I Have Lived and I Have Loved - Willow Winters Page 0,5

okay, Mackenzie.”

Me too.

She gave Ryan a pointed look, jerking her eyes to a stuffed rhino on his desk. A red light blinked in its nose.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah, Mom.”

“Good night, both of you.”

The next morning, I ventured to the kitchen for the first time and found it filled with an uncomfortable tension. They could have been sitting in silence before I showed up, but I doubted it. I didn’t need Robbie to decipher who’d been the subject of conversation two seconds before my arrival. It was one of those scenes where you walk in and know they were talking about you.

Mrs. Jensen was at the counter, making coffee. Peach sat at the table, and a middle-aged lady—I assumed their maid or something—placed Cheerios in front of her. I had to stop and take that in. A maid. And she was wearing a blue dress with a white apron over the top of it.

These people didn’t just have house staff; they had house staff in uniform. That was, like, a whole other level. Wealthy rich. That was what Willow would’ve said, and she was right. She was always right.

“Mackenzie.” Mrs. Jensen sounded breathless. Her cheeks flushed a little, and she smoothed a hand down her hair. “How are you? You slept well?”

I had, and I glanced over at Ryan, who was coming in from outside. A warm breeze came with him. Seeing me, he paused with his hand still on the door’s handle. His mouth formed an O, and he gripped a basketball in his other hand.

“Hey!”

Peach made a sound. I registered it in the back of my mind, but I ignored it. I could hear the disapproval in her voice, and I already knew who Peach’s friends would be at school. She’d run with the snooty girls—mean, catty, and looking down their noses at peeps beneath them. Those types of girls. And in other words, most definitely not my type.

“Hey.” I gave a brief wave, glancing to the side.

Robbie sat next to Peach, and he lifted his hand to wave before it dropped back to his lap. I noticed the toast in front of him, how it was untouched. My gaze skirted away. I didn’t want to see the sadness or bags under my little brother’s eyes. I didn’t want to remember why.

“Uh, how about a seat, Mackenzie?” Mrs. Jensen extended an arm to a chair across from Peach.

I took the chair next to that, across from my brother instead.

She cleared her throat, holding a cup of coffee tightly right in front of her chest as if it were protecting her. “Toast, Mackenzie? Rose could get you some.”

In the next moment, I had a piece of buttered toast in front of me, but I couldn’t touch it. Peach circled her spoon in her bowl of Cheerios. She was glaring at me with a hint of confusion.

I lifted an eyebrow. “Yes?”

She dropped her gaze but still circled her spoon around her bowl.

Ryan dropped into the chair at the end of the table between my brother and me so he was facing the kitchen.

Both Mrs. Jensen and Rose fussed over him. What kind of cereal did he want? Oh, he didn’t want cereal. Toast? Bacon? Wait, Rose could whip up some pancakes. Not pancakes? French toast, then? After the fifth question, Ryan got up and poured his own bowl of cereal, rolling his eyes as he started back to his chair.

“Mil—” His mom started to suggest, but he’d already grabbed it and poured a hefty glug into his bowl.

“Knock it off, Mom,” he grumbled, hunching over his bowl. “Fuss over Peach. She actually likes it.”

“I do not.”

He shot her a look, his spoon poised in front of him. “You do too. The whole spoiled thing works for you. You love it.”

She transferred her glare to him, giving me a respite. “You’re such a jerk sometimes.”

A cocky grin spread over his face. “Sometimes? I heard you on the phone with Erin. I thought it was always?”

Her eyes got big, and she slammed a hand down on the table. “Stop listening to my calls!” Her head whipped around. “Mom!”

Ryan shrugged. “Not my fault your voice carries through the entire house. Close your door next time.” He rolled his eyes. “Might help, genius.”

“Okay, you two. Stop it.” Their mother decided to wade in, sitting at the head of the table. Her coffee remained gripped with both hands. A frozen yet polite smile appeared as she turned to me. “Mackenzie, you