“She’s not your girl.”
“I fucking know that—now! Fuck!” Marc shouted and turned away from Tom, not wanting him to see that his eyes had sprung a frigging leak. Angrily, he swiped at the stupid tears. “I didn’t think I was going to lose my best friend too.”
Tom grabbed his bicep and spun him around. “You didn’t lose your best friend. I’m right here. So damn happy that you’re alive and well and back home. I’m sorry about how I handled this, but I’m not sorry about Lizzie.”
Marc shrugged his arm out of Tom’s grip and took a few steps away. His world was spinning off its axis and he didn’t know what to do. Normally he’d go to his best friend and Tom would give him advice. It was funny but Marc still wanted it from him.
“It’s like I’m spinning around aimlessly in space, no idea which way is up or down. I have absolutely no clue what to do. In the past, I know what I would’ve done. Shit got hard, I got wasted. I don’t do that anymore. So, I don’t know what to do!”
“You do what you’re doing—talking to me. You talk to me until that desire to go back to old habits fades away. Do not go back to them.”
Marc heard the plea in Tom’s voice. It was hard not to miss and it worked. It dug in like planned. And with Tom’s next words, it dug in even deeper.
“I don’t ever want to see you on some hospital bed, slipping away from me because it became too much for you. You can always talk to me, Marc, regardless of Lizzie. I will always stand by your side.”
“Except when you didn’t,” Marc pointed out. Tonight, a prime example.
“Marc.”
“Can you just go?”
“No. I won’t.”
“Fine. I’ll go,” he said and stalked past Tom and headed back into the house, needing to find Clark and Marty so they could get out of there.
As Marc entered the kitchen, he ran right smack into Lizzie coming from Tom’s office.
Fuck . . . couldn’t he just get out of here?
Without an apology, he moved past her, but his name spoken by her stopped him. He didn’t turn around because he was unsure of what he’d say, how he’d react to actually having a conversation with her.
“Please turn around,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear, her voice turning on his tears.
He did, breathing hard not to break down at the look in her eyes. The hurt he caused still in those beautiful mossy depths.
“You’re back?” she asked.
He nodded curtly because his voice had been lost somewhere between Tom and her. They stood there just staring at each other, even though they had so much that needed to be said.
God, he loved her. This woman who saved him, who showed him a love he’d never thought he’d ever get, let alone deserved.
And she was no longer his. She was Tom’s.
Marc moved towards her, about to take a step towards his future.
“Is he good to you?” he asked, his eyes stuck on hers which quickly filled with tears.
“Yeah, he is.”
Marc nodded his head a couple times, trying to keep control of himself, but he almost lost that battle when her tears broke free.
“Good. You deserve that,” he spoke and reached out and put the outside of his hand to her cheek, his thumb skimming down until he stopped right below her lower lip. “Bye, Elizabeth,” he said quietly and walked away.
Marc
September 2009
“Marc, come on,” Tom urged. “Please come to this party. I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“I just talked to you two days ago and before that, it’d been just a day,” Marc replied.
“On the phone. I haven’t seen you in person since the night of my last party.”
The party where Marc had learned about Lizzie and Tom. Where he could have spiraled out of control if not for the constant calls and messages from Tom. He knew what Tom was doing—proving his friendship—and Marc was so damn thankful for it.
He and Tom talked regularly, though Marc let Tom do the calling, not wanting to interrupt him and Lizzie. Well . . . more like be reminded of the fact that she was Tom’s girlfriend, and not his.
The conversations had focused on safer topics—the Cubs and all their damn injuries, the Inferno’s preseason games, Tom’s work, and Marc’s foray into the published world.
Lots was happening with that—at a really fast pace. His agent had shopped his manuscript around and he had a few offers for it, but it was the one that tossed the movie deal at him as well that intrigued him. He let his agent know that and off she went to do her thing. He’d hear from her when she had something to say.
Marc told his best friend all of this and Tom shared his excitement and offered his encouragement. Tom had been his friend, and Marc hadn’t realized the extent to which he’d missed it.
“Tomorrow. Ollie’s. Be there,” Tom carried on.
Chuckling, Marc gave in. “Okay. I’ll be there.”
“Shit. Really?”
“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
The door opened and Ollie stood there, a big smile on his pretty boy mug. “You came?”
“Looks like it. Brought some beer too,” Marc replied.
Ollie one-arm hugged him. “Thank you . . . for the beer,” he added with a wink.
“Fucker. Help me carry it in,” Marc said, walking in and leaving Ollie to carry in all the cases.
“Gwennie!” Ollie called out and Marc heard her curse in response. Some things don’t change. “Marc’s here!”
“He is?”
Marc heard something drop and then her hurried footsteps as she ran into the room and into his arms.
“I heard you were back but . . .”
“I’ve been keeping a low profile.”
She leaned back and all he saw in her eyes was understanding. “Well, I’m glad you decided to come today. It’s good to see you well.”
“Let me tell you, it feels good.”
The three friends laughed and headed into the kitchen where Ollie tossed him a beer before putting the cases in the fridge.
