Page 63 of Mace
“Yeah. She saved me. I was with her until I was old enough to patch in to the Sons. My mother was haunted by her demons. She used drink and drugs to just get through each day. It was all I knew until I was placed with Maggie. She was so different, and I was a shithead. I didn’t know how to be parented, and I made things pretty hard for her for a while.”
Tears prick my eyes. “I’m sorry you went through that.” I wonder what demons his mother had.
“Some kids just lose the parent lottery,” he says. “Were you close with your mum?”
A smile creeps onto my face as memories flood my mind. “Yeah, I was. She was the best. It was rough losing her, though towards the end, it felt almost like a relief to let her go. She was in so much pain and just a shell of the person she was.”
The waitress stops at our table, sliding two plates down. Her gaze wanders over Mace again like he’s a prime cut of meat, and I swear she thrusts out her boobs a little more.
I don’t blame her desperation to get noticed by him, even if I don’t like it.
Mace barely looks at her, muttering “Thank you” as he hands me cutlery wrapped in a napkin. As our fingers scrape over each other’s, a flutter works through my body, and the way his eyes darken makes everything but himdisappear. What do I care if the waitress is prettier, with better boobs than me? Mace isn’t looking at her. He’s magnetised to me.
I’ve never felt this much of a connection to anyone before. I didn’t know it was possible to feel this way. Dating and all the stuff that goes with it has never been something I had time for. And I have to admit I like the way it feels to have someone like Mace take an interest, even if it’s not real.
“Thank you.” The waitress scarpers off, and I’m alone with Mace again. My heart starts to race as warmth spreads through me. “And thank you for breakfast. It’s been a long time since I last did something that wasn’t work or teen drama.”
“Then I’m glad I could give this to you.”
Oh. There is that surge again inside me. At this rate, I’m going to combust before we’ve even started eating. I pick up my fork, digging in. The food is delicious, and the moment it hits my tongue, I let out a moan. Mace freezes, his eyes lifting to me, and again, that darkened look comes over him.
“Babe, you’re testing my resolve right now.”
What does that mean?Habit has me apologising, even though I’m not sure what for. “Sorry. It just tastes so good. I had no idea scrambled eggs could be this amazing. They sure aren’t like my scrambled eggs. Well, if you ask Toby, he’ll tell you I burn everything just ever so slightly. Not enough to be inedible, but just enough that it doesn’t quite taste right. Not that he’s a good cook—he’s more interested in playing his games—but I still think he’s better than me…” I trail off, realising that Mace is staring at me. “Sorry. I tend to ramble quite a lot.”
“You apologise more than you ramble,” he notes.
“I guess I’m just full of failings,” I say with a smile to take some of the sting out of the meaning.
He puts down his fork, steepling his fingers on the table as he stares at me. “I don’t see failings, Maylie. I see a young, competent woman who is selfless and kind. I see a woman struggling to make ends meet and who is willing to sacrifice to keep her family together. I seeyou.”
Those three words hit me like a bucket of ice. I don’t want to be seen, because if he truly sees me, he won’t think any of those things. I’m not competent. I’m failing in every way imaginable.
Despite those thoughts rolling through my head, I force a smile, plastering it on my face thicker than the makeup I wear for work. “Well, that’s terrifying.”
I push my food around with my fork, suddenly no longer hungry. Everything about my life is a front, a lie designed to make people believe things are not as bad as they are. For some reason, sharing that lie with Mace and letting him believe it sits in my gut like a rock.
“You don’t agree?” he asks.
I place my fork on the plate. “No, I don’t. You see what you think I am, Mace.”
“And who’s that?”
“A really good actress.” His brows come together. “I’m not kind or selfless. I’m sure as fuck not a hero. Every moment of my life is spent in turmoil because I swing between knowing this is the right thing to do and feeling this abject sadness that my life has never been mine. Even before my mother died, there was years of doctor appointments, chemo sessions, hospital admissions, all while taking care of my brother and sister andtrying to juggle school, which I failed spectacularly, by the way.
“I didn’t get to have a life, and you sitting there looking at me as if I have done this amazing thing… it’s not true. I wouldn’t change what I did, but I hate that I’m not the normal twenty-two-year-old girl, out there trying to find myself. I resent my mum for dying at times, and that’s the most evil thing I’ve ever thought, but it’s true. I wish she hadn’t left us. I wish I didn’t have to be a parent when my life was supposed to be starting. I shouldn’t be worried about paying the rent or if Toby is succeeding in school. I should be going for coffee with my friends, holidays to shitty party places, or…dating.” I say that last part quietly.
Again, I don’t know why I opened up to him like this. I’ve never expressed any of this to anyone. Not even Bella, who is the closest thing to a friend I have.
He’s going to look at me differently after saying this, but I couldn’t keep my silence and let him believe I’m some sort of saint. Given the choice, this is not the path I would have walked.
He leans back in his chair, scrunching up his napkin before tossing it on his almost empty plate. “So, you think because you have these feelings, that makes you a bad person? Do you know how angry I was at my mother for most of my life? I hated her for what she did, for choosing addiction over me. I hated that she wasn’t the mother I needed her to be. You’re not a bad person for wishing things were different, Maylie, but you are a good one for stepping up despite those feelings.”
Tears choke the back of my throat. No one has ever truly acknowledged me in this way before. Maybe he does see me.
I swear, when he looks at me, it’s as if he’s staring into my soul. And it feels exposing.
“So, knowing all that, can I convince you to change your mind about letting me dance? I wouldn’t take shifts from any of the girls who already work the stage, but if you could just throw me a couple of nights each week, I would really appreciate it.”