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“After all I’ve done for you,” he starts, but I cut him off.
“I don’t owe you a thanks for my success.” He pushed me to play and pushed me ridiculously hard to be successful, but if I didn’t love the game and want to make it professionally, I doubt I would’ve made it this far. Not to mention, all the other shit he’s done to me kind of counteracts what he’s done “for” me when it comes to hockey. “You can wait at the end of the driveway.” I give him a little push toward the steps and he glares, that crazy gaze back in his eyes. I refuse to acknowledge the shiver and ice that crawls up my spine.
Thankfully, he goes without a fuss, but that raises alarm bells in my head. I can threaten my father all I want, yet I doubt I’ll ever be free of him. I sit on the steps and wait for the cab to pick him up. He doesn’t look back, wave, or shout a goodbye. He simply leaves. I take a deep breath. Exhaustion coats my body, and I wish I could go inside and fall into bed. First, I have to collect myself. Then, I need to find out if Elizabeth got home safely.
Please god let her have gotten home safe and sound. I can’t handle any other outcome.
WHEN I LEFT Marc’s, driving felt kind of weird and I didn’t feel like doing it, so I pulled over and waited for him to call me. My phone blaring startles me awake.
“Hey,” I mumble.
“You make it home okay?” He sounds super stressed and worn out.
“I’m parked at the end of your street. Is it safe to come back?”
“I’ll come get you.” He hangs up before I can object and a few minutes later, he’s jogging up to the driver’s side door. I slide over while he takes the keys from me and cranks up the truck to drive us home. “Aren’t you freezing?”
“I fell asleep, so guess not.” I wouldn’t have been able to doze off if I was too cold.
We don’t speak for a little bit. Marc goes straight to his bedroom once we’re inside his house, undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt along the way. I wasn’t prepared to spend the night, so I have no clothes to wear. I sit on the edge of his bed to wait. His movements are jerky as he sheds his clothes and yanks on pajama pants and a long sleeved T-shirt. He disappears into his bathroom. A couple of minutes later, he reappears and stops short when he sees me.
That’s when he finds me something similar to wear. Marc being quiet like this is starting to make me nervous. What happened while he was with his father? Where is his father? Is he here for a while to visit or only a few days or has he already left? Is Marc going to talk to me about it or keep it to himself?
I come out of the bathroom and crawl into bed next to him. He immediately pulls me tight against him, throwing his arms around me and a leg over both of mine to tuck me in closer.
“Marco,” he whispers.
I squeeze my eyes closed and press my forehead to his chest. “Polo.”
He squeezes me once. He takes a deep breath. “I’m glad you didn’t go home.”
“Couldn’t make it that far. Something felt off and honestly, I didn’t feel like it, so I pulled over to wait for you.”
“I’m glad you did that, too. I was worried because it might not have been a shit ton of alcohol, but you’re a lightweight and had a decent buzz at the very least. I’m sorry I made you leave.”
“It’s fine. I know why you did.” Marc said before that he wouldn’t want me near his dad, so it really isn’t that shocking that he sent me packing when he was caught by surprise with a visit from him. “Are you okay?”
“No.”
I don’t press him. Mostly because it seems like he’s still processing things. Marc kisses the top of my head, his lips moving, but once again, nothing is said. Too curious for my own good, I let the question out.
“What are you doing?” I lift my head to look at him.
“What do you mean?”
“You keep moving your lips, like you’re saying something, but you never actually say anything.”
“Nothing,” he answers. I stare at him and wait because it’s not ‘nothing’. Marc closes the short distance between us and kisses me quickly just once. “Not tonight, Elizabeth,” he whispers. “Ask me when things are better.” He sighs, closing his eyes. “Let’s sleep.”
I’m a breath away from telling him I love him. But telling him just to distract him, to make him happy again, and to take his mind off his troubles doesn’t seem quite right, even if it’s to also let him know that someone loves him for exactly who he is. Now is not the time. But what I can do is grab his face and kiss him senseless. My hands can roam over his chest and down to the space between our hips to resume what I started in the truck.
That seems to be exactly what Marc needs because he rolls me onto my back, his hands moving over my body with such urgency that it feels like he has more than two hands. Add his mouth to the equation and I’m overwhelmed in the b
est way possible.
“You,” Marc yanks my shirt off and pulls one of my breasts into his mouth, swirling his tongue around my nipple. “Are perfect,” he moves to the other one. “For me.” He starts traveling lower. “So fucking happy to have you.”
He could stop right there and I’d be happy.