“Action is happening outside,” Ollie advised and went through the already opened screen door.
“You coming, Gwen?” Marc asked, putting the beer back in the fridge and grabbing a pop.
“In a minute. I want to get this food set up. Go on out.”
He kissed her cheek and then headed outside. Ollie was right. Action was out of the house. Music filled the air. Marc appreciated it even if it was country. Glancing around the yard, Marc searched for someone he knew, but paused when he saw Tom pull Lizzie in his arms and dance to a song about falling in love with your best friend.
Marc frowned. This was why he’d stayed away so he wouldn’t have to see that. He’d have to get used to it, but for now Marc was going to take his drink over to the group playing cornhole.
After a few pops and coming out victorious on a few games of cornhole, Marc headed inside to use the bathroom. As he entered the hall, he saw Lizzie coming from the other direction, both headed for the same end point. When she looked up at him, Marc could see she was a little drunk.
“Go ahead,” he offered, nodding his head towards the door.
Without a word, she went in and closed the door, and when she came out, she didn’t look too good. Her eyes met his and then she left. After relieving himself, Marc went to the sink to wash his hands. The insistent knock on the door gave him pause, but he turned on the water because he was almost done.
“Please let me in, Marc,” came Lizzie’s miserable voice from the other side. He turned off the water to open the door for her and she burst through, straight to the toilet where she proceeded to throw up. He closed the door and quickly washed his hands. Walking over to the linen closet, he pulled out a washcloth, wet it and then handed it to her.
“Thanks,” she said, sitting on the now closed toilet.
“No problem. Need anything else?” he asked, leaning against the wall opposite her. Marc took in her pale face, conce
rned because he’d never seen her get sick before.
“Yeah . . .” she replied, her voice very quiet. She cleared her throat then continued. “A glass of water?”
Marc filled a small paper bathroom cup and handed it to her. “Here you go.”
Lizzie slowly sipped the water, then closed her eyes again.
“You feeling any better?” he asked.
She shook her head. He frowned, not liking that answer. “Do you want me to get Tom?”
Lizzie thought a bit then shook her head again. “No, I’ll be okay . . . eventually.”
“Okay then,” he said, putting his hand around the cool doorknob.
“Marc, wait!”
He paused and without looking at her asked why.
“Please stay with me.”
“Why do you want me here? After what I did . . .” he pointed out.
“I should hate you for what you did. You left me!”
“I did and you should,” he agreed with a sad nod of his head, feeling so ashamed of what he’d put her through. Not talking to her, not telling her about his drug history, why he did them, about his dad . . . all of it.
He should have talked to her . . . in person, not in a note. But he’d been in a bad place. Part of him wondered if the drugs in his system affected him even that next day. The day of, he had no doubt.
“But I don’t hate you. You see? God!” she screamed in frustration, standing and throwing the towel in the hamper. Glancing up, her gaze met his in the mirror. “I don’t hate you. I don’t understand . . .”
And in that moment he saw exactly how his leaving had affected Lizzie.
“If I didn’t understand what I did, how would you? I was in a bad place, Lizzie. I was there for many years. Hell, most of my life.”
“Why did I never know that?” she said, turning to face him, her moss-colored eyes on fire. “You never shared that with me. Nearly two years, and I knew nothing. And then after, I still didn’t know . . . not where you were or what you were going through, just that you were safe in rehab. That’s all you allowed them to tell me. You kept so much from me . . . I mean, you said you loved me, Marc. Was that even true?”
“Of course it is, Lizzie.”
Lizzie
“Of course it is, Lizzie.”
She didn’t miss his use of the present tense. It is. She didn’t want to think about what that meant. But it was there—he still loved her. Did she still love him? The answer to that was complicated . . . that’s what she told herself anyway. She was with Tom now. What she had with that baseball cap-wearing furniture maker was more than she ever thought she’d have with him. Her best friend was now her lover, her boyfriend. She didn’t want to ruin that. She didn’t want to, nor would she, hurt Tom.
So yes, the answer to whether she loved Marc was complicated. She’d admit that she cared for him. She carried no hate for him, but she would not entertain whether she loved him still. She couldn’t.
Marc moved closer, his all-too-familiar scent invading her fragile senses, weakening her walls. Her eyes fluttered closed at his onslaught of her personal space, her hands clenched into fists. This man in front of her could bring her to her knees with minimal effort and if she just let go of herself, she’d throw herself into his arms. That’s the effect he had.
Her eyes opened to find Marc’s heated blue eyes inches from her. There was this part of her that wanted to give in to what she knew would be there—another chance with Marc, the first man she’d loved. But another set of blue eyes showed themselves in her mind—the man who’d always been there for her—even when her first love broke her heart. The one who pulled her through Marc leaving her.
She had to remember that man.
Lizzie dodged Marc, but he caught her arm before she got to the door. She couldn’t look at him and stared at the wood grain on the door.
“Lizzie . . . I still do.”
She shook her head repeatedly, wanting the words gone, and when that didn’t work, she bolted out the door.
