“I’m nice,” Mac says. “At least I was trying to be.” He furrows his brow. “I knew you hadn’t taken care of your car this past week because you’ve been taking care of Daisy. So I called Franklin. I thought you’d be happy to have this handled for you.” I splay my hands. “Do I look happy?” “No.” He folds his arms across his chest. “You definitely do not.” My pulse races. This all feels too familiar—having someone else try to handle my life for me. “Here’s the thing, Mac.” Inhale. Exhale. Breathe, Brooke. “I don’t need you—or anyone else—to fix things for me. Not my car. Or my life.”
Ohhhh boy...
