Looking all around, I blow out a breath. “I’m not sure what there is to say.”
She opens and closes her mouth, but gives a jerky nod. “Right. Of course.” Straightening to her full height, she seems to pull into herself, pasting on the bland mask that I see when we’re at public events with her parents. “I’m supposed to be helping my mother with the evening. If you’ll excuse me.”
“Hang on. Don’t you go anywhere.” Blaire’s voice cuts in rather loudly from behind me, startling both Kendra and me, making me jump, though the only giveaway with Kendra is the tiniest widening of her eyes.
“Hello, Blaire,” she says smoothly. “I didn’t realize you were back there.”
Blaire positions herself so she can glare at both of us, her arms crossed over her chest. “You weren’t supposed to. But I was. And I heard all the important parts.” Narrowing her eyes, she focuses on Kendra. “I’m epically disappointed that you didn’t talk to someone sooner. But”—she holds up a finger, effectively silencing Kendra as she opens her mouth to protest—“I understand why you did it. And I honestly can’t say I would’ve done anything differently. I may not like it, but I get it. If I had to choose between the people I cared about most in the world …” She trails off, lips pressed together, shaking her head.
She turns to me, finger still up. “And you. Don’t be a dumbass. Take the girl somewhere. Hash your shit out. This doesn’t have to be the end.” She raises her eyebrows meaningfully.
Kendra’s voice disrupts our staring contest. “Can I speak now?”
Blaire holds my gaze for one more second before turning back to Kendra. “Please.”
“If I’m going to leave, I’ll need to tell my mother first.”
“Good plan. Go do that.” Blaire makes a shooing motion with her hand. Normally something like that would make Kendra giggle or at least smile, but she only gives me a long look full of aching regret before turning and heading back to the ballroom.
Blaire waits till she’s safely at the doors before rounding on me. “You were going to let her walk away.” She smacks me with her clutch purse. “What the fuck, jackass?”
“Ow!” I grab my shoulder. “Watch it! What’s in that thing, anyway? A spare brick?”
She brandishes her clutch at me again. “You have been the actual worst for weeks. Now you’ve found out why she broke up with you. And it’s not that she didn’t love you. It’s because she wanted to protect her family. Her father’s legacy. And you’re going to let her walk away because, what? She didn’t talk to you about it?”
I shift my shoulders, massaging the one she hit, uncomfortable with how easily Blaire sees through me.
She crosses her arms and lets out a humorless laugh. “The asshole was blackmailing her. Threatened her father if she told anyone. What would you have done if you were her?”
Looking away I mumble a non-answer, but Blaire’s far too used to my shit to fall for that. She smacks me again with her purse.
“Hey! Will you stop that?”
“Sure! When you stop being a jackass.”
I glare at her, and she glares right back. “What does that entail?”
She pops an eyebrow. “Take the woman you’ve been in love with for like half your life somewhere, talk some more, and figure out how to get her back. That’s what you’ve wanted all along.”
I suck in a breath, because while I do wish Kendra and I were still together, what I really wish is that we could rewind to back before she dumped me.
I want to erase the last month and go back to when we were blissfully happy.
Blaire sighs loudly and drops her arms. “Look. You have a chance at happiness. A real chance. Don’t be such a moron that you fuck it up over pride. I get that it burns that she didn’t tell you. But she had good reason, and it had nothing—nothing—to do with you.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Kendra
When I come back around the ficus, Marcus and Blaire are engaged in an intense conversation at low volume, eyes locked, faces fierce.
But when Marcus catches sight of me, the emotion drains from his face once more. That’s what I’ve been getting from him, emotionless mask and frustrated anger by turns.
I haven’t decided which is worse.
Blaire notices that she’s lost his attention and turns to find me, a tight smile claiming her features. “Well, I’ll leave you two to sort things out.” As she passes me, she reaches out and squeezes my arm. “Don’t give up,” she whispers, then walks away.
