by Malone, M.
I could have done the bandage myself in less time and with a better result but it’s oddly comforting to have her leaning over me, so concerned. Her warm manner wraps around me and pervades the darkness that’s been in me since this afternoon.
When I agreed to see my father, I couldn’t have anticipated the negative emotions it would dredge up for me. It’s been years and I thought it was behind me. However seeing him tonight has unleashed something. Something I’m not sure how to put back.
“Come on. Let’s go to bed.”
I don’t even have the heart to tease her or make a suggestive comment. She tugs on my other arm until I rise from the table. Then she pushes me down the hall and into the bedroom.
She leans down and pushes her shoes under the bed. Then she takes off her earrings and opens the bedside drawer to drop them in. All the color drains from her face. She stands and backs away until she hits the opposite wall. Her breathing quickens, shallow breaths that sound like gasping.
“Emma, what—”
“I can’t. I just can’t.” Then she bursts into tears.
My mouth falls open. The nightstand still hangs open so I walk over and peer in. My Glock 19 sits squarely in the middle of the drawer.
Emma turns to face the wall, still taking those rapid breaths. If she keeps sucking in oxygen like that, she’ll probably pass out. I approach her slowly. My last girlfriend wasn’t fond of seeing all my hardware either but she never reacted like this.
I want to hold her but I’m not sure if she would appreciate that right now. So I just lean on the wall a few feet away.
“Take a deep breath. Slowly. In and out.”
She looks at me briefly. “I’m okay. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“I know. Just breathe, buttercup.”
Her breath whooshes out all at once, and then she takes a deep inhale. Her eyes stay on my face. We stand like that for a few minutes, breathing quietly. When the color comes back to her face, I move away.
“I am so sorry. I’ll move it.”
I lead her to the bed and she sits, woodenly. I block her view of the nightstand with my body as I retrieve the gun. There’s a gun locker in my closet where I keep my Heckler & Koch and a few of my semi-automatic rifles. I walk into the closet and put the Glock in the case.
When I come out, I sit on the edge of the bed. “Emma? When your parents were killed … you were there, weren’t you?”
Her fingers clench in the blanket and then her head bobs up and down.
Yes.
Emotion wells inside me. She’s here, helping me, even though watching violence of any kind has to be traumatizing for her. The scene she witnessed in the alley tonight suddenly takes on new meaning. She waded into that for me.
She’s dealing with things that obviously scare the shit out of her, for me.
“You don’t have to stay. I understand if you want to go home.”
Even I’m not selfish enough to make her sleep here if she’s freaked out. Nothing is going to help me at this point but I can help her. I’ll probably be up all night anyway but she needs to sleep. She deserves to feel safe enough to do that.
She turns sad eyes to me. “I’m staying, Tank. I told you I would. I’m not going to leave you.”
I’m not touching that statement so I grab a T-shirt from my dresser and hand it to her. She pulls it over her head and then pushes her jeans down. After she folds them and puts them on the end of the bed, she pats the space next to her.
“Come on. I’m tired.”
I don’t believe I’ll actually get any sleep. When my emotions run high like this, sometimes I’m up for days on end. But the sheets are crisp and cool and Emma curls up next to me, warm and soft. Her bottom is pressed up against me and I’d have to be dead not to react to that but instead of it being purely sexual, it feels like she’s an extension of me.
Like she’s supposed to be there.
For the first time all day, I let out a breath and relax.
Then slip quietly into dreaming.
Chapter Fifteen
Emma
This time when I roll over, I’m prepared for it. Tank is awake and watching me again.
“What is it with you watching me sleep? It’s creepy.”
He grins and pulls me closer. His morning erection pokes me in the belly. “Is that creepy, too?”
I rub up against him. “That part I don’t mind.”
He buries his face in my neck and inhales. It should be the weirdest thing in the world, curled up in bed with a man who is smelling me, but instead I feel safe. Protected.
“I’m starting to see what all the fuss is about having a girlfriend.”
“Now I know you’re making stuff up. There’s no way you’ve never had a girlfriend.”
“Well, yeah. Of course. But I went in the Army straight out of high school. Most of my relationships were casual. It’s hard to keep a girl happy if you’re never around.”
I’m fascinated by this side of him. Based on his behavior and well, just looking at him, I’d assumed he’d have had a string of girlfriends. Although I doubt he’s been alone. He may not have had a steady relationship but I seriously doubt he’s been living like a monk all this time.
“What about after you got out? You didn’t meet anyone then?”
He sits up, dragging the blankets with him. “I met someone but after only a few months, she called it off. Said I was too much to deal with. In hindsight I don’t blame her. You saw me last night.”
“Do you do that a lot? Get into fights?”
He stretches his arms overhead, the muscles in his arms and back flexing. Looking at him like this, he’s just overwhelming. He’s like some kind of ancient warrior.
“Come on. We need to get up. You need time to stop at home for fresh clothes otherwise you’ll be late to work.”
I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it but this is too important. I won’t let him sidetrack me. So I keep silent and wait.
