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No doubt thatsomethingis named Tripp, and no doubt Marco was uninvited after my brother found out he was holding out on him.
I give voice to a nagging fear. “You didn’t tell him about…any of it…did you?”
Marco’s deep stare pins me to my seat. “I did not.”
Relief collapses my spine. I feel tears—but I refuse to cry in front of him. Instead, I narrow my gaze and continue sizing him up. “Where did you spend the night?”
He plants his hands resolutely at his waist while I try unsuccessfully to read the vague nuances that flit through his eyes. “Long story.”
“Were you drinking?” He definitely has that look about him.
At this, his mouth tightens in unmistakable irritation. “Spoken like a true Walker.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m trying to.” Suddenly, his face is sheer granite.
I sit back, trying to catch the spinning insinuations. I’m guessing the flash of anger has more to do with my brother than me. I hope. I am curious, however, as to why Marco looks like something grim the cat dragged in, when honestly, I was expecting—no, hoping again—for more of his flip humor.
He sighs and comes a step closer. “Sorry. Rough night.”
If you value my life at all, call your brother NOW.
Yes, I imagine it was. Tripp was on a tear on the phone yesterday, so I can only imagine the inquisition Marco must have suffered.
And endured—onmybehalf.
My heart swells, and more tears try to push their way out. But what am I feeling so bad about? Marco’s like, trained in interrogations and stuff, right? I’m sure handling Tripp was no big deal. I mean, he lived through it, right?
He plants his hands at his wrinkly waist. “So, you’re breaking out of this joint, huh?”
I nod cautiously.
“Is it legit, or am I aiding and abetting?”
“It’s legit. Got my discharge papers to prove it.” I pat the outer pocket on my bag.
He nods. “Good. When I brought you in here, I wasn’t so sure this day would come.”
I roll my eyes. “Please. It wasn’t that bad.” But an increasingly familiar tremor starts in my chest.
Pinning me with a stare, he doesn’t let me off easy. “It was that bad.”
The low tone jars me. I’d rather denial, or at least platitudes—but he’s not playing along.
He reaches for the strap on my bag, and I relinquish it with some reluctance. I’m totally second-guessing my decision to call this man, but I was desperate.
Amdesperate.
“Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”
He tosses the bag on his shoulder and holds out his hand.
“I’m fine.” But as I stand, the lobby darkens and the stars come out, swirling through my vision in all their glory. Marco catches my waist and holds until my sight is clear and I’m steady. I allow his hand to stay lightly in place as we pass through the parted doors. The sun is hidden, and yet even the cloudy day is too bright. My chest feels hollow like a drum, my heart like the drumstick pounding a hard rhythm from the inside out.
“Hey, where’s your wheelchair?”
I huff. “They wheeled me down in it when I assured them my ride would be here any minute.” I shoot him a scowl, relaxing a little when I read a grin in his profile.
