Page 72 of Replay
“Christ!” I scream and see an orange furry ball bolt for the master bedroom. I turn on my heel to see Mac sitting in the living room on the sofa, dressed in his suit for work already. “Mac, my God. I didn’t see you there.”
“You were too busy trying to sneak in.” He grips the arms of the sofa firmly, showing zero signs of amusement on his face. Very un-Mac-like.
My brows furrow. “I was just trying to be quiet because I assumed you’d still be sleeping.”
“Where were you?” he asks, his eyes hitting mine with a severe look in them that I don’t like.
I push back my wild hair that hasn’t been brushed yet. “I stayed at a friend’s flat.”
“Which friend?” He tilts his head and eyes me harshly, which has my defences going right up.
“What’s with the interview?” I ask, propping my hands on my hips because Mac isn’t my father.
“Why are you avoiding the question?” he volleys back.
“Because I want to know why it’s being asked,” I reply firmly.
Mac’s eyes narrow. “Tilly, I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to be dead honest with me.”
I exhale the pressure in my chest, certain I know where this is going and ready for it now more than ever. “Very well. Ask then.”
“Are you drinking again?” he croaks, his voice raw with emotion that shocks me to my core.
“What?” I nearly gasp.
“Are you drinking? Be honest.” His nostrils flare with determination.
“Mac.”
“Just tell me,” he snaps, his hand balling into a fist. “We can deal with this together.”
I shake my head and rush over to the sofa to sit down beside him. I press my hands firmly on top of his and look him square in the eyes. “Mac, I promise you, I am not drinking again.”
His jaw muscle jumps. “Are you doing drugs?”
“No!” I exclaim. Sitting back, I feel hurt as irritation runs through every inch of my body. “Mac, what on earth is going on here?”
“Something’s not right with you, Tilly. I’m worried those awful friends you used to have are dragging you down. There’s been a change in you lately.”
“What kind of change?” I ask, my heart aching at this sense of distrust that my brother has in me.
“You’re gone more often, for one.”
“Am I not allowed to have a life of my own here?” I practically bark, sitting up straight and turning to face him. I’ve never once been drunk since I decided to quit drinking so for Mac to hit me like this out of nowhere is cruel and unfair. “I’m here for you and Freya and the baby, but even Freya’s restrictions have been lifted somewhat so you can’t say I’m even needed here as much as I was at first.”
“Of course you’re needed here,” he states seriously, his voice guttural and raw. “I need you.”
My lips part at his pained expression. “Mac.”
“I mean it, Tilly. I don’t want to lose you again. When you lived here in London while I was playing football, you were a fucking ghost.”
My eyes well with tears as my big, strong brother who never shows an ounce of emotion admits his fears.
“You showed no interest in my matches even though I always reserved tickets for you. You’d show up at footballer events pissed out of your mind. Then you get pregnant and tell us fuck all about who the bastard was that did that to you. I’m not letting you go down that path again. I’ll fucking lock you up and throw away the key to make you see sense if I have to.”
“Mac,” I growl, my voice garbled with unshed tears. “I’ve told you that I’m sorry for all of that.”
“I know that,” he huffs out angrily. “But fuck, Tilly. Cookie and I are having a baby, and I was just getting keen on the idea of you being a regular part of that wee one’s life.”
