by Marie Wathen
Her fingers are stroking through his short, dark curls on the side of his head and he’s leaning into her touch. My feet, my breathing and my heart all stop in this moment. Closing my eyes, I shake my head, hoping that the combined actions will change everything and maybe if I’m lucky it will wipe away the horrible image of Marcus’ betrayal. Unfortunately, upon opening my eyes, resuming a heartbeat and breathing again, I feel the overwhelming need to cry. Standing on the balcony with his side pressing against the railing, Marcus tosses back his drink, draining it, and the woman, smiling wickedly back at him, is my mother. My trembling hand wraps around my throat and I feel the pressure squeezing my chest so hard, I think it might actually erupt. I don’t understand what’s happening. How can Marcus be so comfortable with her putting her hands on him? This is so wrong. He shouldn’t be touching her, or anyone.
“B?” a deep voice calls mere inches away from me. I force my gaze away from above to the man standing in front of me. “Hey, where is your security?” I shake my head, unable to speak, because I know Marcus is off doing something that he’ll only lie about or dismiss, just like he and the group always does. “Are you okay?” I’m so stupid. Weakness settles into every cell in my body. I trusted him too much. When I don’t respond again, Tyle slides a hand up my bare upper arm. “Why do you look like you’re about to cry?”
Without cognitive thought, I reach for him and press my face against his chest. “Help me,” I mumble against his lapel.
“Come here, sweetness,” he coerces, guiding me toward a stone retaining wall beside the edge of the castle, away from the entry way. Gently, he helps me sit and then kneels in front of me. From this spot, I can no longer see the balcony where the man I gave my heart to is doing things that are breaking that useless organ. “Now, do you want to tell me what happened?”
“I,” my voice cracks and I shake my head refusing to pour my feelings out to a total stranger. Nothing has ever hurt so deeply, and I have lived through hell numerous times over.
“It’s okay,” he assures, taking my hand into his while his other hand lingers on my shoulder. “I think I know what’s going on here. You look like a woman who has been hurt by love.” I don’t confirm either way, but from the confident look in his dark brown eyes, he knows he has read me correctly. “I know exactly how you feel, B. There once was a woman who I fell for and she hurt me deeply too.” I nod, but really with all the crazy thoughts running through my head, Tyle’s story isn’t of much concern for me. As he continues speaking, I zone out and only hear bits and pieces of his tale of heartache. “I would do anything to have her love me as much as I love her.”
I’m not even looking at him anymore. I can’t see anything through the blurred wetness threatening to spill from my eyes. The slicing pain inside my chest feels like a living, breathing creature clawing its way out. Why did Marcus have to do this? How could he profess his love for me then turn around and let my mother…Wait.
Remembering the day Casandria showed up at my house and finding her with Marcus in the kitchen, I feel my heart rate increasing while stress takes hold of my sanity. She was talking to him about handling me and touching his arm that day too, but I dismissed it. How long has this been going on? I lift my head and look past Tyle toward the pathway that leads back toward the balcony. How long have they really known each other? The tears slip from my lashes freely.
“Hey come here,” Tyle pleads drawing me closer and grazing his warm palm up my neck. He cups my jaw, stroking his thumb over my cheek. Tilting my head slightly, I look into his sweet, molasses eyes. The soft curl on his dark lips matches the happiness in his beautiful eyes hiding behind his silver mask. He stares deeply into mine with an unspoken plea swirling between us. Something inside me wants to trust him, but with the vision of betrayal clouding my judgment I just can’t let my guard down again. He sighs heavily, closes his eyes, and then whispers, “Angel,” right before his presses his lips to mine softly.
I pull away instantly with a surge of panic. “No, Tyle,” I demand forcing his hands off of me. I stand and he stands too.
“Angel,” he repeats, reaching for me cautiously with confusion staining his facial features made obvious with his pinched eyebrows and darkening eyes.
“Stop,” I hold out my hands.
