Page 74 of Not So Happily Ever After (British Bad Boys)
When I was little, I’d spend hours in here with coloring books, drawing, or reading. Later, she’d discuss what she was working on, and I found it fascinating. I always enjoyed knotty problems and working things out. Sounds crazy, but it was almost like a hobby for me, a way to stretch my mind in another direction than my first love.
Art.
No wonder everyone assumed I wanted to follow in her footsteps. It was just one of those strange, unspoken things that happened, and I went along with it because why wouldn’t I?
When I was nine, I wanted to be just like her when I grew up.
You can’t keep blaming your mum because you’re too afraid to go after your dreams.
Will’s accusation’s been haunting me all night. I want to hate him for saying it. For twisting my deepest confessions and tossing them out like soiled rags.
Except I can’t.
Even Brooklyn, who knows practically everything about me, has never accused me of being afraid.
Am I, though?
It’s hard to face, but in some fucked-up psychological way, is he right? Am I clinging to the old and familiar because it’s safe, because it’s what everyone expects? Because if I deviate from that path, I’ll be going into the terrifying unknown?
But you’re not happy, are you? She wouldn’t want that, Mac. You know it.
“Get out of my head.” I grind the words between my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut. But he’s still there, gorgeous, sexy,condemning.
He has no right to judge me. I feed the spark of resentment that flares into a brief, acidic glow, but it’s no use. It fades and dies, leaving me chilled both inside and out.
Despite my delusional insistence that our fling was only a casual fuck-buddy arrangement, I always knew it was going to be hell when it ended.Sometimes I hate being right.
There was never any chance we’d stay friends afterward. But now, I’m not sure I’ll even be able to keep up the masquerade I’ve perfected over the last two years.
I wrap my arms around my legs, and my head drops to my knees.Not going to cry.But my eyes water, anyway, scalding my cheeks.Sod it…
“Mackenzie, sweetheart.” Dad’s alarmed voice penetrates my stuffed-up head, and I turn away, so he can’t see my red eyes. I hate being caught snuffling. He wasn’t due back for another couple of hours.Please don’t let Margo be with him.
He drags Mum’s chair from behind her desk and sits right in front of me and takes my hand. My nose twitches, and it’s no use. I give a big, pathetic sniff.
“Talk to me,” he says softly, and I have the terrible urge to do just that. Tell himeverything. But I can’t.
Why not?
I hitch in a ragged breath, but it doesn’t make that question disappear. I can’t tell him the truth because…
Because I’ve never really told him anything since Mum died.
The truth slams through me, an icy, prickly realization of how little I confide in him. I’ve always told my friends how close my family is. How we pull together. All that shit. But if I can’t tell my own dad what a fucked-up mess I’ve made of things, what does that say about my so-called tight-knit family?
He’ll be devastated.
More devastated than if he finds out the truth years from now?
He won’t find out.If I never tell him, how could he?
You’re just going to carry on living a lie?
“I’m…” The words lock in my throat. I drop my gaze to my knees where he’s holding my hand, so I don’t witness the regret in his eyes. “I’m not sure medicine is for me.”
I literally hold my breath as my stomach churns, waiting for his response. His fingers tighten around mine, and I brace myself for his disappointment.
“I’ve wondered that for a while. I didn’t know how to ask you about it.”
