Resilient Rhythms Ebook

Chapter One
Mav
One Day Post Mckenna
“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging a hand over my face as I blink my eyes open.
It’s been six seconds since I regained consciousness after waking up and I feel her loss like a punch to the gut.
“I’m fucking over it,” Amelia’s shrill voice pierces through the closed guest bedroom door in her and my brother Jameson’s house. “It’s ridiculous!”
I heave out a sigh. What I wouldn’t give to hear Mckenna bitch at me.
That’s where I’m at.
I miss my wife—soon to be ex-wife—with an intensity that physically aches.
Wrapping an arm around my stomach, I turn onto my side and stare at the bedroom wall.
Maybe if I stare long enough, I’ll fall back to sleep and this nightmare will end?
Mckenna
Five Days Post Mav
“You have to shower,” Allegra says gently, tugging my arm from where it flops over the side of the bed.
“I have to do a lot of things,” I remark. My voice comes out wobbly, partly from emotion and partly from my cheek being smooshed into the pillow.
“Kenny,” Allegra sighs. And then, “I don’t even know what the hell to say. Just that for Mav to pull this shit…he’s hurting, too.”
“Is he?” I can’t keep the sarcasm from my tone.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I force myself to open my eyes. Allegra’s chocolate irises bore into mine. Sighing, I pull myself into a seated position and turn toward my friend. “I know he is. I’m just angry.”
“You should be.”
“I thought, after everything, that we would get through this. I mean, we got through fucking hell together. He never gave up on me. On us. Not even when I begged him to. And now, when I’m the one putting everything on the line, he cuts me loose?”
“It doesn’t make any sense,” she agrees. “I think he thinks he failed you.”
“He did!”
“Even before he gave you those divorce papers. He asked you to sign them because he doesn’t feel like he deserves to be your husband.”
“But that should be my choice,” I practically wail. I throw a hand in the air. “And that was always our issue. He thinks he knows best. He makes decisions and runs with them without considering my perspective on the matter. I would have stayed, A. I would have worked through it with him. Or, at the very least, tried like hell.” I roll my lips together, biting down to keep my tears at bay. “Fucking divorce papers.”
Allegra sighs, placing a hand on my forearm and squeezing. “I’m so damn sorry, Kenny.”
I shake my head and flop back onto the pillows lining my headboard. The headboard of my bed in Maverick’s brownstone. Except, Mav’s not here and like a sadist, I can’t bring myself to leave.
Allegra wrinkles her nose. “You should still shower.”
“I know.” But I don’t move to get up from my bed. I don’t move to do anything at all.

Mav
Seven Days Post Mckenna
I suck in a lungful of humid air as I descend the plane.
It doesn’t take long to gather my luggage, hop in the car waiting for me, and arrive at my home in Tamarindo, Costa Rica.
Paradise.
It’s the only property I own. The only space I’ve ever wanted to return to year after year. It’s just that part of me thought this year, I’d bring Mckenna with me.
I’d teach her how to surf at sunrise. She’d force me to do yoga on the beach and learn how to slow down, maybe even meditate. We’d drink mint tea on the balcony at night and point out the constellations in the sky.
“Get a fucking grip,” I warn myself.
It’s been a week without my beauty. Only seven days, and my brother and Amelia had enough of my moping ass. Deciding to get out of their hair, I left town. I need to get my head on straight.
I need to avoid the tug of drugs and alcohol and partying that grows stronger when I’m lost in my head. Lonely and angry and fucking heartbroken.
Of course, I could find trouble anywhere, just ask my brother. Or Mckenna.
But the familiarity of the party scene in Boston calls to me. It’s too easy to slip into bad habits. A change of scenery, of pace, of lifestyle is the first healthy step I’ve taken for myself since walking away from the woman I love.
Tossing my duffle bag on my bed, I stow my suitcase in the corner of my bedroom. Then, I change into a bathing suit, grab my favorite board from where I stored it in the living room, and head to the beach.
