Starting with the Unexpected

by Andi Van

  “I’m suggesting we lock Kat in one of the cars for the duration of the day,” I said and laughed when she glared at me. “I’m kidding. I was actually suggesting that you and I check it out later, if you’d like.”

  Marcus grinned and abandoned Erik to wrap an arm around my waist. “I like that idea,” he said and kissed my cheek. His lips were just as sticky as his fingers, and I wondered how much sugar I was going to have to scrub off by the end of the day. “But for now, I suppose I’d better let you get to work.”

  I looked at my watch and nodded. “We’ve got fifteen minutes,” I told Kat.

  “You know what to do,” she told Erik. “Take Marcus with you. Keep him out of trouble.”

  “Wait. What?” Marcus asked. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re going to go take a look at what’s out there, find the vendors we think are particularly interesting, and bring back pictures so they know what they’re describing,” Erik explained.

  “Pick me up a funnel cake on your way back,” I instructed Marcus.

  That got his attention. “There’s a funnel cake vendor?” he asked and grabbed Erik’s arm. “Come on, man. We have a mission to complete.”

  Erik winked at me—reassurance that he’d keep an eye on my boyfriend—and let himself be dragged off.

  When our fifteen minutes were up, Kat and I jumped into action, and the morning progressed smoothly. Broadcasting at a live event is kind of like a weird, chaotic dance. I can’t tell you if that’s normal for any live broadcast, but it’s normal for us, so we roll with it. We have it down to a well-choreographed act, but it’s a production that allows for all the weird shit that happens during the day.

  Like the guy who propositioned me in front of Marcus during the music break two hours into the program. Kid couldn’t have been more than eighteen, and I thought Marcus was going to detach my would-be suitor’s head from his neck, if the death glare was anything to go by. To his credit, the kid apologized, claimed he didn’t realize he was stepping on any toes—and then asked if we’d be interested in a threesome.

  “I don’t share him,” Marcus growled at the poor kid. “Mine.”

  I’d say that I thought the caveman act was crude and totally beneath him, but I’d be lying. When he announced his claim on me like that, all I wanted to do was drop to my knees and make him find God (or at least call for him) right there in front of everyone. Fuck, but it was hot to witness.

  And that was when Kat kicked him out of the booth. I love the bitch, but she’s such a fucking cockblock sometimes. Granted, it was probably for the best, considering we had work to do, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. On the plus side, we were only on air for four hours. By the time we’d given over the booth to the afternoon DJ, I was more than ready to spend some quality time with Marcus.

  So I walked away from the booth after a good-bye to Kat, and went in search of my boyfriend. I put on the ancient hat I’d brought with me as I left. I was glad I’d remembered it, because the sun was beating on me like it wanted me to call it Sir, and ghostly pale skin doesn’t tend to play well with that. My scalp burns, and when it peels, it comes off in massive flakes that make me look like I have yeti dandruff, which is gross. Thus, the hat.

  Marcus and I played a little Marco Polo with our phones until I finally just told him to meet me at the Ferris wheel. It was a large enough landmark that even I couldn’t get lost trying to find it.

  I was across the square from the ride when we saw each other. He grinned and waved at me. In his other hand he held firmly to something deep fried on a stick. I gave him an amused look and waved back, then started to cross the square to reach him.

  And that was when I felt two hands push me. Hard. I was halfway into stepping off the curb when it happened, and I landed hard on the foot I was already moving. I felt something in my ankle do something it really wasn’t supposed to do, and I crumpled to the ground. Fuck, but that hurt, and that had not felt like an accidental push.

  Marcus was next to me in what seemed like half a second. “Are you okay?” he asked, worried, as he reached to help me stand.

  “Did you see what happened?” I asked, not wanting to alarm him.

  He shook his head. “No. Too many people crowding around. Why?”

  “Just curious,” I mumbled, letting Marcus help me up. I hissed as I put weight on my right ankle, and quickly shifted so my left took the brunt of it.

  Marcus muttered curses as he pulled my right arm over his shoulders. “Lean on me,” he commanded. “We’re getting you to the first-aid tent.”

