“Then I’d kill you,” she says, so pragmatically, I know she’s telling the truth.
“I never laid a hand on your sister. I…fuck, I made a lot of mistakes that summer. The first one was maybe believing Vincent had nothing to do with her death.” I wince as I say it, thinking about the crass way I hid everything for them and kept them all out of trouble because that was just what I did.
“Stop lying to me!” she suddenly yells, slamming her hand down on the polished wood of my desk. It’s loud enough that it gains my disapproving stare. I open my desk drawer, pulling out the thick stack I’ve had for the last month and a half. Even though there’s another version of it already out there in the world, I still hang on to this one because, inside here, is what gave me the first real glimpse into the woman sitting across from me. The side of Mackenzie she never truly had the chance to share with me.
I drop it on the table between us, and I watch carefully as her eyes shoot down, dipping into a frown that changes her whole face when she sees what it is. Surprise alights her features, wiping away some of her anger that she rolled into my office with.
“You…you read it?”
“I did. Before you released this new version, I read it. Wasn’t sure what to make of it at first. It made me question things. The things I did in the past.”
Her lips purse, anger filtering back into her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you read it? I went weeks thinking you…” She looks away, out of the window at the side of my office.
Another beat of silence follows.
“That’s why I went to see you. To talk. To try to understand what all of this meant. Who you were and why you were really in my life.” Her eyes dart back to mine, rounded with wariness. “I couldn’t have killed your sister. The fact that I’m even having to explain this to you is fucking bullshit. I left Ferndale that night, after the party, for a flight to Brazil. I didn’t have time to meet the guys at the kissing rock. I wasn’t there that entire night.”
She searches my eyes, looking for the truth, and whenever she finds what she’s looking for, she releases a sigh that sounds more like a mewl of pain.
“What about the photograph I found? It was taken that night. The night Madison died.” I see it written in her eyes, the need for answers. She so desperately wants someone to blame for Madison’s death, she’s willing to scrounge for scraps and run with them.
“It was just a picture, Mackenzie. It didn’t mean anything. It was sitting in my desk drawer for years. There’s no significance, other than the fact that was the last photograph we took as teenagers before college. That’s it.”
Every part of Mackenzie deflates at my words. She covers her face with her hands and starts to sob. I’m so shocked by the outburst of emotion from her, I can’t even bring myself to get out of the chair and comfort her.
“If…if it wasn’t you, then…” She hiccups. I’ve seen Mackenzie in many stages during our time together, but never like this. So emotional, so unhinged. I should’ve seen it before, how much pain she was in.
How could I have missed it?
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I can’t help you if you don’t fucking give me something, Mackenzie.”
“Why would you want to help me?”
“I may not trust you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want answers, too. I’ve been wronged just as much as you have.”
She looks taken aback. “Oh, have you? I didn’t realize your sister was murdered.”
My jaw clenches. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I just don’t understand why Vincent would want me to think it was you. He could’ve said that about anyone else. Why you?” She asks the question pointedly—as if she still thinks I’m lying—and that pisses me off. It’s starting to feel like this discussion is running in circles. One moment, she believes me, then the next, she’s second-guessing me.
“At the risk of sounding like an asshole, you weren’t on my radar then, Mackenzie. Summer hated your sister, and I steered clear. I didn’t even know about her and Vincent until later when he came to me for help.”
“What kind of help?”
My body fills with tension because, whatever way I spin this, she’s going to hate me. I’m not a killer, but I might as well be. “Just forget it.”
Her face hardens. “No, I’m not going to forget it. I just told you everything, and now you want to skimp on the details and hold back stories? Fucking look at me, Baz. I was held at gunpoint by your friend. I was stabbed. I was locked in a nuthouse, and I’m barely able to stand on my two feet without limping because of what happened to me.”
Guilt crushes my chest.
“There was a video.” I pause, gauging her reaction. “Vincent and your sister slept together. He recorded it without her permission, and she was angry. He asked me to get rid of it, while he still pretended he had it. He was protecting her while still holding the truth over her head. He’s a bastard, yes, but he could’ve done so much worse.”
“Don’t fucking do that,” she hisses. “Don’t make him out to be the good guy right now.”
“I’m not. You asked what happened, and I’m telling you what I know.”
“Madison and Vincent…No.” She shakes her head, her features scrunching with anger. “There’s no way. It doesn’t make any sense. She would’ve told me.”
“I’d imagine there was a lot you didn’t know about your sister.”
Her gaze narrows on mine. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Take from it what you will,” I say dismissively, not sure telling her about the last moments I had with her sister is a wise decision.
There’s suddenly a knock on the door, and Mia pops her head inside, her long chocolate hair hanging over her shoulder. The second Mackenzie spots her, she stiffens in her seat, her face falling, for all of two seconds, before her lips thin and she adopts an expression that states she doesn’t care.
I know better.
“Mr. Kingston. I have Mr. Acker calling about the floor plan for the Hamptons resort. Oh, I’m so sorry,” she pauses, finally spotting Mackenzie. “I didn’t realize you were still with a guest. Should I come back later?”
I shake my head. “Might as well finish, Mia.”
She smiles. That is the thing about Mia. She is a happy-go-lucky woman. Definitely not my type, but she does her job well, so I can’t complain. “Right, well…” She pauses to look at Mackenzie once more, obviously curious about who she is. “Everything is set for the gala. Do you still want me to accompany you, or have you changed your mind?”
In my peripheral, I see Mackenzie flinch. She stiffens her spine, shifting on the chair, pretending the news doesn’t bother her. When I glance at her, color is rising to her neck and cheeks, and it’s not from feeling bashful. She’s angry. Practically vibrating with it.
What, did she think because she fucked up, life wouldn’t go on without her?
Fuck that.
“Yes. Please, dress accordingly. Give Wren Bonjoc a call. His team will be sure you have everything you need.”