The sun beats down on my back, the rolling waves beckon me, and I suck in another breath. Cleansing and refreshing and centering.
Right now, this is what I need. This is the best way to move on from Mckenna Byrne and not end up in rehab.
Vitamin fucking sea. I used to laugh when people said stupid cliché shit like that, but right now, it hits deep. I could be a meme.
The cool water circles my ankles as I walk straight into the ocean, bodying my board to dip underneath a curling wave. I straddle the board and flip my chin toward the other surfers waiting in the lineup.
They mutter greetings in Spanish, but either no one recognizes me, which is a relief, or they’ve seen me around enough to not care, which is the scenario I prefer.
While news of Mckenna’s and my divorce hasn’t hit tabloids or social media channels, it’s only a matter of time. If I can lose myself here, at the beach, my mental health will be better for it.
A solid set rolls in and I wait my turn to drop into a wave.
As the board propels forward, a rush travels through my limbs. Adrenaline and joy eat some of the depression and anger that’s taken up residence in my bloodstream. I shift my weight, angling the nose of the board down, to pick up speed. Flying down the line, I smile.
My first real smile in over a week.
I’ll never truly get over Mckenna.
I know it. My bandmates know it. Hell, even my fans must know it.
But at least I’ll survive her.
I’ll survive this.

Mckenna
Nineteen Days Post Mav
“Girl, I am so damn proud of you,” Robyn says, hugging me tightly as I slip into the space beside her at the bar.
“Me? I’m proud of you! Student speaker at graduation.” I give her a little shake.
Robyn rolls her eyes. “I was surprised.”
“I wasn’t,” Emily pipes up, sandwiching me in between her and Robyn. She wraps an arm around my waist. “How are you holding up?”
I blow out a breath. “Okay. Not great.”
“Jesus, Kenny, you’ve had one hell of a year.” Robyn flags down the bartender and orders a round of drinks.
“Tell me about it,” I agree. “I’m ready to finish exams, graduate, and take the bar. It feels like the past three years have shaved off decades of my life.”
Emily snorts and bumps her hip against mine. “It’s behind you now. Focus on the future. There is so much waiting for you.”
“I hope so,” I murmur, smiling my thanks at Robyn as she passes me a drink.
The three of us make a toast and drink to passing the bar exam. But the prospect doesn’t fill me with the pride it once did. In fact, I don’t care nearly as much as I thought I would.
I miss Maverick. I miss our marriage. I miss…the life plan that I started to envision when I was with him.
Perspective truly is everything, and right now, I need to realign mine.

Mav
Thirty-Two Days Post Mckenna
Sand clings to the heels of my feet and the backs of my calves as I plop down on my board and shake water droplets from my hair. Heaving out a sigh, I brace one hand behind me as I look out over the water.
High tide is rolling in, the sun is dipping below the horizon, and the sky is burning orange and mellow yellow. A hint of a smile curls my lips as I exhale, relieved as fuck that I’m here instead of Boston.
Sure, the weather is thawing now that it’s April.
But I truly needed time and space away from the brownstone. The band. Mckenna.
Irony sure is a bitch because those two things—time and space—are exactly what she asked me for two measly months ago. Broke my damn heart to walk away from her but the thought became easier to stomach once I accepted that I was suffocating her. And self-destructing in the process.
A whirlwind bender, a stint in rehab, and starting therapy helped me see clearly. My wife, the love of my fucking life, was better off—healthier, happier, stronger—without me and my bullshit weighing her down.
Even now, knowing that she’s graduating from law school next month, fills me with pride. She’s an intelligent, passionate, ambitious woman who is going to do amazing things.
Setting her free was the right thing to do—for both of us.
I served her papers, she signed, and I ended up here, in my slice of peace and paradise.
It’s here, among the surf sets, sunrises, and sunsets, that I’ve nursed my broken heart, licked the wounds to my ego, and tried to get my feet back underneath me. It’s been weeks, and most days, I’m still struggling to survive. To fucking breathe.
