Page 63 of Versions Of Us

“Guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” While it annoys me that he won’t be more transparent with me, I can respect him for maintaining Mackenzie’s privacy. “Can you at least tell me what happened yesterday?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but when he closes it again, I know I’ve pushed too far. Whatever is causing his anxiety is still too raw for him to revisit.

“I can’t talk about that either,” he rasps.

Something about the way he says it tells me it’s not his choice to keep it a secret.

I nod, climbing out of the canoe. “If you ever feel like you can, you know where to find me.”

I walk back the way I came, only daring to glance back once. He hasn’t moved from his position in the canoe. He’s still hunched over himself, his head held up by his hands, the sun casting him in silhouette.

The picture of a broken man.

Chapter 27

HENLEY

It’s just after three in the afternoon. That quiet moment in between the lunch rush and happy hour. I used to find this part of the day boring, having to do mundane tasks like washing glassware and dishes and mopping tables down.

Now, I welcome it like a breath of fresh air. It’s when I’m able to take a break from the masses of people that flock into the bar on the regular, a respite from the rumbling of voices and clatter of boots on the hardwood floors. I never use to be so sensitive to crowds and noise.

Things change, I guess.

Kristen wants answers. I get that. But she can’t see what I see. A violent hurricane of memories that swirls through my head, raw and crippling. She doesn’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re stuck in a life that isn’t your own.

How the hell am I supposed to explain to her that most days I’m not really living?

That I’m barely surviving?

A group of women leave the table by the window, and I wander over to clear their plates. I glance outside, suddenly distracted by the vibrant shine of honey blonde hair in the sunlight.

Mackenzie crosses the road toward the tavern, her face crumpled with sadness. She lifts a hand to her cheek, presumably wiping at tears, and drops her gaze down to the ground. Seeing her upset always puts me on edge and lately it’s happening all too often. I push through the tavern’s door and race in her direction.

“Mackenzie!” I call.

She doesn’t turn around. Her footsteps quicken on the pavement but I’m faster. I reach her, stepping into her path and blocking her from running away from me.

“Mackenzie, what’s going on?” I ask, steadying her by the shoulders.

She shakes her head in frustration as more tears stream from her eyes. A ball of dread forms in the pit of my stomach when I see the brand-new iPhone she cradles in her hand. My mind goes to the worst possible scenario.

“He didn’t call you, did he?” I ask her.

Logically, I know it would be impossible. She has a new number now. But that’s the thing about anxiety.

It’s never rational.

“No,” she sobs, swiping at her cheeks.

“Then what is it? Please tell me what’s going on,” I plead with her, my hands still gripping her shoulders.

I hate seeing her so distraught. My insides are hollow knowing there’s nothing I can do to make things better for her right now. Nothing I can do to ease her worries.

“Nothing.” She shakes her head in frustration.

“Okay,” I say, taking a few steps back from her.

I don’t believe her, but I don’t want to push her too hard for answers. I’ve done that in the past and it only ended in her storming away and both of us feeling even worse.

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