  “It’s just twisted,” I demurred. It wasn’t, but this was supposed to be a fun day, not another episode of the soap opera my life seemed to be recently. I looked at the heart attack on a stick he was holding and narrowed my eyes at it. “Is that a deep-fried Twinkie?”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of a Twinkie-like substance,” Marcus said. He gave me a grin that I could tell he really wasn’t feeling. “However, I can tell you that I know where we can get some for Jordan later.”

  “I can’t believe you’re eating that,” I said, my nose wrinkling. “I may never kiss you again.”

  “You will,” Marcus said. “You like me too much not to. Now, am I helping you to the first-aid tent?”

  I gave the Ferris wheel a look of longing, then turned the look at Marcus. Hey, we all need the opportunity to let our inner five-year-old out. I just did it with carnival rides, instead of deep-fried nastiness.

  Marcus sighed. “If we go on the Ferris wheel, will you let me take you to the first-aid tent afterward?”

  “I’m fine,” I protested. “Really.”

  “Right,” Marcus said. It was obvious he didn’t believe me, but he helped me to the ride anyway.

  Once we were safely seated, we pressed in close to each other. “This is nice,” I said. “We should do things like this more often.”

  “Without the drama of you tripping over your own feet in a crowd,” Marcus said pointedly, though he was more relaxed than he’d been when he picked me up off the ground.

  Which is why I didn’t tell him I’d been pushed. He didn’t need more to worry about, right? At least, that was how I tried to justify it to myself. I ignored the guilt that started tap-dancing in my gut and gave him a grin. “Well, you know me,” I said. “If I can trip over it, I will.”

  He snorted and let the comment go as the ride started to move.

  When we disembarked a couple of minutes later, it was to me hissing again as I tried to stand. Yeah, the pain was definitely getting worse. It felt like my ankle was trying to impersonate a balloon, though I couldn’t tell if it was really swelling or if I was imagining that.

  “All right. That’s it,” Marcus said fiercely as he helped me hobble away. “First-aid tent or emergency room. Your choice.”

  Well, at least he was giving me a choice. “First-aid tent,” I grumbled. “Dammit, we’re supposed to be having fun today.”

  Marcus gave me a squeeze with the arm he had around my waist. “And we will,” he promised. “If it really is just a twisted ankle, we can let them wrap it and loan you some crutches before we head out to see everything else.”

  “And if it’s not?” I asked. Because it wasn’t just a twisted ankle. Not for this level of pain.

  Marcus stopped in his tracks, and I nearly fell over. He gave me a searching look, his face grim. “If it’s not, we have a discussion on why getting your ankle checked out is more important than a carnival ride, take you to the emergency room, and go home.”

  “That doesn’t sound like fun to me,” I said warily.

  “I’d have to send you to bed,” Marcus said as we started walking again. “And in interest of making sure you were going to stay there, I’d have to send myself to bed with you.”

  That sounded a whole lot more fun than spending the day in a crowd of people, and I let him help me to where the group of EMTs who had volunteered their time were stationed.

  �
�Oh God,” I muttered when we stepped inside. “Just what I needed.”

  “What?” Marcus asked, confused.

  His question was answered by the tall, stocky Italian who stepped up to us. “Long time, no see, Zachy. What’d you do this time?”

  I winced. Of all the guys to be working that day, one of them had to be an ex. Of course. Just what I needed. “Don’t call me Zachy, Enzo.”

  “I could call you some of the things I used to call you, if you prefer,” he told me with a leer.

  “Go ahead,” I said blandly. “My boyfriend will probably show you your own tonsils if you do, though.” Because I could practically feel Marcus’s hackles rising.

  “It was a long time ago,” Enzo reassured Marcus, which kind of surprised me. I didn’t think Enzo had it in him to not cause trouble. “I was too much of a player to settle down successfully, at the time.”

  “He dumped me for someone else,” I translated.

  “Well, at least he had the courtesy to not cheat on you,” Marcus said grudgingly before turning his attention to Enzo. “Can he sit down? He twisted his ankle or something.”

  “Let’s take a look,” Enzo said with a nod, all business as he led me to a seat.