The heartbreak in Mckenna’s eyes when I slid those divorce papers over is imprinted on my fucking eyelids. A reminder every time I blink.
And the way my heart shattered when she pressed her pen deep into the paper and angrily scrawled her name across the line, sealing the end of our relationship, still aches. A constant phantom pain.
I flip my chin to a dude passing by, selling coconuts. I slap some bills in his hand after he cuts the coconut and passes it to me.
“Gracias,” I mutter, sipping the sweet water.
My phone rings from my backpack and I shake my head, even as I pull it out and answer.
“I’m good,” I tell my brother.
“It’s not always about you, Mav.”
“Isn’t it?”
I hear Jameson’s grin through the connection. “You sound good.”
“Surf, sun, and coconuts. Nature’s cure.”
“You coming home soon?” He disregards my blasé summary of life on the beach and cuts to the chase.
Home. Boston. Mckenna.
Except she’s not my home anymore.
“No immediate plans.”
Jameson sighs. “You can’t avoid your life forever.”
“Just a little while then.”
“I miss you, Mav. We all do.”
“Even Amelia?” I joke. Amelia mostly hates me and, these days, I don’t possess enough redeeming qualities to blame her.
“Even Amelia,” he replies seriously.
I quirk an eyebrow. “Stop lying.”
Jameson swears. Pauses. And then, “We broke up.”
I hold my breath, wondering if he’s serious. Jameson and Amelia have broken up and gotten back together more times than I can count.
“For real this time,” he tacks on quietly. “And as she was packing her things, she said I should try to be more like you. If that’s not a ringing endorsement, I don’t know what is.”
“I’m sorry, man.”
“You’re full of shit.”
I laugh and the sound reverberates like a crack of thunder. I’m low on laughter these days and the fact that I can still manage it surprises me. “You’re right. You and Amelia should have parted ways years ago.”
Jameson doesn’t comment. He never does when it comes to her. She was his first love and they’ve had a roller coaster of ups and downs. More downs than ups if I’m being honest. But my brother has never muttered a disparaging word against the woman who has cheated on him and played him for a goddamn fool. I don’t understand why and I doubt I ever will.
It’s just one of those things.
Like Mckenna and me.
No one gets it but us. But me.
“Please, Mav, don’t do this to me. To us.”
“You deserve more, better, than me.”
“But I want you. I love you.”
“I love you too, baby. That’s why I have to do this. I have to let you go so we can both be whole. Healed.”
My last conversation with my wife before she signed the divorce papers plays through my mind. And understanding, compassion, and fucking empathy for my brother and his situation soars.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my tone gentler.
“Fuck,” Jameson murmurs, agony lacing in his words. “When are you coming home, Mav?”
Fuck. I toss my empty coconut, watching the shell roll across the sand before coming to a complete stop. The sun has nearly disappeared. Dusk turning into night.
The fresh air is heavier now, aligned with my head and heart.
My brother will never come right out and ask me to come home, but this conversation indicates that he needs someone. Needs me.
“Soon,” I mutter.
“She graduates in three weeks,” he reminds me.
My heart twists. Mckenna has worked so hard for her law degree. She’s overcome hurdles higher than Mount fucking Everest.
“I’ll be home before then.”
Jameson’s relief is palpable through the line. I feel it and nod to myself, knowing I’ve shirked responsibilities for too long.
“See you soon?”
“I’ll see you, brother,” I confirm, ending the call.
Then, I toss my phone back into my backpack, take one last, long look at the sea, and push to my feet.
I swipe my board and head home. In truth, my place here is my only real home. The brownstone in Boston belongs to the band, even though I’m the one who has mostly crashed there over the past five years. Well, me and Mckenna.
Reign told me she’s still living there and that knowledge has given me peace of mind over the last three weeks. I wonder if she ever goes into my room, slips beneath my sheets, and breathes in my scent.
Does she remember when the bed was ours?
Does she miss those late nights, our legs intertwined, our hearts beating in sync?
