you got back. So you’ve got a few minutes to explain to me what the fuck is going on.” A rough laugh escaped, and Hunter’s chest caved painfully in on itself. “You at least owe me that.”

  “The only thing I owe you is another black eye.” Brody’s words were softened by the fact that he collapsed in the chair and rested his head in his hands. “I can’t believe you walked out. Do you have any idea how much I put on the line to make this happen?”

  “Do you have any what it felt like when I saw her sitting there?” Hunter dropped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “You didn’t even warn me, give me time to prepare.” Hunter met his cousin’s gaze. “All those times I asked where she was, if you’d heard from her. You lied to me. I mean, did you know when she left the rehearsal dinner she wasn’t coming back?”

  “No. I knew something was up, but she only said that she needed space to think, to clear her head.” Brody let out a breath, then picked his beer up off the floor and cracked it open. After he took a long swig he added, I didn’t expect her to disappear.”

  Hunter should have known better. The months leading up to his wedding she’d been acting strange. Distant and withdrawn. He knew she’d been struggling with migraines, or so she’d told him, and he’d chalked it up to stress over the upcoming album.

  But he’d hoped that she’d trust him enough to come to him if there was a problem. Now he was starting to realize the problem went far deeper than trust.

  “How long before the wedding did she know?”

  “Remember when she had her eyes checked after she ran that red light?” Brody asked, and Hunter sighed.

  He remembered all right. She’d nearly T-boned a delivery truck in the middle of the night. She’d called him from the side of the road crying. “She promised to go see her doctor.”

  “She did. The diagnosis was the same as her mom’s.”

  A statement that hurt worse than Brody’s titanium fists. Mackenzie had been given a diagnosis that to her must have felt like a death sentence. Leber’s hereditary optic neuropathy wasn’t some disease she’d have to look up. Mackenzie had already experienced it firsthand.

  Had watched her world be torn apart by her mom’s disease, watched as Susan’s career as a photographer came
to an end. Watched her own dreams of music school die when she sacrificed a full ride to the Berklee College of Music in Boston to take care of her mom.

  With one diagnosis, Mackenzie’s life had gone from the world’s your oyster to serving oysters at a pub and caring for her mom.

  It was just like Mackenzie to face her own diagnosis alone.

  “How is she?” Hunter asked, hating himself for not following up with Mackenzie to see how her appointment had gone.

  “According to my dad, the first year was hard.”

  “Your dad knew?”

  Brody nodded. “A year before I did. Helped her through the worst of it. Took her to appointments, got her seen by the right doctors and into the best rehabilitation facility in Nashville.”

  Hunter gripped the back of his neck with his hand. “He never said a word.”

  “Dad wasn’t one for gossip,” Brody said, and Hunter nodded. “He was a man of his word too. And trust me, the only way Mackenzie would have told him anything was if he’d promised her complete silence.”

  Hunter cracked open his beer and thought about what all this meant. To him. To Mackenzie. To the rest of his family. Her need for distance had caused her to miss the funeral of a man she’d loved.

  What else was she missing out on?

  “She’s doing better now,” Brody said quietly. “She’s got a Seeing Eye dog who helps her to get around more on her own, but the adjustment has been rough.”

  Hunter took a long pull, letting Brody’s words settle. Trying to imagine how terrified Mackenzie must have been. “How fast did her sight go?”

  It had taken Mackenzie’s mom less than three months to go from normal to completely blind.

  “I don’t know,” Brody said, and it was good, because Hunter wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “She doesn’t talk about it, not even to Savannah. She came to me about a year after your wedding, right when you were recording your third album.”

  Brody paused, as if waiting for Hunter to finally look him in the eye so he could see he was telling the truth. “I hadn’t heard from her before then. I swear. She contacted me about some songs she wrote, asked if I would be willing to represent her independent work.”

  “You already represented her.”

  “She explained that was up for negotiation too.”

  “Sounds like her.” Hunter let out a strangled laugh. Mackenzie had come a long way. She had emerged from her caretaker role focused, driven, and stubborn as hell. A potent combination.

  “I asked her what happened, how I could help. She came unglued, told me in no uncertain terms that she was interested in representation, not a handout. Then she sat down at the piano and started playing.” Brody smiled. “The shit of it was she’d gotten even better. I don’t know how she did it, but before she hit the climb, I knew it was a hit. I told her I could pull some strings if she wanted to play at Big Daddy’s. She said if she wanted strings pulled she’d ask Big Daddy herself, because she wasn’t trying to be the next Carrie Underwood: she’d written the song for you.”

  Brody took another long swallow, fiddled with the tab of his can, and added, “Told me it would make your career.”

  “‘Unrequited,’” Hunter said, more a realization than a question.

  Eighteen months ago, the Hunter Kane Band had been about to propose a new deal with their recording label when Brody had come to him with a song written by a new writing duo he’d just signed. Hunter had listened to the song and asked to look at everything Mack and Muttley had in their library. There were only three songs, but he’d recorded all three.

  A few months later, the first single off their album had released, and when “Unrequited” hit the airways, it became the smash hit of the summer. Then went on to earn the band their first GRAMMY, AMA, and Billboard awards.

  “She pretty much took you from cult following to a household name, and she’s been writing songs for you ever since.” Brody polished off his beer and tossed it in the garbage. “Her only stipulation, besides complete anonymity, was that you get her songs first. That way you’d write or pick other ones with the same vibe for the album. She’s always complaining you’re the John Travolta of music.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” It was clear from the smirk on his cousin’s face it wasn’t a compliment.