Something behind him catches my attention and I shift my eyes to the right. A woman wearing a green and magenta fitted dress watches us intently. Slowly, she lifts her wild plume accented mask from her face. The dramatic uncover reveals a satisfied smirk on the evil face of Miller. She twists around, quickly rushing back around the garden and into the castle.
“I need to go,” I tell him stepping around and finding the small pathway in the moonlight. He doesn’t argue and when I reach the doorway, I glance back to see him staring out toward the ocean as if nothing ever happened. I’m not sure if I know what the hell that kiss was all about, but I don’t think it had anything to do with me. At least, I hope it doesn’t. Knowing that Miller witnessed that damn kiss frightens me. I’m not sure how she will try to use this information. It’s all but guaranteed that she will try to destroy my relationship with Marcus. Although, after his flagrant display with Casandria, he has reduced it to something that Miller won’t be able to take full credit for.
“I am such a stupid girl,” I grunt, pushing the door open and slamming into a hard body. Looking up, my throat constricts as my heart soars upward.
“Hey,” Morgan smiles brightly before scanning my face and noticing the pain etching through my eyes. “What’s wrong?” His demanding tone is almost demonic. “Tell me,” he stresses grabbing for my hands. I swat him away and then push past him.
“Stay away,” I roar, rushing down the hallway, toward the front exit. The need to purge my addiction to Marcus from my system means that I need to distance myself from everybody. “All of you just stay the hell away from me.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Morgan
“What the hell?” my mother hisses through clenched teeth, standing beside me at the front of the ballroom. “This is all wrong.” She’s referring to the fiasco that is an engagement of disastrous proportions.
“Understatement,” I mumble, watching as Tristan slips a rock bigger than anything I’ve ever seen onto Elise’s ring finger.
My aunt Gretchen, Tristan’s mother smiles while tears of joy streak down her face. At least I think she’s happy about this, but I can’t really be certain. From all the years of him being with Anna, I thought that she would be displeased with this union. With the spotlight on the newly engaged couple, I narrow my eyes through the crowd and see Breesan standing stock-still near the side bar. After speaking with Kole, she only watches me for another moment before running away. I’m not sure where the hell Marcus disappeared to either, but he really should be with Breesan. Hearing something so tumultuous like this makes me want to fight it. After everything that transpired since the last time I saw Waverly, I feel the pain of loss deeply for what my cousin had with Anna. I know their best friend isn’t going to handle Tristan being engaged to someone other than the woman he’s been in love with since childhood as well either.
“Morgan,” my mother’s words are a plea and her eyes mirror her silent request to make all of this chaos stop. She wants nothing more than for me to trade places with Tristan, the poor bastard. One day, probably sooner than etiquette dictates, he will be latched to that heartless leech for life. I offer a tight grin back to my mom, deciding that it is probably best if I just keep my mouth shut and my opinion to myself.
“Congratulations, Tristan and Elise,” Sam offers sweetly to the happy couple while reaching for my arm and then saying softly to me, “Come with me.” I obey, hanging on by a thread of stability as she guides me away from that disturbing spectacle. I can’t lie, my mind is blown by the downward spiral of tonight’s events. It never fails, with the good comes the bad every time.
“Where are we going?” I pull roughly away from my sister’s grip and stop as w
e reach the foyer stairs, knowing that Breesan didn’t go this way. “I don’t know where Marcus went, but she needs a friend after that traitorous bomb drop. Nothing else matter right now, Sam.”
Her eyes flash with something I can’t discern before she states, “Fine, you go after her, but do not make a big deal out of this tonight.”
“Are you crazy?” I literally look at her like she’s swapped her damn mind with one of our father’s ‘yes sir’ minions. “Deals don’t get bigger than that cataclysmic bullshit, Sam! Not even on Wall Street during a stock market crash.”
“Don’t be so damn dramatic, Morgan,” she rolls her eyes and huffs. “Go on then, I’m going to search for Marcus upstairs. Meet me back down here in ten minutes. It’s too risky to wait another day. I’ll probably catch all kinds of hell from Rhys, but we’re sneaking Tristan out of here once the chaos settles and the party resumes.”