Marcus studies me, his hands in his pockets. “What’d she say?”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure she’d want me to tell you.”
He grunts, rocking back on his heels. “Right. And you’re all about keeping secrets these days.”
The breath gets knocked out of me, like he’d physically punched me instead of merely delivering a verbal blow. Still here in the middle of this event, even if we are on the outskirts and ostensibly leaving, I can’t let on how much that stings. Instead, I straighten my spine and look him in the eye. “And you seem to be all about tossing barbed comments my way.”
His mouth twitches, like it’s not sure if it should smile or frown. In the end, he shakes it off and pushes away from the wall. “Come on.”
“Where?” I haven’t moved, which means that he’s now standing only inches away, the heat of his body warming me through the fabric of my dress.
He looks down at me, and something flares in his eyes. Something that gives me a spark of hope. I want him to reach for me. To pull me close, to claim my mouth with his …
But we’re not there.
Instead, he looks away. Shrugs. “I’m not sure. But Blaire’s right. We need to talk more. And this isn’t the place to do it. We could get a room? I’d suggest my place, but that would entail a long car ride …”
The implication that he doesn’t want to be stuck in a car with me is clear.
I swallow. “My place isn’t very far, you know.”
His chest expands on a deep inhale, and he shakes his head. “No. Not there. Let’s get a room. It’s more … neutral.”
“Right. Sure.”
He nods once, and steps away, moving down the hallway at a purposeful pace, but not so fast that I can’t catch up.
Our interaction with the front desk is brisk and efficient, an older woman with graying hair and glasses checking us in, handing us keys, and directing us to the elevators that will take us to the suite Marcus booked for the night. If she recognizes his name, she doesn’t let on.
Neither of us say a word on the elevator, standing side by side at the back of the car, staring straight ahead at the doors. And when we get to the room, I hang back while he unlocks the door, slipping past him when he holds it open for me, careful not to brush against him.
I want to. I want to rub against him like a cat marking her territory.
But if he wanted that, he’d hold out a hand, look at me, touch me, something. He does none of those things, so I don’t risk initiating physical contact.
This is enough. For now.
It has to be.
And if this is all I get from him ever again—one event appearance, one horrible conversation in an overpriced hotel room—then so be it. I knew the risk when I made my choice. Even this is more than I deserve.
I ripped his heart out when I sent him away.
I saw it in his eyes that night.
And I can tell, just from our stilted interactions.
This is so much worse than what Adriane did. So much worse than unrequited feelings.
So. Much. Worse.
“Care to include me in your conversation?”
I whirl around, dropping my hands from where I’ve been twisting them together in front of me and smoothing them down my skirt.
Marcus is standing in the entryway, casually leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He lifts his chin. “You seemed to be getting pretty intense there, arguing or something from the looks of it.” He
gestures at the room, dimly lit by the light by the door and one desk lamp on the other side of the room. “We came up here to talk. Can I join the conversation?”
I study him cooly. “I don’t think you need to be part of the conversation I’m having with myself. But we can talk about something else. What did you have in mind?”
He smirks. “We could talk about the Red Sox. Or the weather. Or … I dunno. How you didn’t trust me enough to tell me you were being blackmailed?”
The question is delivered calmly, his posture never changing. I flinch. But he’s not done.
“How that asswipe threatened your father and you didn’t know what to do? Or how you made it seem like our entire relationship was fake, even though we both know it wasn’t, and didn’t even bother to reach out once it was all over and fill me in?”
His voice rises, growing angrier with each question. And all I can do is spread my hands in surrender. “I didn’t know what else to do.” It comes out as a choked whisper. I swallow, firming my voice. “I couldn’t tell you.” He opens his mouth, his nostrils flaring, but I hold up a hand to silence him. “Let me finish. I couldn’t tell you, not because I don’t trust you, but because I knew you wouldn’t let me give in to Mitchell. You’d have insisted on calling my dad or finding Mitchell and punching him in the face. Which only would’ve ended up with someone in jail. The whole point was for no one to go to jail.” I tilt my head to the side, considering. “Well, if there were a way for Mitchell to go to jail, that would be okay, but that didn’t seem to be on the table at the time.”
