Page 216 of Rising Heat
I couldn’t do it—not without looking across every Thanksgiving table, every Christmas morning, every random Tuesday dinner, wondering whether I’d somehow walked away with the life my brother was supposed to have.
The other versions don’t make it any easier. She chooses Mack, I lose her. She chooses me, and I lose him instead. Or she looks at both of us, decides this whole thing’s too complicated to salvage, and walks away before any of us get the chance to find out what we could’ve been.
Last week, we were trying to figure out how three people built a future together. Now I’m sitting in my kitchen wondering whether one misunderstanding stole the chance to find out before any of us ever got to answer honestly.
Mack stares at the floor so long I start to think he’s done talking, his thumb dragging absently over the truck keys until he finally says, almost to himself, “I keep trying to figure out which one I’d rather lose.”
I look over.
“Her…”
He lets out a slow breath, his eyes never leaving the floor.
“…or you.”
For a second, all I can do is stare at him. I’d been sitting here thinking I was the only one selfish enough to weigh those futures against each other, and somehow he’d landed in the exact same place. It shouldn’t make me feel better, but it does. Just enough to remind me we haven’t been fighting different battles all week.
We’ve been carrying the same one from opposite sides of the room.
“So what do we do?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He turns the keys over once, then closes his hand around them.
“We tell her the truth,” he says. “We try to make it right.”
“And then?”
“Then she decides.”
I hold his gaze for another second before I let out a slow breath.
“Guess we’ll never know if we keep standing in this kitchen.”
The corner of Mack’s mouth twitches.
“No.”
“So…” I shove back from the counter and grab the travel mug he’d poured me twenty minutes ago. “We drive three hundred miles, tell the woman we love we’ve been communicating like absolute idiots, hope she doesn’t slam the door in our faces, and if she does…” I shrug. “At least she’ll finally know the truth.”
Mack huffs out something that almost passes for a laugh.
“That’s your inspirational speech?”
“It’s what I’ve got.”
He shakes his head.
“Get your bag.”
I take the loft stairs two at a time.
“You know,” I call over my shoulder, “her parents are gonna be there.”
“Well aware.”
“They’re gonna have questions—”
I grab my duffel from beside the bed.
