“Liv, he’s so worried. He’s going crazy.”

“I—”

Thea answered at the last second. She didn’t bother with a greeting. “She’s here.”

Mack raced inside Thea’s house, his face stormy and his voice thunderous. He ignored Thea, palmed the back of Liv’s head, and crushed his mouth onto hers.

He pulled back just enough to rest his brow on hers. “Do you have any fucking idea how worried I’ve been?”

A squeak from near the stairs was his first indication of Thea’s presence.

“I’m going to just, uh, go upstairs, I think, and let you guys talk,” Thea said. Her feet beat a soft staccato up the stairs.

Mack ignored her as his scattered thoughts cataloged Liv’s appearance like puzzle pieces he couldn’t fit together. Red dress. Soul-shattering curves. Curly hair long and loose atop bare shoulders.

Eyes that had once gazed upon him with passion now stared with betrayal.

“Braden McRae,” she whispered.

His hands fell to his sides. “I don’t use that name anymore.”

“Why did you lie to me?”

Mack looked at the floor. “Because I’ve been lying to everyone for so long I didn’t know how to tell you the truth.” He lifted his gaze, and his heart shattered at her blank expression. “My father was an abusive alcoholic who used to beat my mother. Us too. My brother and me. We weren’t spared.”

A tear slipped down Liv’s cheek. “Oh, Mack. I’m sorry.”

Mack dragged a hand over his hair. “One night he got in a fight at a bar, and he killed a man. No remorse. Just nothing but anger. And then he came home and continued to take it out on her.”

His voice cracked, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t, not until she knew everything. “The thing is, I was there when it happened. And I didn’t do anything. I was too scared to protect her. I grabbed my little brother and hid in the fucking closet like a goddamned coward until it was over, and by then, it was too late. I thought she was dead when I found her.”

Tears dripped from her chin. He wondered if she even knew she was crying.

“You asked me why I started reading romance.”

She nodded, sniffling.

“It was when she was in the hospital. I found one in the waiting room while she was in surgery.” He looked at Liv, but he didn’t really see her. His brain and mouth were no longer connected. The whole world wavered like he’d been dropped into the deep end of a pool. Everything was murky, thick, confusing. “I loved those stories. Not because of the sex, although”—he managed a sad laugh—“they really did teach me everything I know. I loved them because good people always won in those books. Men were always heroic, and if they weren’t, they got what was coming to them. Always.”

He shook his head. “I changed my name when I was eighteen. Legally. I didn’t want anything connected to him.”

Liv rose and walked toward him. He wanted to grab her and hold her, but her body language screamed KEEP AWAY.

“Braden,” she whispered.

His heart skipped at the sound of his real name on her lips.

“I’m so sorry you went through all that.”

“I should have told you,” he said, voice thick.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I—”

“You had so many chances to tell me,” she said, her voice getting stronger. “How many times did we talk about your father? You lied to my face.”

“We barely knew each other at first, Liv. Why would I tell you something that I’ve been lying about to everyone for years?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Her face became a mask of calm certainty. “You’re right,” she said. “We barely knew each other. Maybe we still don’t. Which is why this entire thing between us has been crazy. But that’s all it was. A crazy little fling, and now—”

Mack shook his head. “Don’t say it.”

“Maybe it’s best that we just end it now.”

Pain sliced through him as sharply as if she’d stabbed in the chest. “Why? Nothing has changed. Nothing. My name doesn’t change the fact that I have never felt like this before.”

She waved a hand, sarcasm taking over like a suit of armor. “You’ll get over it. Next week someone else will drop a cupcake in your lap.”

“Knock it off with the bullshit. It’s childish.”

Her face flashed with shame.

He turned around and laced his hands on top of his head. The floor wavered before his gaze. “I’m just a man with a heart,” he said, turning back around. “Whether my name is Braden Mack or Braden McRae. I’m just a man with a heart, and you’re breaking it.”

“I can’t do this,” she whispered, sinking onto the couch.

“You think this is easy for me?” He dropped to his knees in front of her. “I’m scared shitless right now because I have no idea what that look on your face means. And after what we’ve shared, if you kicked me out right now, I’m not sure I’d recover.”