Marcus raises his eyebrows. “And now?”
I shrug. “Dad’s handling it. I don’t think the police will get involved, but Mitchell might prefer it. Martha Stewart wasn’t hurt too badly by her prison sentence, after all. He’d be able to recover from that. Blackballing has much farther reaching financial ramifications.”
Marcus’s eyes widen, and I allow myself a tiny smile. “Yeah. I wouldn’t want to end up on the wrong side of my dad in the business world.” I swallow, steering the conversation back on track. “But that’s not the point. Or not the main one, anyway.”
“What is the point?” The question is quiet, curious, but emotionless.
“The point is that I love you. I have for years, but I’ve been too afraid to tell you, worried you didn’t feel the same way. Not wanting to risk our friendship. Because you meant too much to me to risk losing you.” Tears gather in my eyes, and I let them fall, no longer worried about keeping my makeup intact. This is Marcus. If I can’t cry in front of him when I’m baring my soul, then when can I?
He lets out a breath like he’s been punched in the gut. But I push on, needing to get it all out now, while I have the chance.
“But I couldn’t let my father go to prison. And so I did what I had to do to ensure that. Trading my chance at happiness with you for his freedom.” I suck in a shuddering breath, trying to keep from sobbing so I can get the words out, tears flowing freely down my cheeks. “I assumed after breaking up with you the way that I did, that you wouldn’t want to talk to me again. So I never bothered to reach out to you after I broke up with Mitchell, even though Dad told me I should.”
Marcus’s eyes widen again. “Seriously? I always thought he hated me.”
I sniff. “He knows you loved me. And he said he’d always choose an honest man who loves me over a high-class snake.” I pause, letting that sink in before forcing myself to continue. “I’m sorry I hurt you. If I thought it would make you feel any better, I would tell you that I tore my own heart out and stomped on it that day too.”
Finally dropping my gaze, he shakes his head and looks at the floor. “No, that doesn’t make me feel better,” he says quietly.
I wait. There’s nothing else for me to say. All the words tumbling through my head are just repetitions of my reasons and apologies. They won’t add anything to this discussion other than to fill the empty air. And I know that Marcus prefers empty air over empty sounds, so I bite my lip and hold back the words that want to spill out, only the occasional sound of my sniffles punctuating the silence.
When he finally looks up again, his face is unreadable. “You said your dad knows I loved you.”
I nod. “You told me you did. And I’m pretty sure you said it in front of them more than once,” I whisper.
“Loved. As in past tense?”
My heart flutters, but I don’t give in to hope. Not yet. Instead, I take a steadying breath, clenching my fists at my sides. “After the way I treated you, I assumed …”
He takes a step closer to me. “See, the thing is …” He sighs and looks up at the ceiling, arms still crossed. “The thing is, it’s not so easy to just stop loving someone once you’ve started. Even when they’ve shredded your heart and handed it back to you.” He lowers his face, his eyes finding mine again. “Especially when you’ve been loving that person for years.”
“So loving me is a bad habit that you just can’t get rid of?” I try to make it sound like a light-hearted quip, but it falls flat. Probably because some part of me is seriously asking.
One corner of his mouth twitches up. “Sometimes it does feel a little like that.” He sighs, finally uncrossing his arms to run a hand through his hair, finishing the gesture by rubbing the back of his neck. “The thing is, though, that it’s more like an addiction I can’t kick. Mostly because I don’t want to.”
My breath catches at the last sentence, another spark of hope blooming in my chest. “But?” I force myself to ask. Because I know there’s a but. We wouldn’t be having this conversation otherwise.
