Page 72 of Versions Of Us

“Okay,” she replies timidly.

“What are you going to do today? Do you have plans?”

“Not really,” she replies. “I was just going to go down to the library and see if I can use the computers there to print off a proper resume.”

“Oh,” I say. “You don’t have to go to the library for that. You can use my laptop. I don’t have a printer, but my mum does so we can go over there and print as many copies as you need.”

Mackenzie looks reluctant. “I don’t know. Are you sure your mum wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not. I print things out at her place all the time. She lives over the other side of the bridge by the river.” I glance at my watch. Chase will be here any minute. I throw back the last of my coffee and walk the cup to the sink, rinsing it quickly under the tap. “If you pull out the top drawer of that desk over there, my laptop should be inside.”

She wanders over to the desk. The top drawer creaks as she slides it out and lifts the computer from it. Something must catch her eye because she stalls, her focus on something beneath it. I watch as she pulls out a small photograph with dog-eared corners.

“Is this you?” she asks.

I pull my hands from the water, wiping them with the dish towel and hastily move to where she hovers above the desk. I peer over her shoulder at the photograph she holds delicately between her fingers, at the image of me, a chubby four-year-old in a navy and white sailor dress. My father, dressed in an expensive white, linen shirt wraps his arms lovingly around my waist, holding me up against a backdrop of crystal-clear Mediterranean Sea, a perfect white smile lighting up his tanned face. It depicts another time.

Another life.

“You used to be blonde,” Mackenzie states.

“When I was little, yeah.”

“And this is your dad.” A crease forms between her brows, but her eyes don’t leave the photograph. I’m not sure if I’m imagining the way her stare becomes glassy.

“Yeah. No,” I stutter. “I mean, biologically. He was my dad, but he hasn’t been a father to me for a really long time.”

I take the photo from her hands and toss it back into the drawer. Mackenzie’s gaze lingers on the stack of letters I keep inside of it.

One written for every birthday I’ve ever spent without my father.

All of them addressed to him. None of them ever to be sent.

Her nostrils flare temporarily, a gesture so small I almost miss it.

Chase’s horn beeps somewhere outside on the curb, shaking us both out of the moment. I abruptly slam the drawer shut, securing the photo and letters inside.

“I need to get going. The charger for the laptop is over there by the wall. The password is July20, capital J,” I explain.

I don’t mention this is Henley’s birthday and I have no idea if she knows him well enough to know that.

I rush out of the apartment and down the stairs, unsure of whether the intensity I’d felt in the room as Mackenzie’s stare had locked upon that photo was merely a fabrication in my mind, or if there is something else I’m missing. I make a mental note to ask her about her own family when I get home tonight.

Not that I think she will give me a straight answer.

Chapter 31

HENLEY

After a long deliberation, I decided to take EJ up on his offer to go and vent my frustration out on the new drum kit he and Liv bought for the music studio.

I regret it instantly when my presence is met with an arctic reception from Liv. I can’t blame her. Kristen is her best friend, and I blew it enormously. I’d expect nothing less from her than the ice-cold death stare she aims in my direction and the insults she mutters under her breath to EJ as I enter the room.

“Hey, Liv,” I say, uncomfortably scratching at my eyebrow.

“Hey,” is the only word that leaves her mouth before she heads out the back to the staircase that leads to their apartment upstairs.

“Sorry, man,” EJ winces.

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