Bachelors In Love

by Jestine Spooner

  All she saw was Marcus, his eyes closed, blood blooming like a rose across the front of his torn, white shirt.

  She was over top of him. She knew she was saying words. Some iteration of “Marcus, baby, look at me. Marcus, please be okay. Marcus. Marcus. Marcus.”

  But she couldn’t hear herself.

  All she could see was how still he was. It was then that she saw that there was blood leaking from his side as well. Pooling out underneath him.

  Iris was dimly aware of men running at her. Shouting. Her eyes blurred and she saw that they wore black but she couldn’t tell who was who. More bad guys? Feds? EMTs? They were shouting and holding weapons and sprinting at her. Worse, they were sprinting at Marcus, whose eyes were closed. Who was bleeding. Who couldn’t defend himself. Iris did what she had to do.

  She looked wildly around and her eyes focused, startlingly clear, on the gun that was still grasped in his hand. She grabbed it up, holding it the way she’d seen people do in the movies.

  It was heavy, so much heavier than she’d been expecting. The gun was foreign and awkward in her hand. But the next part was natural. Completely natural. She crouched over top of Marcus, pointing her gun in the direction of the men who had just abruptly stopped running.

  And she protected him. She was dimly aware that her hands were not shaking.

  ***

  Why was there all this cotton in his mouth? Marcus tried to move his tongue but realized that it was too stuffed full. What was this? Was he hungover? Had he had way, way, way, too much to drink last night? If so, he’d gone overboard. Marcus couldn’t remember ever being this hungover.

  It was the dim, beep beep beep of the machine next to his head that alerted him as to where the hell he was. A hospital room.

  He was awake, but his eyes wouldn’t open. He tried and failed a few times. And eventually gave in to the darkness.

  It was almost a full day later that his eyes allowed themselves to open. It was light outside. And Marcus had the thought that it was weird to see such gorgeous weather when one felt such horrible pain.

  It was full body pain. He felt like he’d been hit by a truck. He couldn’t exactly say where it was even coming from. Marcus tilted his head to one side as he attempted to take in his surroundings. Plain hospital room. But it looked oddly familiar. He knew he’d been in a room like this before. But when? His brain waded through water. Everything was swimming, and Marcus recognized the effects of whatever opioids his drip was surely pumping into his system right now.

  “Welcome back,” a familiar voice said at his elbow. He moved his eyes, because moving his head was simply not an option.

  “Jones,” he grunted in a voice that was more gravel than sound.

  His handler lifted a cup with a straw to his lips and Marcus took a grateful sip of lukewarm water. It tasted like heaven.

  “Iris is safe,” Jones said, already anticipating what his first question was going to be. “She wasn’t injured in the firefight, besides some scrapes on her knees. And she’s already been put into protective custody for the time being.”

  Emotions warred inside of Marcus. She was safe, and that was all that really mattered. But protective custody would mean top-secret location. It would mean next to impossible to see her. Pain stabbed through him and it wasn’t from his wounds.

  “Where…” he tried but his voice failed him.

  Jones raised an eyebrow. She knew exactly what he was asking, but she chose to answer a different version of his question. “You’re in Miami. You were airlifted here. Flatlined en route, by the way.”

  Miami. That was why this was all so familiar. This was the same hospital that Jay had stayed in after he’d almost died in the Bahamas. The rest of the words filtered to him. Flatlined? From a surface stab wound to the chest?

  “What happened?” He found he had scattered memories of the event but he needed more information and fast.

  “You were shot.” Jones said the words matter-of-factly. None of her emotion made its way in and they were both grateful for her control. “By Kutros himself. Gut shot. Your right side.”

  Ah. Well. That explained the excruciating pain.

  “And you were stabbed. But I assume you remember that part. By Kutros’s brother-in-law and right hand man. He’s still alive. Kutros isn’t. He was taken out moments after he shot you. The other three that were there are also alive. In custody.”

  “And Owen?”

  Jones paused. “He’s two floors down.”