“But.” He takes another step closer, his neutral expression thawing, pain now shadowing his face. “But even though I understand—intellectually,” he lifts a hand and taps his temple, “why you did what you did. I might even have done the same thing if faced with the same choice. But that doesn’t make it feel less like a betrayal here.” He rests his closed hand on his chest.
I spread my hands again, helplessness overwhelming the tiny flare of hope, snuffing it out. “I don’t know what I can do, though. I don’t think we can just pretend the last few weeks never happened.”
He shakes his head, mouthing the word no. “Even if I were willing to try, there’s a song rounding out our album that would make that impossible.”
Inwardly, I cringe, but manage to keep it off my face. I should’ve known he would write a song about me breaking up with him. The rest of the album was about us, after all. Which I loved when we were together, knowing that he was immortalizing our love in song. But after ripping his heart out, how would he be able to let that album come out, take it on tour, without adding something to reflect the ending?
And that’s what it is. An ending. This is a postmortem, closure, one last chance to say everything that we didn’t say before.
I blink away the fresh wave of tears. I might’ve let them fall in front of him before, but now I need to go and lick my wounds in peace. Maybe someday we’ll both be able to move on. The thought guts me right now, but eventually I’ll forget that he’s the only one who’s ever made me feel so much for one person. Eventually the memory of his fingers slipping over me, making me come alive, the way he moved inside me, the way his mouth claimed mine—eventually that will fade.
And maybe eventually I’ll be able to see pictures of him with beautiful women and not feel a potent cocktail of jealousy and despair, knowing it’s my own fault that he’s with someone other than me.
Straightening my spine, I take one more deep breath and square my shoulders, forcing myself to look him in the eye. “Well, thanks for hearing me out. Again, I’m sorry.” My chin trembles, and I firm my lips, trying to force it to stop. “I still love you, but I understand if you don’t feel the same way. Or if that’s not enough to overcome what I’ve done.” I make a weak gesture at the door. “But I need to go. So … goodbye.”
The finality of the word echoes between us as we stare at each other, and then I turn for the door.
<
br /> Fingers close around my bare arm, spinning me back around before I can reach the door. I had to pass in front of him to leave, giving him the perfect opportunity to stop me. But he doesn’t say anything, instead he turns us so my back is against the wall he’d been leaning against, pressing me against it, his mouth crashing into mine.
The kiss starts out punishing, but I surge against him, the feel of his lips on mine unleashing all my pent up feelings. My fingers curl in his lapels, clutching him in a death grip, afraid of what might happen if he breaks the kiss, and lick along his lower lip.
He growls, opening and thrusting his tongue into my mouth, his hand coming up to grip my hair, pulling my head back and angling it how he likes.
And it’s everything. Heat and passion and hurt and anger and love all rolled into one meeting of lips and teeth and tongue. My lips will be swollen for the rest of the night, I’m sure of it. But I don’t care, because this kiss is going to have to last me for a lifetime.
When he ends the kiss, cradling my face in his hands, his thumbs brush across my cheeks, making me aware of the tears he’s wiping away. I unwrap my fingers from his lapels, sliding them over his wrists and squeezing.
He presses his lips against mine once more, and I open my eyes as he pulls back. Before I can say anything, his beautiful mouth forms two words. “Don’t go.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Marcus
Kendra’s perfect brows draw together in confusion over blue eyes still glossy with tears. “What?”
I kiss her again. “Don’t go. Stay. Don’t leave again. That’s not—” I sigh, covering her mouth with mine once more, sliding my tongue past her lips, hoping a kiss will communicate what I want better than my words do.
But when I pull back again, it’s clear that all I’m doing is confusing her more.
Her grip on my wrists tightens, and she pulls my hands down from her face, her eyes closed now, and she shakes her head. “Wait. Wait. Stop. Just … give me a second to catch up here.” She lets go of my wrists and places her palms on my chest, pushing gently to get me to back up. I do, but only an inch or two. Enough room to let her breathe, but not enough to make her think she can push me away that easily.
Anything You Need (Cataclysm Book 1) Page 19