Cassidy dismissed Marge’s words. Of course, the dynamic between her and Mac wasn’t about a dock. It was about her own stupid decision to approach him in the middle of the night asking for—how had he put it?—attention and affection.
Bastard.
Asshole.
Prick.
Hadn’t they gotten beyond that?Just to be clear, they’d had that conversation. He blamed her and her emotions for rejecting her, certain his cock would be too much for her, that she’d fall in love with him.
So why did he think it was fair game to throw it back in her face again?
Her continued obsessing over it the next morning as she sat outside the coffee shop, licking oatmeal off the spoon, should have told her something.Mac Boyerwasn’t who she should be thinking about; she should be concentrating on herself.
And she was. She’d started keeping a food diary, and doing yoga, laughing when Fred would get in her face, concerned with her contortions. She maintained her schedule of every-other-morning coffee shop runs, her job at the bar, and gardening. She took the boat out to relax, soak up the sun and swim while Fred worried from the deck.
But she’d also listened at night for more screams. She’d been relieved when they didn’t come.
After researching polytrauma and realizing there was a lot out there with little information, she could only conclude that of what she’d read, Jason had already pretty much told her. She’d started looking at the individual traumas she knew about, TBI, the burns, and the PTSD. But, as the polytrauma pages had already summed up: no two individuals were the same. And he was in constant pain as a result of his injuries, both physically and mentally.
Mac didn’t fit the image of anything she read, but she didn’t know him that well. She’d seen his scars, and she heard his dreams once. So, in pain? Clearly. But he hid it well. Or did he? She wasn’t in a position to judge how another person coped, but his overall personality… She only had Jason’s word that he wasn’t the same person now, but what did that mean? Maybe he’d been a drunken womanizing asshole before he was injured; Jason could have been talking ancient history.
Thinking about Mac conjured the man. Fred started panting in excitement and wriggling under the table. Cassidy didn’t raise her head but searched the vicinity from hooded eyes. He was exiting the laundromat a couple of blocks over, bag over his shoulder. He stopped, studying her.
She hadn’t seen him since the Trading Post. He hadn’t tried to track her down. But now he’d noticed her. If he started toward her, would she try to make a break for it across the street? Her eyes darted in that direction, gauging.
When she looked back, he returned his gaze to her from judging the same distance, clearly assuming she would. Reaching up, he flicked down his sunglasses and turned, walking away.
Cassidy relaxed, but in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help wondering: if she ran, would he have chased?
Chapter twenty-five
Cassidy
YOU RUIN EVERYTHING
CassidyhustledFredontothe boat and headed to work. The local team was winning for the first time in a long time. Jemma, Sarah, and Darlene couldn’t keep up, and Sarah was complaining about going home because she had pulled a double shift.
She’d having found a team jersey of Elijah’s buried in the closet; it was long enough on her to be a mini-dress, gracing her mid-thigh, so she slid on a pair of lycra shorts beneath it. If she bent over, she wouldn’t be giving anyone a show. She wore regular tennis shoes since tonight sounded like it would be a busy one.
Shoving her hair into a team hat with her hair sticking out the back clasp, she was done. Themed-up and ready for the night.
At the Trading Post, she and Marge packed a bag and a box full of frozen foods—Darlene’s request for reinforcements. It was a challenge, but Cassidy assured Marge that she could handle it; she’d only be going a few blocks.
Closer to The Northern, she heard her name. Looking over her shoulder awkwardly, she pressed the box against the wall. She was beginning to sweat from the exertion in the afternoon sun despite the cool air. She saw David, the guy from the next county over, hurrying down the street toward her. “Hey, David.”
“Hold up there, gal, I’ll help ya out,” he called down the block to her. He started to semi-jog in his faded, loose jeans and boots, his wallet chain jiggling. The team T-shirt was out of place on him, even under his well-worn denim jacket.
Cassidy laughed, calling back, “My hero,” as she waited for him to approach.
David grabbed the box from her. “Sorry I didn’t see you sooner.”
“Hey, better late than never; thank you,” she assured him as they continued their way to the bar.
“They out of food?” he asked, looking at the contents.
“I think these are reserves, just in case. Dar called me in. Apparently with the game, everyone’s gotten real thirsty.” They reached the door, and she opened it, looking back down the street.
Just then, Mac rounded the corner from the parking lot. His gaze darted from where her shirt ended to the man next to her, for whom she was holding the door. His expression was impassible.