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I cried for my mom and dad, and for our cousins and aunt and uncle, who were like second parents to us. And I cried for my brother, who would take this loss harder than any of us combined.
Unknowingly, I cried for the worst that was yet to come.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
Marcus
Ashifting breeze skates through the newly added barn windows and across my bare back as I sculpt the corner of the wood block I’m working on. After talking with Mortie this morning, I needed something to do to block out the chaos in my mind.
I replay our conversation for what has to be the tenth time, continuously coming back to him relapsing. These stints of his are getting too close together, but if he’s experiencing withdrawals as he says, can moving forward truly be an option for him?
I sand the piece some more, reflecting on the love lost between us. How Mortie only visited Augustine a handful of times during our lives, and how he wasn’t afforded the same adventures Leah, Pen, Carrie, and I were because he was too busy chasing an acting career.
Chunks of our childhoods which should have been spent together are gone, and there’s nothing I can do for the kids we once were. But seeing what he’s become has shaken me into wondering what I can do for the men we are now.
Sparrow stomps in her new stall behind me, whinnying and snorting for attention.
“Let it go, mare. You’ve already had your snack. Anything else and you’ll end up overweight and unbreedable, like Bertha.”
“Don’t listen to him, Sparrow. You’re nothing like that mean old bitch.”
I turn toward the woman plaguing my every thought, and shove the piece I was working on out of sight.
“I see you found some proper work attire,” I say, strangled by how beautiful she is in a pair of brown boots and a yellow sundress. The thin material falls loosely around her waist but accentuates her breasts with a subtle U-shape and capped sleeves before stopping just above her knees.
She places a glass of water on top of Sparrow’s stall before feeding her half an apple and murmuring how pretty she is. My heart pinches when Sparrow shoves her head toward her and peels her lips back, demanding more affection.
“No work for me today.” Heather beams at her furry friend before turning to me. “Perks of getting on the boss’s good side, I guess.”
That frisky smile stutters when her eyes fall to my bare chest. I watch her nibble her lip, and despite my bitter disposition, the secret I’m keeping, and the fact that I’m too far gone to detach from her, I desire the woman with untamable ferocity.
“I brought you something to drink.”she says, then boops Sparrow’s nose when she sniffs at the glass. “Figured you were working hard with all that clanging going on around here.”
Her timidness is a charming contrast to her generally feisty nature, and I’m guilt-ridden to receive this trust from her when she thinks I’m another man entirely.
Tell her. Just come clean.
“Thank you,” I say tightly before snagging a clean towel from the stack on my workbench and scrubbing it over my face and neck. I walk toward Sparrow’s stall and drape the towel over it before lifting the glass and taking three hefty swallows.
“So,” she drawls, walking her fingers across the wood timidly. “I was wondering if you wanted to go into town for dinner later, um, with me?”
I’m not sure if her hands are shaking with nerves or excitement, but the elation I felt when I first saw her now forms a hollow pit in the bottom of my stomach.
“You’re asking me on a date?” I stare at her swooping lashes, accenting her soft brown eyes.
“Yeah, well, I found a little spot next to the bookshop that has this giant dessert shaped like a swan. The whole thing’s made of chocolate. It’s seriously amazing.” She pauses when I glance between our feet. “Is everything okay?”
“Far from it,” I manage, confusing her into frowning.
My confession is on the tip of my tongue, but she’s wearing dresses, flirting and smiling, and asking me on dates… I think about the way she’s been slowly opening up, the tears she cried in front of me, and the admission freezes in my throat.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” she demands in that no-bullshit way of hers.
“It’s nothing,” I say too sternly.
“You’re lying.”
We glare at each other as I struggle to remain cool and controlled, but after this morning, I’m wired too tight.