  In fact, the accompanying shit-eating grin told Hunter that his question had not only made Brody’s day, it had made his whole week.

  “That you’re talented as hell but couldn’t pick career-making material if it came up and bit you in the ass.”

  Hunter nearly choked on his beer. “She always said I picked my songs like my women: flashy and too trendy to last.” Images of her standing with wide, vulnerable eyes, stroking her guide dog, sobered him instantly. “I need to see her.”

  “Tried that. Less than twenty minutes ago. Yet you’re here, determined to further screw with my night, which tells me she kicked you out or you ran from the room like a scared little girl.”

  “I needed time to absorb everything,” Hunter defended.

  Brody’s eyes went wide with understanding. “Jesus, after all that pissing and whining, you ran? At least tell me you didn’t say something to upset her.” He held up a silencing hand. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. As of this moment you are on your own. You may make me bank, but she’s her own printing press.”

  “I’m family,” Hunter argued.

  “So is she,” Brody said quietly. “I’ve been in the middle for two years, and I won’t go there again.”

  Heaven.

  Mackenzie wiggled her toes, enjoying the unbound luxury as the sunbaked tiles warmed her bare feet.

  The sunroom was Mackenzie’s favorite spot at Brody and Savannah’s house. It was open enough to allow her freedom to move around, yet cozy enough to eliminate disorienting echoes. It had become such a peaceful place for her that Mackenzie had added a similar one to the back of her own house.

  She knew that three steps to the right rested a chaise longue covered in silk so temptingly plush it was the perfect place for a catnap. A step forward was a square coffee table, and four steps to her left sat a miniature table covered in nubby lace, which was the centerpiece for all of Caroline’s tea parties, including the one currently in session.

  Mackenzie sat with her knees nearly to her chest, squeezed into a square throne made to hold someone half her size. According to Caroline, it was painted princess pink with lavender stars.

  Paper rustled and the distinct scent of vanilla, crayon, and everything little girl wafted over her as the princess in question snuggled deeper into Mackenzie’s chest.

  “Dat’s your dress. See how floofy it is?” Caroline said. Her angelic voice and slight lisp were escorted by a pleasant smell of bittersweet chocolate that could only have come from sneaking one of her birthday cupcakes before the party started.

  “Caroline, do I smell frosting?”

  At Muttley’s favorite word, the dog buried his nose in Mackenzie’s thigh and let out a guilty whimper. Clearly he’d had a bite too.

  Caroline shushed her and, as if that wasn’t an admission of guilt, quickly guided the tip of Mackenzie’s finger over the drawing in her lap. “And dat’s me. I’m wearing a pink gown wif ruffles and bows and a big veil wif lots of sparkles.”

  “It sounds beautiful. What’s over here?” Mackenzie asked as her hand drifted to the center of the paper, where she felt a buildup of waxy residue from the crayon.

  “That’s Muttley.” Caroline outlined the dog’s portrait, and Muttley barked in appreciation. “He’s in da middle and has a sparkly collar wif a pink bow on his neck to match my dress. He broughted his own sleeping bag and everything for our party.”

  “Oh, a party. Is it a ball?” Mackenzie asked, playing along with Caroline’s ever-growing imagination. “Will Prince Charming be in attendance?”

  A noise erupted from Caroline’s mouth, similar to a soda bottle exploding, and sent a light mist of spray onto Mackenzie’s cheek. “N
o. I asked Uncle Cash to come and play da prince, but he’s drawing a rose on a lady’s back.” Caroline leaned over and patted Muttley on the head. “I asked Mommy for a dog for my birfday but she said I’m not old enough, so den I asked for a sleepover wif Muttley instead.”

  Muttley started a low whining in his throat and pressed closer to Mackenzie’s thigh, sneaking one paw onto the chair. Knowing it would take only a second to get all four on her lap, she said, “Down.”

  “See. He wants to come!” Caroline shifted to the side and rested her warm cheek against Mackenzie’s chest. “I’m almost this many.” Four little fingers danced across Mackenzie’s palm. “Enough for a sleepover. I have all our favorite doggy movies picked out. Plus, Mommy gots us our own doggy-friendly cake, just for tonight.”

  Muttley’s second favorite word had him sitting at attention, as if promising he’d be a good boy.

  Mackenzie’s heart sank at the simple request that was, for her, anything but simple. She depended on Muttley for her freedom, and there was no way she could function at home without him, even for just a night. Caroline loved Muttley almost as much as Mackenzie did. And even though she’d explained it several times, the concept of a guide dog was hard for Caroline to grasp.

  Especially since Muttley looked like a giant polar bear.

  Hoping to soften the blow, Mackenzie brushed a soothing hand over Caroline’s hair and down her arm, feeling the short ringlets recoil as her touch passed. “Muttley has to sleep with me, sweet pea.”

  “I know. But I gots an idea. I could sleep at you and Muttley’s house and den he can be wif me and you. Dat way you don’t get scared at night.”

  Caroline’s innocent remark hit so close to home Mackenzie had a hard time speaking. “I would love that and so would Muttley, but a sleepover at my place won’t work until you’re a bit older.”

  “I’ll be on my gold-star behavior.”

  The sincerely whispered plea sounded close to cracking. Mackenzie cradled Caroline’s little body closer to protect her from the disappointment. “It’s not you, sweet pea, it’s just . . . I can’t be sure I can keep you safe.”