  I groaned in relief when I was off my feet. Yeah, that was much better. I hadn’t realized how much the pain in my ankle had progressed until I was off it. Enzo crouched in front of me, pulled up my pant leg, and I looked down to see I hadn’t been imagining the swelling. I glanced at Marcus nervously to see that he was glaring at me. Yeah, I was in trouble.

  “You feel a pop when you went down?” Enzo asked as he prodded me in several places.

  I grunted an affirmative, gritting my teeth.

  “You’re already bruising,” Enzo noted. “And everything else points to at least a sprain. You, Zachy, ought to go to the emergency room.”

  “You, Enzo, really need to quit calling me Zachy,” I growled.

  “You have a wheelchair we can borrow?” Marcus asked Enzo, completely ignoring me. “I really don’t want him walking out to his car.”

  “Yeah,” Enzo told him with a nod. “Way ahead of you. I’ll walk out with you guys so I can bring it back.”

  “I can walk out,” I protested.

  “You can get in the fucking wheelchair and let me take you to the damn emergency room,” Marcus snarled.

  Wow. Okay. I’d always wondered why someone would say someone else was hot when they were angry, but there was my answer. Boy looked delicious, though I wouldn’t want him to stay mad just so I could see him like that. “That scowl only makes me want to lick your lips and do naughty things to you,” I told him.

  “I’ll supervise,” Enzo offered, earning him a glare from both of us. “What? I’m just saying….”

  “Wheelchair,” Marcus reminded him. “Now.”

  One trip to the emergency room later, we discovered my ankle wasn’t broken. That was the good news. The bad news was that I had a sprain that the ER doc referred to as “pretty fucking bad.” I asked him if that was a technical term, and he laughed and explained that yeah, he’d probably have to classify it as severe, and I was lucky Marcus had insisted on getting me to first aid.

  Marcus looked pretty smug about that, but I let it go.

  So when I left the emergency room, it was with a brace and an elastic bandage wrapped around my ankle, crutches under my pits, and instructions to go home, put my ankle up, ice it, and take some ibuprofen.

  I was less than thrilled, to put it mildly.

  “We were supposed to have fun today,” I grumbled again as Marcus helped me into the car.

  “Things happen,” he reminded me. “At least I don’t have to listen to some former lover call you ‘Zachy’ anymore.”

  “I always fucking hated that,” I growled. “But no matter how many times I told him not to, he still kept it up.”

  “Kind of like me calling you Ollie?” Marcus pointed out.

  “I’ve never asked you to stop that,” I reminded him. “It’s cute when you say it. Anyone else calls me that, though, and I’ll hit them with a crutch.”

  “All right, then,” Marcus said, sounding more cheerful than he had since the whole thing with my ankle started. “Let’s get you home and get your ankle up. We can find new and inventive things to do with your ice packs.”

  “I vote for putting them in the freezer and keeping them out of our bed when they aren’t actually on my ankle,” I said and Marcus shut the passenger door for me. Because I learned long ago that nothing says “let’s quit having sex right now” like having something ice cold unexpectedly land places it shouldn’t.

  Once Marcus had pulled onto the freeway, I sighed. “I really am sorry I spoiled our fun,” I told him regretfully. “I was really looking forward to it.”

  “It’s just an art fair,” he said. “It’s not like we were at Disneyland or something. And honestly, if we’d been at Disneyland and you’d sprained your ankle, I would have left your ass in the hotel room and gone by myself.”

  I glared at him for a moment, then laughed. “Okay, yeah. I’d probably do the same thing. I can’t really blame you for that.”

  “See?” Marcus asked, reaching over to take my hand with his. “It’s no big deal. I’m sorry you got hurt, but the day isn’t ruined. We can go home, get you set up on your bed with a pillow under your ankle, and we can just chill. Or we can set you up in your recliner with your ankle up and pop one of the versions of Monopoly you own into the game console for a while.”

  “You hate Monopoly,” I pointed out.

  “Yeah, but you don’t, and you’re the one in need of some TLC,” he said with a smile, giving my hand a squeeze.