Cupping the back of her head, he forced her to look at him. “Give me a chance. Please.”

Her gaze locked with his, challenging him.

His hand moved around to her cheek.

“I never planned on you,” she said.

“I never planned on you either,” he said, his voice low and husky. “But we can figure this out. We can make this work. I’ll never lie to you again about anything. Just trust me.”

And that’s when he lost her.

Her face went slack. Her eyes went blank. She pulled away from. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

Mack barely felt his body as he stood. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“It doesn’t matter. This will always be between us. I’ll always be wondering if you’re telling me the truth.”

Mack went numb. “I’m not your father, Liv.”

Her eyes went dark. “And I’m not the princess from your romance novels. This is one story that’s not going to have a happy ending.”

Mack didn’t remember leaving. Didn’t remember driving his car. Didn’t remember anything except sitting in his driveway.

There was no happy ending for him. There never would be.

And he was a fucking fool for ever believing there could be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

For the first time in her life, Liv was grateful to be unemployed with zero responsibilities.

The next morning, Thea drove Liv back to the farm, where Liv immediately climbed into bed. She stayed there all day with the blankets over her head and a box of tissues at the ready. She rose three times to pee and one time to tip the crumbs from a bag of Doritos down her throat. Shortly after seven that night, Rosie knocked quietly on her bedroom door and told her she’d left tuna noodle casserole on the table.

It was still there, uneaten and cold, the next morning when Liv got up in search of some pain medication for the headache that had developed in the middle of the night. Guilt added to the pounding in her head. She should have at least acknowledged Rosie last night, thanked her for the food and for letting her neglect her farm duties yesterday.

Liv dragged her fingers through her tangled hair, grimacing when she discovered a massive rat’s nest in the far back. God, she needed to get her shit together. This was why she hated crying. Because once she started, she couldn’t stop, and what a useless waste of time. She’d lost an entire day of her life crying over him.

And no, she didn’t feel better. She felt worse.

She didn’t feel cleansed. She felt hungover.

And she didn’t feel refreshed or whatever other self-help bullshit emotion she was supposed to feel after a good cry. No. She felt like a dirty Raggedy Ann doll hanging on by a few thin threads after being dragged through a mud puddle and tossed around by a dog.

Because something had broken inside her. Mack had broken something inside her. And maybe that, above all else, was the thing she hated him for.

She threw her hair in a ponytail, splashed some water on her face—scrubbing for a moment at the orange stains on the corners of her mouth. Then she changed into fresh clothes and opened the door to her apartment for the first time in hours.

She paused on the stairs to see whether the world felt different. But nope. She was greeted by the same sounds as any other day. Randy squawked in his tree. The goats bleated. Move along, the world seemed to say. Nothing to see here. Just a girl with a broken heart and a lesson learned.

There were only two eggs in the nesting boxes, and a dusting of feed on the ground told her Rosie had already tended to the hens. A surge of determination straightened her spine. This was officially the last day Rosie would have to pick up the slack for her.

She marched into the house, planted her hands on her hips, and got ready to say just that to Rosie. But she didn’t get a word out because Rosie turned from the sink, titled her head, and said, “Oh, honey. I promise it will get better.”

And, goddammit, the tears started again. Liv let out an argh and stomped to the sink. “I am so fucking sick of this.”

She splashed more water on her face. Rosie rubbed a slow circle in the center of her back. “Hungry?”

“Is there any tuna noodle casserole left?”

“Got a plate waiting in the fridge for you. Sit down. I’ll heat it up.”

Liv thought about protesting and saying she could do it herself, but she was out of energy again. Rosie puttered unobtrusively around the kitchen as Liv shoveled hefty forkfuls into her mouth. When her plate was clean, Rosie wordlessly took it away and rinsed it in the sink.

“I made chocolate pie too,” Rosie said, her back to Liv.

Guilt clanged again against her temples. “I’m sorry about last night,” Liv said.

Rosie looked over her shoulder, confusion tugging her brows together. “What do you mean?”

“I ignored you when you brought me food. And you had to do all my chores.”