  Marcus’s stomach dropped out completely and he felt a whirling swirl that was a mixture of fear, pain, and the drugs. “The morgue?”

  Jones let out a breath. “No. He’s fighting still. Poor kid got half of that pretty face blown off. But like I said. He’s fighting.” Jones paused again. “Your girl’s a fighter too, by the way. Damn near screamed the hospital down when the agents assigned to her came to drag her away.”

  Jones examined her fingernails. “She didn’t want to leave you here. And from what I’m told, she damn sure didn’t want to leave you on the pool deck either. She got a gun, crouched over you, held everybody off for a few minutes before one of our guys talked her down. I think that’s love, kid.”

  Marcus squeezed his eyes shut at the image that Jones had just planted in his head. She’d held a gun up to a slew of armed and juiced FBI agents? God, that could have gone so, so badly. But she’d done it for him. To keep him safe.

  “Where is she?” This time his question couldn’t be interpreted in any other way and Jones knew she had to answer. She also knew that Marcus already knew the answer.

  “I don’t know. It’s protective custody, Marcus. On a case where there was already a mole discovered in the agency. There’s—” She almost cut off completely at the look of mortal pain on Marcus’s face, but she forced herself to keep going. “There’s no way to know until they deem her out of harm’s way. Until then…”

  “I wait,” he filled in grimly. “And hope to hell that the FBI doesn’t fuck this up again.”

  There wasn’t anything to say to that. Not really. Jones even kept in her sigh. “There’s people here to see you. Your family.”

  Marcus knew who she meant. “Send them in.”

  But his eyes were closing even as he said it. And soon, he was enveloped into darkness again.

  ***

  It took three weeks in the hospital in Miami and then another ten days in the hospital in Ocean City before Marcus was deemed fit enough to continue recovering at home. He was forever, infinitely, grateful to Tia, who as a trauma surgeon at the same hospital he’d been admitted to in Maryland, was able to take over a ton of his care. He knew that it wasn’t her job to play nurse, but she’d barely let him out of her sight since he’d gotten back to Ocean City.

  So much so, that the day he was discharged from the hospital, Marcus realized that Eli was in fact, not driving toward Marcus’s house, but his own.

  “Come on, dude,” Marcus groaned. “I’ve had enough babying. For the love of god, just let me go home.”

  “No,” Jay answered from the backseat. “Absolutely not. You were shot and stabbed a month ago. We’re not gonna let you go sulk it off in your depressing-ass apartment.”

  Marcus opened his mouth to argue, but it was Eli who got in the next word. “You flatlined, dude. Flatlined. And that means you’re gonna stay in my guest bedroom as long as I say you stay in my fucking guest bedroom.”

  Marcus couldn’t help but smile at their vehemence. They’d been like that since he’d woken up in Miami. Fiercely dedicated to his recovery. To taking care of him. The two of them were worse than Ryan and Kat had been. And to be honest, Mari had been hovering quite a bit as well.

  “Are you two ever going to forgive me for doing my fucking job?” Marcus grumbled, looking at their two sour faces.

  “No,” they answered in unison.

  Marcus smiled again. He had news to share with them, but it didn’t feel right to share it with them before he shared it with Iri
s.

  Pain lanced through his gut as he thought of her.

  Iris, who he hadn’t seen since he’d tossed her into that pool in the Bahamas a month ago. Iris who, he was told, protected him at gunpoint. Iris, who was folded into the machine of protective custody and was pretty much wiped from the face of the planet in the process.

  Marcus was technically on sick leave now. Instead of a suspension. In light of the way the Kutros family had doggedly pursued Iris, his extreme measures to keep her safe had been taken under further review and Marcus had been cut some slack. He strongly suspected that Agent Jones had had quite a bit to do with that.

  He was set to return to work the minute he was deemed fit. Honestly, Marcus didn’t really care. The only perk he cared about was that now that he wasn’t on suspension, he was privy to certain information that he hadn’t been before. Agent Jones had been able to slip him bits and pieces here and there on the Kutros investigation.

