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Almostmade with Marco. I thank God He pulled the rug out from under me on that one.
I’d like nothing more in this world right now than to go down there and commiserate with the man. Offer a little comfort. Get a little in return.
Alas, I know better. I know where it would lead, since I’ve now been down that road, and I see the bright yellow warning signs. Yet, from my perch, I hear the whispering rationale of my longings asking,what difference does it make anymore?
The chair grates against the pavestone as Marco stands, pulls off his shirt, and dives into the chlorinated water with a resounding splash. Mesmerized, I watch his powerful arms drag his body the length of the pool and back again. I lose count after three passes.
The water shimmies and shimmers across copious tattoos. I wonder how he feels about those. Almost certainly at least some were acquired in the line of duty. I know Tripp would like the option of undoing a few of his, but laser removal isn’t viable on this large a scale. Simply put, it’s a sacrifice they’ve made.
Chosento make. See, I rest my earlier case.
I watch Marco, in awe of the way he moves. I was raised by the water, but I’ve always been a terrible swimmer, so his commanding breaststroke captivates me.
Okay, it’s not his athletic prowess that I’m in awe of. He’s beautiful. There. I admit it. Marco Gonzalez is a hunk and a half.
When he levers himself out of the pool, shedding water from his glistening skin, I go back inside, quietly closing the door behind me.
I’m serious about my resolve to do things right.
Besides, exhaustion is claiming me again, so much so that I collapse onto Tripp’s old bed, the covers still a jumble from last night. I don’t bother with the lamp and manage to fall into the heaviest sleep I’ve known in weeks.
CHAPTER 10
Annalise
I feel better in the morning. I shower, find fresh clothes, and apply light makeup. I go the extra mile and call my hair dryer and flat iron into service. Why do I bother? The coastal humidity frizzes it every time.
Downstairs, nothing new has materialized in the pantry since yesterday, but I do spy a single can of chicken noodle soup, the kind I ate when I was a kid, and a box of saltines. I am also determined to take better care of myself.
After my unconventional breakfast, I drive to the grocery store. If I don’t have food, I won’t eat, or I’ll wait too long, and that gets me into trouble.
On the drive home, backseat loaded down with more than I needed, including a few hunger-driven selections, I wonder what Marco is up to. I hope he’s enjoying his morning in spite of the fact that I effectively crashed his party two days ago. I feel bad about that, but I can’t go back to that depressing apartment by campus, a campus that is no longer home. I figure rent’s getting paid until December regardless of where I’m living, and I need a place that’s better for my mental health while I look for a job.
Home should be that place.
I pull straight up to the breezeway, closer than normal, but I have lots of bags to bring in and I’m already tired. Strange after the long night I had.
The second load is heavier than the first, and then one of the bags rips, leaving about a dozen apples and oranges trailing the sidewalk to the kitchen door. I stifle an ugly word—see, I’m doing better—but right as I go to retrieve them, the doorbell in front rings.
Hefting the load onto the counter takes all my might, but I do it and then, panting, walk to the foyer and throw open the front door.
Marco
It’s been a slow morning. A quiet morning.
Should be a good thing, but dadgum-it, one night and I’m already missing Annalise. I want to check in and see what’s up. Come up with something if her answer isnothing. I greatly enjoyed my cup of wakeup coffee with her yesterday.
I could get used to that.
Nope. Not in the cards, I know this.
But my solitary walk on the beach isn’t the same as it was before she arrived.
Leaving the sand behind, I climb the steps to the patio and enter the gate code. I circle the sparkling pool and reach the cabana, bypassing the door when the need to not be completely alone overcomes me.
As I approach the kitchen entrance, my heart skips a beat. The door is wide open and fruit litters the sidewalk. I follow the trail to its end, to Annalise’s Jeep with one of its doors open. Worse, an unfamiliar car is parked behind it.
I jog back to the open side door and tap on the frame. “Annalise?” I lean inside, peering around the granite and stainless kitchen.