Does she think of me the way I remember her? Fucking constantly.
I rinse off when I get home. I go through the motions of survival. Eat, watch television, substitute the cold beer I want with a mint fucking tea. And sleep.
Tomorrow is another day. And now that I know my time here is winding down, I have to think about my next chapter.
Back in Boston. Back with the band. Back with my brother.
And doing it without Mckenna. It’s a reality I don’t want to consider but now, with Jameson’s call ringing in my ears, I know it’s time to head home.
Mckenna
Thirty-Eight Days Post Mav
“You look good, Kenny,” Dad says as he pushes into the brownstone, his hands full as he balances a coffee tray and a bag of pastries.
I step forward to help, taking the coffee tray from his hands. “Good morning, Dad. Thanks for breakfast.”
“I remember the chaos of final exam week.”
“It’s hell. I finally washed my hair.”
Dad chuckles. “It’s the worst,” he agrees, sitting on a kitchen barstool and tearing open the bag of pastries.
“But…” I grin at him. “It’s over now.” I gasp, my eyes dropping to the pastries. “You got éclairs and cinnamon rolls?”
“You still like them both?” He seems surprised and relieved.
“Very much,” I say quietly. Connecting with Dad again has been one of the greatest outcomes of my situationship—marriage?—with Mav. When he does things like this, remembers the small details, it heals some of the hurt that a younger version of me dwelled in years ago. “Thanks.”
Dad nods and takes a swig of coffee. “Well, we’re celebrating.” He breaks an éclair in half and takes a big bite.
As the pastry cream slides over his knuckles, I force myself to stand and gather a knife, two plates, and a stack of napkins.
“Here,” I say, pushing the napkins toward him. “You’re the first person I’ve had over in a while.”
Dad laughs and shakes his head. “These are delicious.” He wipes his hands on a napkin. “I can’t believe you’re graduating in two weeks.”
“Trust me, I’m ready.” I take the seat across from him and break off a piece of cinnamon roll. Popping it into my mouth, I close my eyes and savor the sugary treat. Final exams really have been hell, but they’re nothing compared to the bar exam I’m scheduled to take in July. And they were a breeze compared to the stress I’ve endured this year, dealing with Bran.
And then, there’s Mav. No, I’m not thinking about Mav right now. It’s too…hard. To survive exams, I had to push all thoughts of my ex-husband as far from my mind as possible. So, not very far at all.
“I know you are,” Dad replies, his voice sober.
Opening my eyes, I shrug.
Dad clears his throat. “Now that exams are behind you, there’s something I want to share with you.”
I sit up straighter. “This sounds ominous.”
A shadow of a smile works over Dad’s expression. “Depends on your perspective. But, perhaps, yes.”
“That makes it sound even worse.”
Dad takes another sip of his coffee and leans forward. “Do you remember when I told you that your mom wasn’t the great love of my life?”
I nod. Who could forget something like that? “You said it was a woman named Isabel. That she passed and it was a long time ago.”
“That’s right.”
Frowning, I press him. “And? Why are you bringing this up now?”
Dad sighs heavily and drags a hand over the lower portion of his face. “Because it’s relevant and now that enough time has passed from Maverick—”
I flinch at the sound of his name and Dad gives me a sympathetic glance.
“And now that final exams are behind you,” Dad soldiers on, “you need to know the truth. The full story.”
I bite the corner of my mouth, waiting.
Dad looks right at me as he admits, “Isabel was Branson Burton’s mother.”
“What?” I gasp, feeling the air in my lungs disappear. For a moment, it’s as if I can’t draw in oxygen. Pure adrenaline shoots through my veins. I push up from the barstool and grip the butcher block island and then, the air catches and I suck in deeply. Greedily. Nervously.
Dad stands on the other side of the island, one hand outstretched as if to grab me if I pass out.