  I cleared my throat, trying to dislodge the sudden lump that had formed there. How did I get so lucky to have someone like Marcus want to keep me? “Thanks.”

  Marcus squeezed my hand again and grinned as he kept his eyes on the traffic in front of us. “Any time, Ollie.”

  CHAPTER 15

  I THINK it was the dead possum a week later that marked where things started to go really wrong. I wouldn’t say they’d exactly been right up until that point, not since the harassment started, but the possum was where things got really bad. Mostly because the thing had been eviscerated on the front porch of the main house, entrails draped around like some sort of fucked-up Christmas on Elm Street. The smell, when the random entrails were approached, was even worse than the sight. I can vouch for that, considering I was pretty close to the ones draped along the railing when I bent over it to heave my guts out onto the lawn.

  I hobbled back into the living room from the bathroom, where I’d brushed my teeth about five times. I was going to have to replace the mouthwash too. The bottle that had been half-full when I got in there was now empty and sitting in the garbage can.

  “I called the cops,” Jordan said.

  “Yeah,” I grunted. “This is kind of….”

  “Terrifying?” Marcus suggested.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Actually, that’s the perfect word for it. If I didn’t know Jordan sleeps like the dead, I’d worry about the fact that he didn’t actually hear any of the exterior redecorating going on.”

  “Sorry, man,” Jordan said with a sigh. “I’ve only been awake for an hour.”

  “That gives us some sort of time frame, at least,” Marcus noted. “We left at nine to go catch that movie Ollie wanted to see.”

  Jordan nodded. “Two-hour window, then. Maybe that’ll help.”

  “It won’t,” I said. Yeah. I was sulking, but I really don’t think I can be blamed for that. “It’s not like anything’s helped before. No. Instead I get my tires slashed, bricks thrown at me, pushed off a curb so I wreck my ankle, and possum entrails draped lovingly outside of my home.”

  “Wait,” Marcus interrupted, narrowing his eyes at me. Uh oh. “What do you mean you got pushed off of a curb? I thought you stumbled.”

  I repeat: Uh oh. “Pretty sure I got pushed,” I admitted, wincing as I d
id. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be pretty. “Hands definitely shoved me from behind. I just didn’t think it was worth mentioning and worrying you any more than you already were. Besides, that was over a week ago and nothing else had happened, so I just let it go.”

  “You let it go,” Marcus said, glowering at me. I was kind of glad we didn’t share a bedroom on a permanent basis, because I’d probably be sleeping on the couch when bedtime rolled around.

  Actually considering how comfortable the couch was, I’d probably have been sleeping in bed alone while Marcus took over the couch.

  “I’m sorry?” I apologized, the statement coming out more like a question.

  “You’re sorry,” Marcus repeated, his arms crossed at his chest. I was beginning to wonder if I’d broken him, since he only seemed capable of parroting back at me. “Are you a fucking moron, Ollie?”

  Oh look, we’ve reached another milestone in our relationship. Our first fight.

  “Yep,” I said. “I’m a fucking moron because I give a shit about the stress all this bullshit is putting you through. I’m a fucking moron because I didn’t want you to deal with that while you were studying for finals. I am officially the world’s biggest fucking moron.”

  “Don’t patronize me,” Marcus shouted. “You’re a giant fucking moron because I’m your fucking boyfriend, and you should tell me these fucking things.”

  The doorbell rang, and Jordan cut in. “That’s the end of round one,” he said. “Go to your separate corners while I let the cops in, boys.”

  I snarled something that would have blistered the ears of a sailor and stomped across the room. Well, okay. I couldn’t really stomp, not with the crutches, but I did thump them awfully hard as I made my way to the recliner. The recliner that Marcus couldn’t sit on with me, because my new middle name was “Petulance.”

  Marcus took a seat on the couch as far from me as possible, and I scowled even harder. The look was still on my face when Jordan and the police joined us. I didn’t have much to say, just sat there and let Jordan and Marcus fill in the details. I could have done without Marcus telling them about me getting pushed and about how I didn’t report it because I didn’t think it was a big deal. Because, really, I just loved being made to look like an idiot in front of law enforcement.