He glances at me once more and then rubs a hand over his face. “When I was younger, I used to fight all the time at school. I was on the verge of being expelled when my mom got cancer the first time.”
“I didn’t realize she’d had it before. You were so young. That must have been really hard.”
“It was harder for her. That was the wakeup call I needed because I got my shit together and stopped making her life so miserable. She’s been in remission until late last year. That’s when I started fighting again.”
He shrugs but when he looks over his shoulder, I can see the toll the admission takes on him.
“I can’t help her but I can help someone else. I can make something right in this world. I can do something that matters.”
There’s so much I want to say but I’m afraid of bungling it. I want to tell him how much he helps his mother every day. How strong he is for his brother and what an amazing friend he is, even to people who are just friends of friends like Sasha.
He has this negative view of himself but he has no idea how I see him. How much he means.
“You matter, Tank Marshall. Just you. Not the stuff you do, although that’s pretty amazing. I bet if I ask your mom, your brother and your friends what kind of man you are, they’d see the same things I do. Someone with great integrity who goes out of his way to help others.”
“They’d do the same for me,” he replies.
“Because they’re your friends.” I roll over so I can look directly at him. “They wouldn’t be friends with someone who wasn’t worthy. You are so worthy.”
He leans back and I pull him against me. His head rests in the crook of my arm.
“I’m afraid, Emma. This thing with my mom … I’ve never been this scared of anything in my life.”
“I know. But every time you go out there and put yourself at risk, there’s a chance you won’t make it back. Is it worth that? Think of the people you’ll be leaving behind.”
His eyes cloud and he suddenly looks far away. �
�My mom. My brother.”
“Me,” I whisper. “What would I do without my Tank?”
His eyes cut to mine suddenly and fix on my face with a surprising intensity. “Am I yours, Emma?”
There’s nothing I can do to hide my feelings. He has to know how twisted up I am over him.
“Sometimes I feel like I don’t know what’s happening with us. But I know that when you need me, I want to help you. The idea of you fighting really scares me. I don’t want anything to take you away from me.”
He sits up and pushes my hair back. His thumb traces a gentle circle on my cheek. The way he looks at me, I’ll never get used to it.
It’s like I’m all he can see.
He drops his forehead against mine. “Nothing is going to take me away from you. I won’t let that happen. Leaving you is the last thing I ever want to do.”
* * *
The woman who opens the door at Max Marshall’s hotel leads me to the sitting area. I place my bag at my feet and try not to fidget.
This morning with Tank was the most intense thing I’ve ever experienced. He’s such a strong man. He doesn’t allow himself many moments of weakness. I’m honored and humbled that he trusts me enough to be himself with me.
Which is why I’m here. I’ve known for a while that I can’t take money from Tank’s father. Not just because of how I feel about him but because of how I feel about Claire. How I feel about Finn.
In just a short time, his family has become my family. I care about them. I won’t profit from something that hurts them.
But Max was my friend first. Even though I’m shocked and horrified by the things he’s done in the past, I still can’t help but hope that he’s changed. Telling him I can’t help him in person is the right thing to do.
I glance at my cell phone to see what time it is. I meant to come at lunchtime but things were so busy at work today that I had to wait until I got off. If I don’t get back to his place soon, Tank will worry.
“Emma!” Max wheels himself into the room. “What brings you by on such a lovely day? You should be out enjoying the sunshine.”
“Hi, Mr. Marshall. Sorry for just dropping by. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”
“Nothing important. I’m always happy to see you.”
He seems so genuinely pleasant. I watch him, looking for signs of greed or dishonesty. There's nothing to indicate that he isn't exactly what he seems: an eccentric billionaire who's pleasantly surprised by my visit.
But after spending time with Tank, I have to wonder. I've gotten to know him. I've gotten to know Claire. She isn't the dramatic or overindulgent type. She wouldn't make up a sob story for attention or to gain sympathy.
The pain I've witnessed in their family is real and there's simply no denying that Maxwell Marshall is the cause of it.
“The reason I’m here is to tell you that I can’t help you. With Tank. I like him. A lot, actually. I won’t manipulate him. He’s had enough of that in his life.”
He watches me with unwavering eyes. “He told you, didn’t he? That I left them.”
“Yes, sir. It was hard for them. I understand why he doesn’t want to open himself up to a relationship that could end up hurting him again.”
He looks sad but not surprised. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed but I understand. You’re a good person. I can see why my son cares for you.”
I think back to this morning. Waking up with Tank. Talking about everything. The thing is, it’s all so intense because a lot has happened over a short period of time. I’m worried that this kind of intensity can’t last.
It comes on fast and burns bright but it can burn out just as quickly.
“I think your son is an amazing person. But we haven’t known each other that long and I know he doesn’t trust easily.”
He makes a sound of disagreement. “He trusts you. He doesn’t take just anyone home to meet his mother.”
I figured that was true by the way Claire and Finn responded to me. They’d seemed happy to meet me but also surprised. Suddenly it occurs to me that I never told Mr. Marshall about meeting his ex-wife.
My eyes narrow.