Luckily, I don’t. Instead, I suck in another breath, focus on relaxing my shoulders and steadying my heart rate, and sit back down. “You better start at the beginning, Dad.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, retaking his seat. “I should.” He sips his coffee, buying time as he bolsters his mental stamina for the story he’s about to share. Then, he looks at me and begins. “I studied in Texas my junior year of college to participate in an internship program. It was one of the best years of my life, if I’m being honest. I made great friends, solid connections that helped me get my start in business, and, for the first time, I fell in love.”
“Isabel,” I whisper.
“Isabel,” Dad repeats. “She was a housekeeper for a wealthy family.”
“The Burtons,” I supply, already knowing how this story is going to play out but needing Dad to say the words anyway.
“The Burtons,” Dad confirms.
My eyes close as I feel the blood drain from my face.
“Isabel and I fell in love. We dated nearly the entire year I lived in Texas. She was a bright and beautiful woman with a million plans. But she didn’t have it easy in the Burton household. Her mom, who also worked for the family, was regularly assaulted by Jeff Burton.”
I gasp. “Bran’s father?”
“Bran’s grandfather,” Dad corrects.
“Why didn’t she report it? Why didn’t you?” I accuse.
Dad scrapes his hand over his face again and regards me warily. “I should have. But Isabel made me swear not to tell anyone. Her mom, her whole family including her, were undocumented in the United States. They were happy to have found the work that they did and Isabel’s mom never wanted to jeopardize her children’s chances of a future in America.”
“So, she just…endured it?” I shudder at the thought.
Dad nods, looking as miserable as I feel. “Yes.”
Anger floods through me, fast and furious.
“I know. I’m sorry.” Dad holds up a hand. “If I could go back in time now, if I could do things differently, I would.”
I shake my head, tamping down my anger. In fact, I focus on removing my emotions from the equation. I need to listen to Dad’s story with a clear head. An open mind that can dissect the information from all angles. “What happened?”
“Isabel and I broke up when my time in Texas ended,” Dad says.
“You broke up with her?” My indignation floods back. So much for logical processing.
“No. Never.”
I lift my eyebrows, waiting for him to offer a real explanation.
“Isabel was wise beyond her years. She knew that with the distance between us…well, I wanted to make it work. I wanted to send for her, marry her, take her back to Boston with me. She couldn’t leave her family. Not then, at least. I swore that I would wait. I had no idea that the situation in the Burton home was also becoming…impossible…for her.”
I close my eyes, reading between the lines.
“I didn’t know the full extent of it, of anything, until it was too late,” Dad rushes to say. “I went back to Boston, heartbroken, believing that she didn’t want to be with me anymore. I threw myself into my last year of college and then, into starting up my business. Years went by and then, through a Texas colleague, I learned the truth. Bran’s father, a married man with a family, had an affair with his father’s housekeeper, Isabel. Was it truly an affair? Was he hurting her?” Dad pales and takes a shaky breath. “I don’t know, Mckenna. But knowing Isabel the way I did, I would stake my life on the latter. When she became pregnant, he shipped her off to Massachusetts and paid her to keep quiet. He set her up with a whole new life, cleaning for a family friend’s home outside of Boston. At the time, the Burton family was expanding their political influence and Bran’s grandfather didn’t want the scandal to tarnish the family’s reputation.”
“But they’re all guilty!” I seethe.
“They are,” Dad agrees. “Isabel gave birth to a baby boy.”
“Bran,” I spit, choking on his name.
Dad nods. “Isabel raised him until she passed from breast cancer when Bran was fifteen. At that point, Bran’s father was divorced and his time for political prowess had passed. He became Bran’s legal guardian, enrolled him in a prestigious boarding school here in Massachusetts, and tried to teach him the ropes of the family business.”
“Sexual assault and intimidation,” I mouth off.
Dad sucks in a breath. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“I can’t believe this,” I murmur. “Bran’s mom was your…the love of your life?”
