Page 77 of Hold Still

I grab the pills from her and toss them onto the desk. They land on top of Teresa’s note. Wonderful. “Can’t go back in time, McKenna. But, I didn’t take any of these.”

Her eyes roll. “Flush them.”

“What?”

She crosses her arms across her chest and nods to the pills. With McKenna, I haven’t felt like getting high—probably because she gives me a natural one. I shrug and head to the bathroom. Tossing the pills down the toilet, I flush them good-bye.

When I return to the office, McKenna sits on a chair, her head in her hands. Going onto my knees next to her, I rub her back. “Want to tell me what that was all about?”

Without lifting her head, she shakes it. “Suffice it to say I had a bad experience and can’t stand the sight of drugs now.”

I squeeze her shoulder. “Fine. I don’t do them often, so it’s not a big deal.” Her head pops up, tear tracks left behind on her cheeks. I want to know why she’s reacting like this, but now’s not the time. Trying to lighten the mood, I quip, “Now, if you had something against rum, we’d have to talk.”

A reluctant smile crosses her face. “No. I’m good with rum.” She swipes her cheek.

I tip her chin upward. “The only thing I want from you is honesty. If drugs make you,” I search for the right word. Settling for “uncomfortable,” I continue, “There won’t be any in the house. So long as you’re here with me, I’m good.”

“What did I do to deserve someone like you?”

I look around. “Someone? Hello, you have the real thing.” I pound on my chest.

She taps my pecs, then eases her arms around my neck. “I am one lucky lady.”

“ARE YOU SUREyou can’t come to my concert tonight? I always perform better when you’re in the audience.”

She shakes her head. “I really can’t. I’ve left Mom home alone at night too often and, well, you saw the net result last night. I want to stay with her to make sure she’s safe.”

Can’t argue with her but, damn, I’m going to miss her. Her next statement leaves me flabbergasted.

“Oh, and I have a meeting tomorrow, so I probably won’t be able to make it over here at all.”

Oh, hell no. “What’s more important than working on the songs for the Project? I thought everything hinges on that.” I pause. “For both of us.”

Her lips purse and her eyes drift to the side. “I need,” she blinks, “I have to bring Mom to the doctor and it usually takes hours. I’m sorry.”

I can’t argue with her about her mother. Yet, something in her stance leads me to believe there’s more to it than she’s telling me. “Want company?”

She puts her laptop into its case. “No. I’ve got it. You work on your songs.” She walks toward the door.

“Hey, McKenna.”

Halting midway through the office, she swivels her head. “Yes?”

I open a desk drawer, pulling out an extra key. Handing it to her, I say, “Here. I want you to have access to me anytime.”

Her fingers close around the symbol of my commitment to her, even if she doesn’t recognize it as such. “Thanks, Ozzy. This means a lot to me.” She returns to my side and gives me a very thorough kiss.

Once she’s gone, a contentment I haven’t felt in years—if ever—washes over me. McKenna’s really taking up residence in my life.

And I like it.

---