Page 28 of Tainted Tempos

“Fuck your agreement,” I cut him off.

Aiden pauses.

“Shit, sorry,” I backtrack. “Listen, Mckenna and I will talk about the marriage, prenup, whatever the fuck. What I need from you is every goddamn thing you can find on Branson. I don’t care if you have to hire a team and put a guy on Branson; whatever needs to be done, do it.”

Aiden is quiet for a long moment. “What am I looking for?”

“Anything that can ruin him or put him away.” My tone is ice cold.

“Mav, don’t you think this is a little overboard for a classmate that?—”

“Stop talking, Aiden. Please. I respect you too much to say the words that are burning on the tip of my tongue. And once I say them, I won’t be able to take them back. So, watch your step.”

He’s silent.

I swear and heave out an exhale. “He’s not just a classmate.” My voice is low, measured, and glacial. I force myself to pause and take another deep breath. This is Aiden I’m talking to—he has everyone’s—mine, the band’s, Mckenna’s—best interests at heart. “I can’t get into it. But he’s not just a classmate, and I swear to you, he deserves a million times worse than a tainted career and having to take responsibility for his disgusting actions.”

I’ve never heard the sound a wild animal makes when it realizes it’s cornered but I imagine it’s close to the noise that Aiden chokes on. He swears, and I know he hears the truth in my voice. The desperation and the pain. He knows without knowing and that’s enough for him to mutter, “I’m on it.”

“Get back to me with any and all updates.”

“Is she okay? Kenny?” Aiden is such a decent dude.

“She will be,” I say, meaning it. I’ll make her whole again. I’ll protect her. I’ll fucking show up.

“Okay. Speak soon.”

“Send me whatever you find,” I reiterate before ending the call.

Then, I dial Jess and Kimberly and plan a fun, adventurous excursion to cheer Mckenna up and pull her out of her thoughts, if only for a few hours.

EIGHT

MAV

Over the next few days,things normalize between Mckenna and me. We find our easy again. Our relentless teasing, our pushing each other’s buttons, our equilibrium.

Breakfasts are filled with laughter. We take morning hikes, relishing the incredible landscapes and reveling in the gorgeous views. I’ve never felt as on top of the world as I do with the sea below, the sky above, and Mckenna’s hand in mine.

During our walks, we talk about everything and nothing. We’re at ease in each other’s presence and even the silence between us bonds us together. At night, we sip tea under the stars and tell stories. I recall more of Warren Willoughby’s adventures and Mckenna shares tales of her UCLA days with Allegra, Ivy, and Nova.

One evening, as I take a drink of my mint tea, Mckenna casts a questioning glance at me.

“Yes?” I quirk an eyebrow.

She shakes her head, averting her gaze.

“You can ask me anything. You’re my wife, remember?” I tease.

A small smile skates over her pretty mouth. But then it slips and she meets my eyes. “Mav, what happened to your family? Where’s your mom and dad?”

I sigh, letting the hot tea roll over my tongue and burn the roof of my mouth. In all fairness, it’s amazing Mckenna and I have spent this much time together andnotdiscussed my parents. “It’s a messy story,” I warn.

She snorts and I realize the irony. But I don’t smile back; it will never be okay to make light of what Mckenna’s survived.

“My mom is complicated. I really believe she did her best with what she had,” I say slowly, gathering my thoughts. “She fell in love young. He was a fireman in the city, and she was a freshman at NYU. She was very theatrical and creative. She loved music.” I tilt my head, letting Mckenna correctly assume that Jameson’s and my love for music grew from our mother’s passion. “Nana and Pop liked her beau very much. He was a good, hardworking, salt-of-the-earth guy with an Irish background.”

“Jameson,” Mckenna murmurs, not realizing how much closer to the truth she is with that tiny observation.

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