Dad nods again. “Trust me, I couldn’t believe it either. If you knew Isabel…I can’t imagine.” He trails off and shakes his head. “It makes me sick to think about what her son did to you. But it was personal, Mckenna. I didn’t put the pieces together until it was too late and I’m so fucking sorry, Kenny. I’m sorry for not protecting you the way I should have.”
“Dad,” my voice cracks as I reach across the pastries for his hand.
He clasps both of mine in his and stares at me with agony blazing in his eyes. “I made the first connection when Mav and I were researching. We were poring over all the details his contact had gathered and her name jumped out at me. But I still wasn’t sure. I didn’t have all the information. Everything went to shit shortly afterwards.” Dad tosses out a hand to encompass the past few months of my life.
“Mav’s bender,” I say.
Dad nods. “You were heartbroken. Trying to heal. And then, the divorce, final exams…there wasn’t a good time to tell you. This still isn’t,” he admits, looking around my kitchen. “You have to start your bar exam prep.”
“I know. But I’m glad you told me. Even if it’s going to take me days to wrap my mind around it. Bran’s mother.”
Dad sighs. “You need to know the truth because, Mckenna, I don’t know what Bran is capable of. No one does. And his attack on you, the mental manipulation, the years of trauma…it’s all personal.”
I shiver from Dad’s words. From the implication behind them. “But Bran’s in Texas now.”
“Yes,” Dad agrees, his expression still lined with concern. “Right now, he is. But we don’t know what the future holds, and I want you to have all the details. All the information I have.”
“I get it,” I breathe out, equal parts hating my father’s words for causing me another mountain of worry and relieved that I finally understand part of Bran’s motive. I used to question why he took such great pleasure in torturing me. At least now, I think I understand why Bran singled me out—to get back at my father. To hurt him for hurting Isabel. It doesn’t make it right, but it does provide a sliver of closure I had no clue I was searching for until this moment. “Thanks for telling me.”
Dad nods and swipes an entire éclair, taking a giant bite. He chews quietly, thoughtfully, for a long moment. “I really had no idea,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then, his eyes cut to mine. “I searched for Isabel.” He snorts and shakes his head. “It was actually right before you were born. Your mother and I were already married and yet, I couldn’t help but wonder what happened to her. Was she married? Did she have children? Where did she live? I didn’t dig too deep, obviously, because I didn’t find any information on her. And she was right here, practically down the road,” he admits, his eyes widening from the irony. “But then again,” he sighs, looking older than his years, “maybe I didn’t want the truth either. Maybe deep down, I knew it was better to keep that chapter closed.”
“Maybe,” I murmur, understanding him more than I would have thought possible.
Haven’t I done the exact same thing with Maverick? Deep down, didn’t I know things were amiss? Why couldn’t I handle the full truth? Why didn’t I see the pain he was drowning in?
Even though I was hurting, I couldn’t get out of my own way long enough to understand that Maverick was drowning right beside me. And I hate that, deep down, I question myself for not throwing him a lifeline when all he’s done is try to save me. Repeatedly.
Mav
Fifty-One Days Post Mckenna
I spend the remainder of my time in Costa Rica building healthy habits. Surfing, sunbathing, and writing song lyrics. I hit the gym daily, run on the beach, and sip my tea under the stars each evening.
I dream about the beautiful and talented woman I lost. I grieve the end of our relationship and all the ways I fucked it up. I talk to my therapist weekly.
While I check in with my brother, Reign, and Levi, I keep our conversations light. There’s no need to dig into shit when I’ll be home soon. We can have those conversations—the tough, painful ones—in person.
The only person I talk to and truly confide in is my mother. If there’s one person on the planet who can listen and not judge, it’s her. Mom’s ability to simultaneously hold grief and grace is unparalleled, and I’m grateful that I can lean on her.
On the morning of my return flight, I receive a text message from Allegra.
It’s an image of a ticket to Mckenna’s law school graduation.
I snort. Of course I’ll fucking be there. I wouldn’t miss watching her walk across that stage for the world.
Not that she’ll ever know. No one will.
Instead of replying, I keep Allegra on read and head to the airport.