Page 134 of Protecting What's Mine

They bundled Tyrone into the chief’s vehicle, packed a bag of whatever a seven-year-old considered essential to a grandpa—including corduroy pants, the TV remote, and Tyrone’s favorite stuffed bear—and delivered boy and bag to the hospital.

Tyrone’s mom, Leroy’s daughter, was already there. Mascara running down her cheeks, she hugged each one of them extra hard. They waited with her for an hour.

A nurse popped down with good news from the OR. Minimal damage to the heart muscle. The surgeon was putting in a stent and confident in a full recovery. Tyrone’s mom burst into tears, and Mack assured the boy they were happy tears.

This time, it was Linc driving an exhausted, sore Mackenzie home from the hospital.

“Pizza,” she said, her eyes closed, head resting against the seat. “Beer. A hot bath.”

“TV,” Linc added.

“Dog,” they said together.

“This was a very good end to what was a questionable day,” she sighed, stretching her arms toward the dashboard.

Later that night, after beer, pizza, bath, and dog snuggles, they curled together on Linc’s big bed. Her back pressed up against his front. His arm anchoring her to him.

He waited until her breaths slowed. And when he was sure she was sound asleep, he nuzzled into her neck.

“I’m so fucking in love with you, Mackenzie O’Neil.”

44

Mack wasn’t sure exactly what she was expecting when she opened her back door. But it wasn’t seven kids dressed as everything from a robot to a franchise princess to some kind of death zombie murdery ghoul. Sunshine was wearing a sparkly tutu and fake pearl necklace. Her cloth tiara was already under her chin.

Linc was in tights. She meant to check out the rest of his costume, but the tights were almost inappropriately highlighting his anatomy.

He cleared his throat, and she reluctantly dragged her gaze away from his crotch. Superman. Of course he was dressed as Superman.

“Happy Halloween,” the kids chorused.

“Happy Halloween, guys,” she said. “Candy’s out front.”

“We’re not here for candy,” Samantha announced, all business.

“Yeah! We’re picking you up for twick or tweat!” Griffin said, busting a move in his Darth Vader garb.

Mack felt her mouth fall open to form a perfect O.

“Where are your parents?” she asked finally.

“Our moms are at Uncle Chief Linc’s,” cloaked vampire Mikey explained. “Our dads are painting our living room. It’s tradition.”

“Us guys lost a bet five years ago. So every Halloween, my sisters order pizza and drink too much wine at my place while handing out candy. My brothers-in-law tackle one home improvement project—while drinking too much beer—and I escort these monsters around town,” Linc explained. At least, she thought it was Linc, but she was staring at his crotch again and couldn’t be sure.

“We’re bringing the wagon to pull you if you get tired,” robot Brandon promised earnestly.

“You said she’d say yes if we didn’t give her any time to think about it,” Bryson complained to Linc.

Linc shoved the kid off the step and into a bush. The rest of the kids laughed. “Don’t listen to him. And don’t think about it. Just say yes and put this on.” He tossed a shopping tote at her.

Mack peered inside. “No way. Absolutely not.”

“Kids. Deploy sad faces,” Linc ordered with a snap of his fingers.

Six pairs of pathetic eyes stared up at her. Seven if she counted Sunshine’s. Eight if she counted Bryson’s face peering up from the depths of the bush.

“I’m not wearing this,” she told Linc.