Tom
November 12, 2009
Watching the fire, Tom sat in Lizzie’s backyard while he waited for her to arrive from the airport. Foxy sat guard at the gate where she could see the driveway. He wondered if his dog missed Lizzie more than he did. She’d given him the death glare when they arrived and Lizzie wasn’t home.
Soon, pup. Soon.
A few minutes later, Foxy barked excitedly, letting him know their girl had arrived.
“Woof! Woof!” Foxy barked to Lizzie.
“Give me two seconds, pretty girl,” Lizzie called out.
He stood back and watched as the driver pulled her suitcase out of the trunk. Hauling the bag behind her, Lizzie hurried to the very impatient Foxy.
“Arf arf arf!”
“I missed you too,” Lizzie said, kneeling down and petting the dog. After Foxy got some much needed loving, she bounded over to him to let him know Lizzie was home.
“Woof!”
“Got it, girl,” he said, patting her head, then she was off to explore. Tom lifted his eyes and smiled at the beautiful woman in front of him. “Welcome home,” he said, opening his arms to her.
“God, I missed you,” she said, burying her nose into his shirt.
“Same here, Bits.”
“I like the fire.”
“Yeah,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the chair he’d set up by the pit. “I figured it was a perfect night to sit under the stars and relax. Sit,” he directed.
She kicked off her heels and leaned back in the lounger. Lizzie knew the drill and parted those legs so he could lie between them. When her fingers ran through his hair, it did something to him. Calmed him. Centered him. He felt at peace.
He reached down for the blanket and covered their legs with it. When he leaned back, his head resting on the pillow her breasts created, she kissed his hair while her arms slid down his torso.
“This was a good idea,” she said.
He looked back and smiled devilishly at her. Turning under the blanket, he hovered above her. “I have another idea,” he said, his hand at her waist, unfastening her pants.
“Go on,” she encouraged, her breathing hitching when his fingers skimmed her skin.
“Well,” he continued as he maneuvered her pants from her hips. “I was thinking that we could enjoy the night a little more.”
Once her pants were off, he headed under the blanket. “Oh my, Tom,” she moaned as his tongue touched her. She gripped and kneaded his shoulders as he worked her into a frenzy, her noises the only sound in the backyard.
He made his way from under the blanket and paused in awe at what he saw—her stunning face by firelight, the fire reflected in her green eyes.
Impatient, she grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him. While she attacked his mouth, he countered by attacking her pussy with his fingers, her moans spilling into his mouth.
After she came from his hands, her hands flew between their bodies, searching for his zipper, and unleashed him. “Now, Tom, please?” she begged.
“You want it?”
“I need it.”
“Since you asked so nicely, I guess I’ll give it to you,” he teased as he reclined the lounge chair. When he slid inside her, he groaned at how great it felt. He wanted this forever.
His movements were cautious as his cock moved in and out of her. At first, she’d bit down on her lip to contain her moans and when that became useless she buried her face in his neck. A rustle in the yard had stopped him still, but it was only Foxy. Lizzie chuckled until he resumed what he’d been doing, his thrusts more urgent. And when she came again, he captured her screams and moans with his mouth. Her hands slid inside of his pants and gripped his ass, pulling him closer, holding him to her as he exploded.
“Can we do this every time I come home from a trip?” she asked, scooting forward so he could sit behind her.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he answered as he wrapped her in his arms.
With
a content sigh, Lizzie relaxed in his embrace, watching the flames of the fire wick up in the breeze.
“So . . . tell me how you’ve been. What’d you do while I was gone?” she asked.
“I spent some time with my mom. Been working on a project with her,” he answered carefully.
“You are so good to your mama,” she replied, snuggling her head further into the crook of his arm.
He’d also been hard at work on another project—his future. He had hoped that it would’ve been ready today, but no . . . tomorrow they’d said.
So plan B. With tomorrow being his birthday, this may work out better. He’d easily remember the day he asked Lizzie to be his wife.
Tom couldn’t wait to share it with Lizzie because his future, he hoped, would include her front and center in it.
Lizzie
November 13, 2009
“Why you calling me at work, Pooh bear?” Lizzie laughed into the phone.
“Fucking name.”
“Ha!”
“I was calling you to talk about tonight.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Make sure to pack a bag for the weekend. Also, I’m going to be late. This delivery and installation is taking forever, plus I have to make a stop. And if Carlos doesn’t get back here with my truck in the next hour, I’m gonna have to take my bike, so could you bring Foxy to the party?”
She still hated that damn bike. “Of course. How late are you thinking?”
“I’m hoping only a half hour . . .”
“You’ll just have to make it up to me.”
“Oh yeah?” he said, his voice turning smooth like whiskey. “How could I possibly do that?”
“I really liked what we did last night . . .” she admitted. The thrill of possibly getting caught just turned her on.
“Oh yeah?”
“We’ll have to make a habit of doing that again.”
“You thinking about it?” he asked and the suggestion in his voice was making her uncomfortable . . . in the very best way.
“Mmmhmm”
Losing You (Stars On Fire #4) Page 21