Page 34 of Naked Coffee Guy
“Back off, fucker, or I’ll beat the shit out of you. Then I’ll call the cops for supplying a minor with alcohol. Fuck knows what else you were planning on doing with an underage girl.”
He pushes hard, and the guy coughs and gasps for breath as soon as Mac releases him.
“We weren’t doing nothing but hanging out,” another guy mutters, but loud enough that Mac swings at him, catching him in the chin.
“Leave them alone,” Lydia screams, finally finding words as the guys take off running, leaving her with us.
“Why, so they can finish getting you fucked up before they rape you?”
Lydia pulls away from me, rubbing at her arm as if I’ve done more harm to her than those bastards. “They’re my friends. But I guess a whore like you wouldn’t understand.”
“Don’t talk to her that way,” Mac intervenes, his face twisted in an angry scowl as he shakes out his hand. “Who is this twit, anyway?”
“She’s my sister.”
“You are not my sister.” Lydia stumbles, and I catch her before she falls. She yanks her arm from me again. “You’re a fucking stranger who probably stalked me here so you can get money from me.”
I know she’s saying things to get under my skin. And it’s working. Every word she throws at me, every sneer, is like a punch to the gut. I hear my father. I wonder what he’s told her in the years I’ve been gone.
“Your sister is the bravest and strongest woman I know,” Mac says, “and she just saved your ass from what those guys were going to do to you.”
“They weren’t going to do anything. We were just having some fun.”
I bark out a laugh, “And Dad would have no problem seeing you like this?”
She doesn’t have a chance to shoot me another sarcastic remark, because suddenly she’s bent at the waist, puking all over the street. I jump back to avoid the splash zone, but then quickly maneuver around her so I can pull her hair back.
“I’ll get the car,” Mac says, and I look up, catching his eye. I’m overwhelmed at how grateful I am that he’s here with me. As furious as I am with Lydia, reality is starting to catch up with me. Lydia wasn’t lying when she called me a stranger. She doesn’t know me; she only knows the picture my father has painted of me. Now I have to deliver her back to the lion’s den and face my father’s rejection once again.
“Thank you,” I say, and Mac nods before trotting off in the direction of the car.
By the time he returns, Lydia has puked half her weight on the street and is now leaning against a wall with her eyes closed, moaning periodically.
Mac pulls up in a Jaguar, panther black with silver details and shiny rims, which still smells like new leather when he opens the door. It’s another reminder how different our worlds are, along with a stab in the gut that someone like him could not possibly be interested in someone like me.
Imagine if he knew I lived in the Beale Street apartments, with its mildew scent and dark spots on the ceiling. That it was a huge step up from my life before, that this is the progress I’ve made while he sleeps between thousand-dollar sheets. It’s one thing for him to know where I came from. It’s something else for him to know I’ve only come this far. If he knew I lived in that teardown apartment, he’d really know how different we were. My ego, more than anything, can’t risk this.
“I’m sorry if she pukes in your car,” I murmur as Mac lifts her up. Lydia keeps her eyes closed, moaning as he places her in the backseat. He buckles her in, but she slumps over, lying on the bench seat as if it were a bed.
“I’ll let you help me clean it if she does,” he says, followed by a wink. He opens the door for me and I slide into the passenger seat.
It’s like an out of body experience as I direct Mac to my parents’ home. It feels both familiar and strange as I navigate through streets that grow more recognizable with each turn. Then we’re on the same street, and my heart is pounding as he slows in front of the house I once called home.
“Breathe, Maren,” Mac says, taking my hand and stroking the back of it.
The night I met Mac on the top of Torches, wearing the glass of wine I never drank, I revealed more about myself than I ever had to anyone. Beyond Claire, that is. There was something about Mac that made it easy to let my guard down, and before I knew it, I was telling him all about my fucked up past and how it cost me my family.
The way he’s holding my hand now, I’m sure he can see the tempest brewing inside me. I hadn’t even known I was holding my breath, or that I was crying. He wipes my tears with his thumb, then cups my face as he looks into my eyes.
For a moment, I’m tempted to ask him to come with me as I deliver my sister. But as much as I fear my father’s wrath, it will be worse for Mac. There’s no way my father will see anything but malice if some strange guy came in carrying his drunk daughter.
It has to be me.
“Wait here,” I say, moving from Mac’s protecting hand. His jaw pulses, and he pauses like he’s going to say something. But he finally nods.
I leave the safety of my seat, opening the back door. My sister is still slumped over, and she moans as I unbuckle her seatbelt.
“Lydia, you have to get up, I can’t carry you.” I tug at her until she finally pulls herself into a sitting position. When she opens her eyes, I can see it’s a struggle.