Page 88 of Tainted Tempos

“Yeah.” I glance at my brother who avoids my gaze. “I’m fine crashing at Jameson’s for the time being.”

“I’m sure Amelia fucking loves that,” Levi snorts.

I grin. “Most days, she likes me more than Jameson.”

My brother flips me the middle finger and we all chuckle.

“How long has it been since you and Kenny talked?” Reign asks.

“Almost a month,” I reply, my throat scratchy.

For the past two weeks, since I’ve left rehab, I’ve been making healthy habits.

I’m meeting with Dr. Johnson twice a week. I made appointments with a trainer and a nutritionist. I started writing music again. Spending time with my bandmates, my brother, and making amends for the pain I’ve caused.

Slowly, I’ve begun the process of healing.

And I’ve realized that Mckenna was right. Sometimes, we need to take steps on our own to be whole before we can be half of a partnership.

I’m nowhere near enough for her right now. And I refuse to keep stringing her along or fucking up her life because I love her too much to do right by her.

I vowed to protect my wife at all costs. And I will continue to do that, even if I’m protecting her from myself.

“Her father got rid of that piece of shit, Bran,” Reign says.

“I heard,” I mutter. It still doesn’t sit right with me. How did Mckenna’s father make Bran disappear? What was the key piece of information that I handed him? And why does he think Bran won’t resurface in Boston?

“He’s back in Texas,” Reign says, jabbing the bag. “Not exactly paying for his sins, but at least not on the same campus as Kenny.”

“Yeah,” I murmur. “How did Mckenna take it?” I ask, wondering if his response will be different than Allegra’s.

“I think she’s relieved,” Reign replies.

“She’s caught up on other things now,” Levi tosses out, giving me a knowing look.

So, Allegra was right.

I nod, not wanting to get into this conversation. Tuning him out, I position my headphones over my ears and begin another set.

Tomorrow, I’ll face my wife and say my piece.

Tomorrow, I’ll make my final amends.

After four weeks of avoiding her, I head to the brownstone.

Standing on the porch, I look out over the yard. I recall the snowball fight Mckenna and I had over Christmas week. I kissed her right there, in that space, and felt like my snow angel came to life.

Shaking my head at my wayward thoughts, I ring the bell.

In my other hand, I grip the coffee tray and pastry bag from Java House. Under my arm, a folder with papers is tucked.

By the time Mckenna pulls open the door, nerves are ping-ponging throughout my body, and I feel nauseous. Still, I know I’m doing the right thing. The only thing.

She frowns when she sees me. “Mav, you have a key. This is your home.”

I shrug and step inside. As I lean in to kiss her cheek, I close my eyes and pull in a breath. Her citrus scent tickles my nose, and I relish the memories associated with it.

When I pull back, I note the nervousness in Mckenna’s eyes and my stomach twists.

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