  After the shoot-out at the resort, the case had been blown wide open and they were fast on the way to dismantling the organization. Which meant that they were fast on the way to freeing Iris from protective custody. The sooner she was safe, the sooner she could come home.

  Or to Eli’s home, Marcus thought wryly as his two friends helped him inside. In moments he was tucked into bed, a TV remote in his hand and juice on the table beside him. He wondered vaguely if they’d allow him to wipe his own ass.

  But he had to admit as the days went by, he was grateful to them. Deeply grateful. His two friends were there to help him limp into the living room when he needed a change of scenery. Eli dragged an Xbox and a huge TV screen into the guest room so that Marcus didn’t get bored. And more than anything, the three of them talked. Especially when Marcus was moments away from despairing about Iris. Those were the moments that Eli and Jay were the most important. And somehow, they always seemed to know when he needed them.

  It wasn’t long before Marcus felt good enough to go back to his own house. Tia finally gave her permission. As long as either Eli or Jay stopped in to see him once a day. And Marcus was both relieved and disappointed to be leaving. In a way, staying in Eli’s guest room had been sort of like an extended version of the sleepovers they used to have as kids. Except for the occasional excruciating pain he was still dealing with.

  Mostly though, he was relieved to get back into his own space. Another week off his feet and he figured he could be ready to get back into work. He knew that there was no way for him to wheedle his way into the Kutros investigation, but if he was there, he was much more likely to pick up information here and there. Marcus didn’t have a problem waiting for Iris. It was not knowing how long he had to wait that was driving him insane.

  So. Exactly six weeks after he’d been shot, Marcus laid in his own bed, in his own home and reflected on how much his life had changed. It was thoughts of Iris that had him drifting to sleep.

  And it was thoughts of Iris that had him sifting up from the depths of sleep in the grainy, gray dawn the next morning. Something had woken him and he wasn’t sure if it had been in his dream. The dream had been so clear. He’d smelled her. Felt the soft strands of her hair against his chin. Marcus cleared his throat and scraped a hand over his face.

  He knew he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep after a dream like that.

  “Hi,” a voice whispered from next to him.

  Marcus whipped his head to the side, startled. His eyes landed on Iris. She laid on her side in his bed, one of his t-shirts on, her hands folded under her cheek and a humongous smile on her face.

  Marcus was speechless as his hands grabbed mindlessly for her. He had to know this was real. He couldn’t take it if it wasn’t.

  All the air left his lungs as his hands tangled in her hair, blonde again after all this time. His hands slid down her face and she bit the pad of his thumb as it traced over her lips.

  “How?” he asked. And it was all he could get out before he decided he didn’t give a fuck and just dragged her to him. His still-healing injuries protested but Marcus didn’t care. All he cared about was her lips on his. And he drowned there.

  Because here she was. Kissing him and grinning and crying all at once. She bit his lip and traced over his eyebrows. Her eyes devoured him and then so did her mouth. They tasted and tasted and tasted each other.

  “I’m free,” she whispered against his lips. “Safe, I mean. I just got done with a final interview at that same horrible place you took me before. This time Agent Jones rented me a car. And I drove it right here.”

  Marcus’s pulse picked up as he thought about how badly his organization had miscalculated before. “Are you sure you’re safe? Jones said you were safe?” She was the only one there that Marcus trusted. She wouldn’t have let Iris leave if there’d been danger, official recommendation or not.

  Iris nodded, tears still glistening in her eyes. “She was the one who came in and translated what the other agents had told me. You know how they are,” she grinned. “You guys have all that official lingo that you combine with vague language so that you can go on the record as having answered a question but really you didn’t answer anything?”

  Marcus answered her grin. “We actually receive training on that.”

  Iris rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s infuriating. Jones came in afterward and laid it all out for me in plain English. So,” Iris continued as she made herself even more comfortable in Marcus’s bed. His chest was so warm, just watching her talk, watching those big blue eyes as she watched him right back. “I guess the Kutros family was basically destroyed that day, poolside. The head of the organization was chopped off, so to speak. Kutros himself was killed. I think that was the guy who- who shot you? Jones said that technically, everything was pretty much safe for me and Owen the second that guy died. But apparently the FBI had to take six flipping weeks to figure that out.” She scowled. “So I’ve been in protective custody in some dumb townhouse in DC with two grumpy FBI agents this entire time.”

