He scowled. “Will you please just talk to me?”
“There’s nothing to say.”
“There are so many things that need to be said.”
I didn’t want to hear it.
And I didn’t want to be alone with him. To be accused, to be humiliated, and rejected again.
“I want out of the room,” I demanded, hating that my voice shook. “I want out of this room, so get out of my way.”
“For Christ’s sake, Arro, talk to—”
“I hate you!” I yelled, my hands shaking, knees trembling.
Mac paled, looking haggard. “Darlin’—”
“I am not your darlin’,” I gritted out. “I hate you. I hate how you made me feel that night. I hate I wasted years loving you. But for the sake of our family, I will pretend that the very sight of you doesn’t make me want to die inside. Now move out of my way before I scream bloody murder and ruin my brother’s wedding.”
Squeezing his eyes closed, Mac took a few steps away from the door, and I hurried past him, afraid he’d reach out, afraid that he wouldn’t. How fucked up was that?
I yanked open the door and rushed into the corridor, pulling it closed behind me with a slam.
With a shuddering breath, I’d just stepped forward to walk away when I heard Mac bellow, “Fuck!” followed by the sound of something smashing.
I flinched, my heart hammering in my chest.
But I didn’t go back to see if he was all right.
I told myself I didn’t care.
And I walked away, this time of my own accord.
3
Mac
Shards of light were like sharp needles poking through my eyelids.
My head pounded.
Groaning, I was helpless against the brightness. It pried my heavy, aching lids open, and I muttered a string of curses as I blinked against the sunlight streaming in through the windows in Lachlan’s stage office.
What the hell?
The room swayed, nausea roiling within as I sat up from where I’d been sleeping on the couch. The stiff muscles in my neck ached. “How the … oh, fuck.” I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Elbows to knees, I cradled my head in my hands and tried to remember the night before.
It came back to me in a rush of images. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
No wonder I felt like hell.
I’d gotten absolutely shit-face blootered at the reception. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d drank that much whisky.
Yet it was the only way I knew how to get through my daughter’s wedding reception after that scene in this room. I stood up too fast, wondering why I’d returned to the office after that moment with Arro. My gaze narrowed on the shattered paperweight I’d launched at Lachlan’s bookshelves. Bloody Nora, I hoped it hadn’t been expensive, because it was coming out of my paycheck.
I had to get out of this room. I couldn’t think about her.
Her expression—the pain, the fury, the humiliation—flashed across my vision, and I almost threw up right there. Resting a hand on the couch, I drew in a shuddering breath and gathered myself.