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I told him I loved him. What the hell more is there?
Proving it. Being willing to be vulnerable. To let go of some control.
Fuck off.
"Marcus?" Thomas had spoken, apparently a couple times. "You okay?" Other than arguing with voices in my head? Just fine. "Fine. "
"You know," those dark eyes were studying him intently, "you don't have to be perfect, Marcus. Sometimes it would be a hell of a lot less intimidating for the rest of us if you showed you weren't invincible. "
"Get over it. "
Thomas wasn't asking questions that Julie or Josh or even Lauren hadn't tried to get at in the past, questions he'd deflected without a passing thought. But when those eyes were on him as they were now, it was like Thomas had the ability to forcibly get him to say things better left buried and unsaid.
Why was it a man who'd grown up in the middle of a nowhere Southern town, who had not an ounce of sophistication, no polish, had the ability to twist his insides like this? Make things raise their heads that Marcus had long ago exorcised with extreme prejudice? It was a surge of toxic waste he had no intention of dumping on anyone, let alone Thomas.
"Marcus. " Thomas spoke more sharply this time, concern edging his tone. Marcus snapped out of it, shoving the memories away and slamming the door. Jesus, his hand was shaking under Thomas' grip. "Your phone's ringing. " Thank God. He jerked away harder than necessary, fumbling for it.
Thomas had no polish because there was no veneer on Thomas, nothing but a hundred percent who he was. With Thomas, it wasn't that his whole family didn't know who or what the fuck he was. It was that they wouldn't accept it, and he was trying to live up to their expectations. He didn't want to disappoint them because he loved them. And they loved him.
Whereas Marcus had six inches of lacquer he'd worked his ass off to refine until it went bone deep. It was him, through and through, damn it. Just like the alchemists who'd sought to turn non-precious metals to gold, he'd turned veneer and polish into solid oak. That was the end of it.
He glanced at the phone display. Blinked. "Hell, it's Lawrence, probably trying to get another week on the show displays. He thinks if he calls me at night, he'll get my voicemail, the spineless prick. "
At Thomas' pointed look, Marcus grimaced. "The spineless very bad man. " Thomas' smile should have loosened the tight band around Marcus' chest, but it didn't. Because the call wasn't Lawrence. "I'm going to have to yell. I'll go outside to take this. " Marcus said it casually and rose, avoiding Thomas' gaze and moving around the table to stride for the door.
Just fucking ironic, perfect timing.
Thomas watched him go, speculating. He took another swig of his Coke.
Suppressing a sigh, he turned his attention to finishing his dinner rather than why he always hit a brick wall when he tried to push into any part of Marcus where Marcus didn't want him to go. Had he ever surrendered, let someone just walk into a room of his soul, trusting them to treat what they found there gently? What could be there that was so awful?
* * * * *
As Marcus listened to his brother, he stared into the dark mural of silhouettes formed by the scrub trees and underbrush behind the restaurant. There was a pretty retention pond area complete with cattails. It was lit dimly by the bug-encrusted light mounted by the back kitchen entrance. Lily pads moved like ghosts across the water's surface. He'd walked away from the bright front lights where Thomas could still see him. He needed to pace, to feel like he wasn't trapped.
"Yeah, I heard you. A couple months. Does she - " He closed his eyes. "What do you need? Okay, I'll send it. In fact, I'll just set up a separate account. You can pull from it as you need it. You're going to have a lot of unexpected expenses. No. Okay. Bye. " He clicked off. Too late, the scuff of a boot on gravel alerted him and he turned.
There were three of them. He'd noticed them in the diner at the counter, knew enough about their kind that he should have kept his guard up, shouldn't have been so stupid as to wander away from the front of the restaurant.
"What's this we got in the dark, all alone? A pretty, pretty girl, all by herself.
Wearing fancy shoes and an expensive watch. "
Only one of them believed in chitchat. The other two were moving in. They could have tried to get him to hand over his watch and wallet, but they weren't thieves. That wasn't what had made them get up and come out here, and they all knew it, including him.
"You need to stay in your city and keep your queer ass out of our hangouts. Don't even like to eat near you. "
"I suppose it is uncomfortable, being around someone who actually knows how to chew with his mouth closed. "
That gave them pause. Marcus could have tried to bolt, call out. Someone in the kitchen probably would have heard. But he didn't. When they charged forward, Marcus snarled and flung himself at them, outnumbered and taken by surprise, but in the perfect mood for a fight.
* * * * *
Thomas pushed aside his plate and looked up in time to see the manager glance at the second waitress, a younger, worried-looking woman. At his meaningful look, she rolled her eyes and made a "boys will be boys" expression toward the three empty spots at the lunch counter. Three men gone, their plates not empty, beers left unfinished.
He met the manager's eyes and knew. Son of a bitch. Thomas exploded up from the table and headed for the door, even as he heard the man call out, "We don't want any trouble. Son, you need to - "
He shoved out the door, so violently it hit the wall. The choice was obvious when he didn't see them out front. Pivoting on his foot, he ran around the corner toward the back and saw two figures on the groun