Thank god! I’m not sure if I said that out loud or not, but she wouldn’t have heard me anyway since she just sprinted up the grand staircase in neck-breaking stilettos like a track star. Snaking my way through the crowd, breaking up and mingling in smaller groups, I scan as many faces as I can on my way toward the back where I saw Breesan go. Part of me hopes that she’s already dealt with her emotions and returned, but the smarter side knows that she won’t get over tonight any time soon.
The door thrusts open just as I pull. A set of sad, shimmering gray eyes glimpse up at me. “Hey,” I offer understandingly before I see some stronger emotion than I expected. Breesan looks deeply wounded. My sensitivity slips away and my attitude morphs to vengeful for whatever is causing her this much distress.
One flicker of painful longing reveals itself, like she thought I was Marcus, before she thunders, “Stay away. All of you stay the hell away from me.”
Before I can protest that I haven’t done anything and stop her from running away, another couple shoves open the door, so I step back to avoid getting clobbered. An unfamiliar voice, calling from outside, draws my attention away from my mission to help a friend. I turn around, noticing a man approaching the door.
“Were you talking to me,” I ask, still not recognizing the guy.
“Yeah, you little fucker, I was talking to you,” he confirms all red faced and ballsy, heading straight for me.
My hostility about this ridiculous night gets the better of me. I step out before he reaches the doorway and ask, “What the fuck did you just say?”
“You’re that piece of shit that showed up at club Toxic and punched me,” he claims stopping a few feet in front of me. Ripping the mask off of his face doesn’t clear up my confusion on his identity and neither does his accusations of me hitting him.
“Dude, you must have me confused with someone.”
“The only thing that isn’t clear is why the fuck you thought it your place to interrupt us and order Waverly to do a damn thing.” Tyle.
Now I recognize the son of a bitch who was about to screw my woman the last night I saw her. “My place? She’s mine. That makes it my place.”
“That’s funny. Didn’t seem like she belonged to you while she was going down on me,” he provokes, stepping closer with his fists clenching against his thighs. “So you’re the piece of shit that kicked her out of your bed. She said she never wanted to see you again.”
“Clearly she was confused and using you to try to forget me. How does it feel to be her backup plan?” I goad back.
His fist connects with my left cheek with fierceness reminiscent of the big fucker in Georgia. I stagger backwards and reach behind for the stone wall to gather my stability before throwing out my own punch, which clips the end of his nose and then smashes hard into his right cheekbone. Blood pours down and drips from his chin within seconds, but it doesn’t deter our battle. We tangle in a heap falling onto the ground, thrashing limbs and slamming heads while mutually cussing and grunting. Rolling me over onto my back with my head pressing into the pathway, he slams his large hands onto my throat and grips tightly. A stabbing pain shoots through my skull. Initially, my lungs overwork, but quickly seize securing all the air inside my chest like a five-hundred pound weight locked in a steal bank vault. My vision distorts with black spots from the airflow restriction.
I struggle to fight back, pinching my eyes together tightly while slinging my hands around violently. Reaching up, I take advantage of his formal apparel and knot my fingers through his bow-tie, twisting and cutting off his airflow also. I feel the dampness of his blood that has streamed down his neck, soaking the front of his shirt. He releases one hand to press an open palm against the side of my face, smashing my left cheek into the brick-paver. The slight pressure change around my neck allows just enough oxygen that I gasp and open my eyes again. I focus my attention on squeezing my grip and punching my free hand against the side of his head. He releases me to stop my attack, and at the same time someone yells while pulling him off. Gulping large mouthfuls of air, I prop up on my elbow. I regain focus enough to scan the space in front of me, spotting Rhys with his hands under Tyle’s arms towing him away.
“What the goddamn hell is going on with you two?” Rhys shouts, standing over Tyle slumping against the retaining wall he threw him against. “Morgan, are you okay?”
