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When Marcus didn't respond, Thomas turned to face him again. Marcus looked at a loss for words. Not being reticent, not muddling through something insightful to take the wind out of Thomas' sails later. It was like he didn't know how the hell to respond.
Marcus was ageless in his looks, but in that second Thomas almost saw evidence of his mortality in the rigidity of his facial muscles.
He stepped forward, the weighty topic thrust aside. "Marcus, you okay? What's wrong?"
Marcus started as if caught doing something wrong, shook his head. Turned away quickly before Thomas could touch him. "I told your sister I'd have you back. Let's go. "
"Marcus - "
"Don't. " The word snapped out like a whip, and Thomas froze in the act of reaching toward him. Marcus had never rebuffed him. He'd intended to take Marcus' arm, stop him, and the way Marcus recoiled from him, his eyes green and hard, clearly did not invite contact. "Get in the car or walk. " Thomas set his teeth and inclined his head. "Fine. " He should feel anger and a sense of justification in his mistrust of Marcus' offer to play house. But as Marcus turned away, Thomas watched him closely, the stiff body posture, and all that didn't seem to matter. Marcus, the epitome of dangerous grace, narrowly avoided running into the side mirror before he found the door handle and got back in.
When they got back to the store parking lot, he parked and got out of the car before Thomas could say anything. Alarmed by the way Marcus shoved open the door of the store, Thomas lunged out of the car and quickly followed him in.
Les and his mother were at the cash register. Rory was on the nail aisle, restocking.
His mother paled at the sight of Marcus, but curled her fingers into resolute balls on the counter, even as Les put a reassuring hand on her arm and cast a worried glance at Thomas. Thomas increased his step and managed to almost catch up before Marcus reached them. He'd taken his organizer from the car and now unzipped it on the counter, inches away from his mother's knuckles. "Pen," he said to Les, in a voice so calm and precise Thomas thought it could chisel rock.
Les mutely handed him the pen and he began to write.
"Celeste says you're buying the Hill farm. " Elaine raised her chin. Marcus didn't even glance at her.
"It's already bought. In cash, closing statement signed and deed recorded. I know enough about small towns to know that family connections can muck with a building inspector's report. "
"You can't buy us," Elaine said, her voice quivering. "You can't buy my son. "
"An intriguing thought, and a pity. I think he'd be far happier as my slave than he is as yours. " Marcus kept writing. "Thomas, thi
s is your part on the dozen pieces you've done. The courier will arrive later today to pick them up. It's a good agency so you don't need to worry about them getting to me safely. " While he shifted his attention to Thomas, Thomas had the strange feeling Marcus was somehow seeing them all, including him, through some type of distorted filter.
He'd done that once as an experiment, painted an image through a wavering piece of glass. For a little while it had seemed as if he was somehow seeing an alternative but perhaps more true reality of what he was painting. In the same way now, Marcus seemed conscious of all of them, but in a way that felt skewed, raw.
"You'll redo the last one as we discussed or I'll take the extra advance out of your hide. " His green eyes focused somewhat, a seductive promise briefly in his voice.
Thomas didn't dare look at his mother or sister, alarmed at the tone even as he couldn't help but respond to it. "I want that painting. "
Abruptly, Marcus turned and slammed his hand down on the counter, making both women jump. He leaned in, his eyes snapping, face inches from Elaine's frozen features.
"I haven't bought him. I have the goddamned privilege of handling his work. Have you looked beyond your own nose at what those paintings are? They're art. Art is that which touches us down to the soul, tells us this is what life's about. People come into my fucking gallery and stand in front of his fucking work for twenty minutes, because even if they can't put their finger on it, they know they're standing before something so priceless this measly amount," he waved the check, "doesn't touch its value.
"Accepting what people are, what they can't change and loving them with every part of yourself anyway. That's what love is about. " He glared at Elaine. "You take that away from him, you make him believe that kind of love doesn't exist. . . It would be better for you to shoot him rather than destroy him inch by inch, year after year. If you do that, you're not saving his soul, you're killing it. If you'd look into his eyes for once, you'll see it. How we love is our soul. " Out of his pocket he yanked the rag that Thomas had left on the sink in the shed and foolishly not thrown away. Marcus tossed it on the counter in front of her. "That brown stain covering about half of that cloth isn't paint. It's coming from your son's stomach lining. I want him to see a doctor this week. If he won't go, you hogtie him and make him do it. " He looked toward Thomas. "Or I'll come back and do it for you. "
"Marcus, cut it out. Mom, that's not - "
Marcus made a slicing gesture with his hand, relocked gazes with Elaine. "If you still actually know what being a mother instead of a missionary is about, you'll get him there and figure out why he's doing it before he kills himself. He'll do anything to take care of you. Of all of you. " He sent a hard glance toward Rory. "Get a clue. " As Elaine lowered her gaze to stare at the rag, her fingers reaching out to touch it, Marcus tore off the check, left it on the counter and turned toward Thomas. "I'm headed back to New York. But I'll be back, and we'll pick up our conversation then. " Folding the organizer up, he pivoted and headed toward the door as brusquely as he'd come in.
Various questions were churning inside of Thomas, but seeing Marcus about to walk away brought one of them up immediately. "When?" The word was out before Thomas could think to stop it, or completely mask the urgent need for an answer.
Marcus turned at the door. There was such a powerful emotion in his eyes that Thomas almost moved forward, his lover's fuck-off routine be damned. He saw something in Marcus' eyes that told him he'd needed to hear that tone of want in Thomas' voice, in front of his family. Marcus had needed it so desperately that it looked in danger of shattering something within him completely. The last word Thomas had ever thought to describe Marcus was lonely, but it was in his face now.
"Whenever you ask me to come, pet," he said softly. "Just not today. No matter what happens, I can tell you this. I will always love you. No matter what you feel you need to be, where you need to go, I'll always know you're mine. I understand that now.
So you can at least be easy on that, all right? It's okay. I love you. " His attention shifted back to Elaine and something altered in his expression, became much colder. She raised her gaze under the compelling power of his stare.
"If you ever touch anything he creates again, you won't have this place, your house.
You'll be lucky to get a bed in a state nursing home when I'm done with you. "
"Marcus - "
