Page 28 of Beacon

I’m not sure how long I’ve been working on him when he finally says, “I’m fine.”

“I know you are. But it’s okay if you aren’t.”

“I said I’m fine.” He was starting to lean back into my hands, like he loved it, needed it, but now he slumps forward, forcing me to drop my hands.

“And I said I know you’re fine,” I reply softly.

“I don’t need coddling.” He sounds gruff and bad-tempered again. The way he was the first couple of days I got here.

“I’m not?—”

“You were coddling, and I don’t need it. And I don’t need you to always be prying into my head. I don’t want that.”

I take a step back automatically, hurt by both his tone and his words. “I wasn’t trying to coddle or pry.”

“You were. Why are you even trying to deny it? I’ve asked you over and over to leave me alone.” He bites out the words, and they feel like a blow.

Like a physical blow.

“All right,” I murmur, doing my best to keep the hurt out of my tone. “I’ll leave you alone.”

I walk out of the kitchen and go back to the closet tofinish putting things in place and hiding the grenades better so they won’t accidentally be seen again. When I’m done, I glance back in and see that Mack is still sitting in the same place, tense and brooding.

I’m angry with him and deeply upset for him at the exact same time.

I don’t have anything to do now. I could take another shower, but I don’t really want to. I want to work.Dosomething. So I collect some supplies and start cleaning the living room, dusting and polishing the furniture and then scrubbing the floor.

It takes a while, and I’m stewing the entire time, trying to figure out how I should handle this and what Mack really needs from me.

If I thought he was better off being left alone, that’s what I would do. It would be a real sacrifice, but I would do it.

But he was almost—almost—his old self this afternoon. I’m not expecting miracles, but the thing that did it was being around other people. People he knows and cares about. In this case, it was me, but it’s probably not only me that could make the difference. He needs fellowship again.

Mack simply isn’t Mack when he’s all alone.

I’ve finished the floor and am waiting for it to dry when I hear Mack moving around in the kitchen again. I want to go see what he’s doing, how he’s feeling, but he told me to leave him alone, so that’s what I need to do.

Instead of checking on him, I go to my room and change out of my jeans and top since they’re dirty from rolling around on the dirt and grass with Mack. I put on Mack’s old T-shirt and drawstring shorts since I don’t want to dirty up any more of my clothes for only part of a day.

The floor is dried when I return to the living room. I notice a stain on the big easy chair. It looks like food or drink spilled there. I search the closet and find a half-empty bottle of stain remover, so I put it on a cloth and work on rubbing the stain to see if I can get it out.

I’m still scrubbing when I’m suddenly aware of Mack’s presence in the door from the kitchen. I sense him rather than see or hear him. It feels like he’s standing there watching me silently.

I keep scrubbing, leaning over the arm of the chair to reach the stained spot.

Then I hear him walking toward me. Feel him pressing up against my back as I straighten.

“You’re mad at me,” he says in a low, gruff voice.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you won’t look at me. I don’t like when you’re mad at me.”

“I don’t like it either.” I love the feel of his big, warm body at my back. I’m dying to turn around and cuddle against him, but I don’t.

“You never used to get mad at me.”

“Because you never used to treat me the way you did just now.”

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