“Fine,” I advise my voice raspy and thick and my vision clearing slowly. I glower at the bastard and then shift my gaze up to Rhys. Suddenly I remember that Tyle Bentley is Rhys’ brother. A nasty gagging sound draws my attention back to my opponent. Tyle bends at the waist and heaves several times before violently vomiting.
“What the fuck, De–Tyle?” he demands stomping over to help his brother stand up again. Tyle continues to throw up for several minutes while Rhys waits impatiently. “Let’s go.” Rhys drags Tyle toward the door.
“Where are you taking me,” Tyle moans swatting his arms at Rhys like he’s fighting off a swarm of Alabama mosquitoes.
“Hospital,” he announces, shoving him through the doorway, “Looks like a blood test is overdue.”
I’m not sure what the hell his last comment means, but damn I’m glad Rhys showed when he did. Another minute and I would be the one on the way to the ER, or worse.
***
Breesan
Storming through the ballroom, I ignore everyone around me. My focus is on getting out of here as fast as possible. No one and nothing will distract me from my mission. I’m done.
“Baby, where are you going?” his voice is sweet and light, like he’s the happiest man on the planet.
I whirl around on my heels, coming face to face with Marcus smiling brightly. He strolls up, hands tucked into his front pant pockets as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. I guess he doesn’t, he’s playing me for a fool while working on hooking my mother into his web of lies that I fell for, like the ditsy, clueless bug Julia appropriately nicknamed me. An overwhelming pain pricks my chest while looking at him. He worked for Julia, I remind myself. She knew he was getting close to me, close enough that she felt the need to warn her son, during the phone call I overheard, that Marcus could actually be falling for me. He was paid to watch me. I wonder if he was paid to screw me too. That thought awakens some defensiveness within me and I reach up, striking his face fiercely.
“I’m an idiot,” I shout in his face when he turns back with eyes narrowing. “I know talent when I see it, and you have it in spades. Bravo, but save the encore.” My temperateness drops without restraint, like when my heart fell into my stomach while watching his surreptitious behavior with the woman who claims to be my mother. “Because we are done.”
“What are you talking about?” His posture isn’t reflective of the drunkard he was portraying less than an hour ago. He’s suddenly sober as I am, glowering down at me. The wounds of my past, I thought buried, exposes its rot in the form of my lover.
“I saw you, Marcus,” he blinks, “On the balcony.” Awareness of what I’m talking about settles into his darkening green eyes. “I hope Julia paid you well for this award
-winning performance.” I gulp on a sob threatening to break my stronghold. Remembering the intimacy that we shared sickens me.
“You misunderstood, baby,” he claims, lifting a hand out toward me and wrapping his long fingers around my forearm tenderly. My stomach coils hearing the sweet nickname. “My mask was caught in my hair and she was simply helping me get it unstuck.” His lie widens the figurative spaces between us. He smirks, but it’s as fake as his love for me. “It was absolutely innocent.” I shake my head, refusing to buy the crap he’s selling. “You’re being ridiculous,” he charges, tugging me closer. I should have never trusted him, devoting my heart without pause to a man who can so easily break me down. “Don’t make a big deal out of this, please.”
“Let go of me,” I glance at his hold, tightening around my arm, “Now.” My eyes connect with his again and that dazzling smile has vanished.
“Are you playing Hottie Ping-Pong tonight, Beatrice?” The gloating tone precedes the bitch-face of Miller Adams, stepping from behind Marcus. “I thought for sure after seeing you kissing Tyle in the gardens Marcus would be history.” The trolling little wench didn’t have the decency to confront me alone about what she thinks she witnessed. No, she is positive that she’s discovered the perfect weapon to cut me deeper than anything she’s ever done before. Little does she know that Marcus singlehandedly inflicted the coup-de-grâce.
“You kissed Tyle?” he growls deep in his throat, ripping off the mask from his face and lowering it within inches of mine.
My eyes stay glued on the sickening twisted face of Miller. She crosses her boney arms, settling in to join our conversation. Shifting her glare from me to Marcus, her brown eyes burn a path up and down his body consuming him like a greedy little disease. I’ve had enough.