There’s only one way he could have possibly known that.
“You’ve been watching him, haven’t you? Does he know you’ve been spying on him?”
“I’m a billionaire, my dear. I have enemies.”
“How long have you been watching over him?”
“Years. But he doesn’t need to know that.”
Again, I have the sense of being forced into the middle of a conflict between them. If I don’t say anything, it feels like I’m deliberately deceiving Tank. But what would telling him accomplish? It’ll only make him angry and he’s already so angry.
I don’t want to make any promises that I can’t keep so I lean down to grab my bag. “I need to get back.”
“Thank you, Emma.”
It shouldn’t make me feel guilty but it does. Why is he thanking me? I’m essentially telling him that he’s on his own now.
“For what? I didn’t do anything.”
He gives me a sad smile. “Yes, you did. Sometimes the choices we don’t make are even more important than the ones we do.”
Before I have a chance to question that strange statement, he wheels himself to the desk against the wall.
“Will you read some documents for me before you go? My eyesight isn’t what it once was.”
This I can handle. Despite knowing his desertion devastated his family, I can’t help my soft spot for him. I want to believe he’s as nice as he’s always seemed but it’s not my place to decide if he’s really sorry or if he’s really changed his ways. He’ll have to earn his family’s forgiveness, little by little.
“Yes. Of course.”
He withdraws a sheaf of paper from the top drawer. “These. Can you read the name on each account please?”
“The Marshall Title Fund I and the other account is the Pacific Falls Investments. The first request is to add Damien Marshall. The second request is to add …”
I stop when I see the name on the second form. “Jonathan Boyd.”
He doesn’t seem surprised. “That’s what I thought. I never authorized the second request. I was looking for something else in the files and found this. It’s difficult to know who you can trust as you get older. There’s a point where everyone around you is only there for what they can get from you.”
His hand is shaking as he accepts the papers back. My own hands don’t feel quite so steady either. The implications of this are worrying.
Jon is stealing from him. I wonder if Ivy knows?
“Does he know you suspect him? I don’t want to leave you here alone if he’s coming back.”
He taps a button on his wheelchair. Instantly, the door opens and two large men come in. Max nods at them.
“My security team is here. Don’t worry about me at all.”
But even as he says it, he doesn’t look comforted at all.
* * *
The trip home seems to take forever. My mind is on my meeting with Max and the papers he showed me.
From the very beginning, I’ve been operating without all the pieces of the puzzle. All of Jon’s snide comments make sense now. He’s a thief so of course he can’t understand why I’d be hanging out with Mr. Marshall so much. To someone like Jon, there’s always an angle.
He was probably worried I’d see something I shouldn’t while I was there. Which turns out to have been a valid fear on his part.
As I turn down my street, my heart speeds up. I scrutinize all the cars parked near our house. Ivy’s car is sitting in the driveway but Jon’s car is gone. I let out a sigh of relief. He isn’t here. I skip up the steps and open the door with my key.
“Ivy? Where are you? We need to talk.” A door closes down the hall and I turn toward the sound. She must be in her room.
“I just got back from seeing Mr. Marshall. There’s something I need to tell you.”
; I rush into my room and grab my favorite pair of sweatpants and a handful of clean underwear. Bringing a suitcase would probably scare the hell out of Tank so I briefly contemplate doing it just for the entertainment value.
Most single guys break out in hives at the thought of a woman taking over their space. So I just grab several skirts and blouses so I won’t have to keep coming back for work clothes. I roll them to minimize the wrinkling and then tuck them into my messenger bag. If Tank needs me to stay with him, I’ll be prepared.
I loop the strap of my bag over my head and walk back out into the hall. Jon stands in the doorway to Ivy’s room. He’s obviously just been asleep because his hair is rumpled and his eyes look bleary.
“Where’s Ivy?”
He shrugs. “She needed something from the store. What were you yelling about? Something about Mr. Marshall.”
“Is her car having trouble or something?” I ignore his question and focus on a spot about a foot over his shoulder.
His eyes narrow. “Were you hoping I wasn’t here?”
“Of course not. I was just wondering.”
My heart racing, I turn back and walk into the kitchen. I’m glad I didn’t walk into the house and announce the news. Does he know, I wonder? Or suspect?
“What were you doing at Mr. Marshall’s?”
“Just visiting.”
I open the refrigerator and pull out a bottled water. As I take a sip, his eyes follow the movement.
I have to concentrate to swallow the mouthful without spilling any. His gaze is so smarmy. I feel like I need a bath just being in his presence.
“You seem to do a lot of visiting lately. A lot of talking. What do you talk about?”
“Nothing. Just school and stuff.”
He steps closer, absently folding the cuffs of his shirt back. His eyes, hard and flat, stay on mine as he speaks.
“You think I don’t know what’s going on there when I’m gone? You’d better not be lying to me, Emma.”
It’s foolish to provoke him when I’m here alone with him. But his manner just drives me crazy.
“What we talk about is none of your business. I’m going to my room. When Ivy gets home, please tell her I need to speak with her.”