  Marcus rolled back and let the information wash over him. Honestly, it was what he’d expected. He hadn’t been investigating the Kutros family in great depth, it hadn’t been his job to, but nothing had indicated that it was a wide-sweeping organization. He’d barely let himself hope that everything had ended that day in the Bahamas. Even with all that rocking through his head, there was only one thought that continually made it to the surface. He rolled back over to stare at Iris’s perfect, sweet face.

  “You’re here,” Marcus bit out. He couldn’t concentrate. “You’re here.”

  “Yes,” Iris nodded resolutely. “I’m here. And to stay.” She paused for a second, lip between her teeth, and then plunged right in. “I’m moving in. That’s not a request.”

  Marcus’s eyes searched hers. He wasn’t really sure what to say to that.

  His silence unnerved her. So she cleared her throat and continued on. “My life in Pennsylvania isn’t worth going back to. It’s lonely. And you make me un-lonely. And I- I want to be with you.”

  Marcus found that this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have lying down. So, as the room slowly gathered light, he planted his hands and inched his way up the headboard. The blankets fell away and Iris’s eyes dropped to his chest and stomach.

  He winced at her expression. Absolute horror. He knew it wasn’t pretty. There was a ten-inch gash across his pecs that was still healing and a flat round scar on his lower left stomach. The effect was not pleasing.

  “Oh my god,” she gasped, tears filling her eyes instantly.

  “It’s okay,” he said gruffly, uncomfortable by the fact that she might not find him as attractive anymore.

  “No, it’s not!” Iris insisted. “God, he’s such a dumbass.”

  Marcus knew that she was talking about her brother. He couldn’t help but vehemently agree. Owen was the person who’d gotten both of them wrapped up in all this in the first place.

  “Without his dumbass-ery we wouldn’t have met,” Marcus remind
ed her gently. She nodded, her eyes still glued to his torso. “And besides, I think Owen paid for it.”

  Iris’s eyes darkened. He sure had. Half of Owen’s face was destroyed. His beautiful face. Iris had been to visit him in the hospital earlier that day. Scars webbed over the right side of his face, inching into his hair. And the rest of him wasn’t in better shape. He was deeply depressed. And had mostly stopped eating. Soon he’d be out of the hospital and Iris would have to figure out how to care for him. She’d been very clear with her brother that he’d be moving to Ocean City just as she was. He’d said nothing. Even when she insisted that he owed her this. He’d merely nodded, said he was tired, and rolled over.

  Of course, the prevalent feeling she felt when she thought of Owen was relief. Relief that he hadn’t been killed. By the sheer luck that had that bullet landing an inch away from a place that would have surely killed him. But she couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sadness at what he faced. At how much harder his life was going to be from here on out. He was a man who’d skated by on his looks for his entire life. He was going to have to learn a different way now.

  Iris sighed deeply as two of her tears rolled down her cheeks. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to each of Marcus’s scars. She could swear that he wasn’t breathing. “I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

  “That you didn’t get hurt in the firefight?”

  She looked up at him in surprise. “Well, yes. But I meant to have found you. And to not have lost you that day. I thought you were gone, Marcus.”

  He smiled, dark and intense. “They told me that you protected me.”

  Iris blushed. “I tried.” She blushed further. “That was a mess.”

  She looked up at him and the intensity in her eyes had him pulling up short. She was staring him right down. “And you’re lucky too! You big jerk.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Lucky jerk, huh?”

  “Yeah! You blaze in, all Clint Eastwood, and almost get yourself killed for me. Hence the jerk part. And even your scars are sexy. Hence the lucky part.”

  Marcus started, peering down at his mottled, altered chest. He still hadn’t gotten used to it. “Sexy, huh?”