Page 61 of The Player's Club

Something else niggled in the back of my brain. Mac had never told me when he’d started sleeping with Caroline, but I’d always assumed he’d been at least eighteen.

But what if he’d been younger? That would totally change things. My gut twisted at the thought. It was one thing if Mac had been an adult . . . another if Caroline had abused a child who should’ve been able to trust her.

I must’ve fallen back asleep because the next thing I knew, Mac was standing over me. I was so startled that I nearly had a heart attack.

“It’s me,” he said. One hand covered my mouth, stopping me from screaming. “I’m sorry. I needed to see you.”

I’d given Mac a key to my place a few days before, but I’d never imagined he’d use it. Not yet, at least.

I sat up, my heart pounding so hard that I had to take a few deep breaths. “Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of me.”

He winced, then sat down, his expression grim. He looked exhausted, and his face was black and blue. When I touched his cheek, he winced again.

“Let me get you some ice,” I said, hurrying to the kitchen before he could stop me.

I handed him an ice pack wrapped in a towel. When he didn’t use it, I pressed the ice to his face myself.

“Ow, Jesus, Elodie. Not so hard,” he complained.

“Then you hold it.”

He did, his gaze amused now. “I never knew you could be so bossy.”

“I can when you get into stupid fistfights outside of a hospital. And why didn’t you return my calls? I was worried about you. You should probably go back to a hospital. What if you have a concussion—”

He took my hand and shushed me. “I’m fine. It’s just a bruise. My nose isn’t broken. And believe me, I know what that feels like.”

We sat in silence for a while longer. Mac finally lowered the ice pack and handed it back to me.

“Are you okay?” I asked quietly.

He leaned against the couch. “No,” was his honest answer.

“You went to see Caroline.”

He nodded.

“And her husband punched you.”

He nodded again.

“Mac . . .”

He held up a hand. “If you’re just going to lecture me, then I’ll go home.”

I bit my lip. I didn’t want to lecture him. I wanted him to be honest. I also wanted to know the truth about his relationship with Caroline. But would he ever admit that what she’d done to him was messed up?

“How was she?” I asked finally, deciding that was probably the most appropriate question to start with, given the circumstances.

“Dying. She’s fucking dying. She looked like a skeleton. And then she . . .” Mac hesitated. “Never mind.”

Never mind? He clearly didn’t understand how invested I was in this situation.

“Tell me,” I insisted.

He sat up, folding his hands together. “She told me she still loved me. That she’d always loved me.”

His words were like a punch to the gut. At that moment, I hated Caroline Bradford. Why did she have to keep haunting Mac like this? Why couldn’t she leave the poor man in peace?