He looks at me full-on, then his eyes stretch wide. “You didn’t hear a damn thing I just said, did you? All you heard was she, and you got those panties in a twist.” He clearly finds this humorous because he tips his head back to bellow a laugh.
I tuck my damp hair behind my ears. “I’m just wondering.”
He clears his throat. “A woman I used to hang out with. Her name was Lucy.”
“Wow. Lucy? She sounds easy.”
“She was. It was kind of a part of her job.”
I frown then. “Her job? What are you talking about?”
“She was a paid escort.”
I blink rapidly, stunned. I did not expect to hear that come out of his mouth. “So, you paid her to fuck you?”
“Somethin’ like that.” He says it so nonchalantly that I want to cringe. “It was a premium agency. Expensive. All of the women who work there are clean, and the clients, like me, are always tested to make sure we are, too.”
“That sounds complicated and pricey. Why not just try and find a girlfriend instead?”
“Because girlfriends are ten times more complicated and even more expensive. At least with Lucy, I didn’t have to buy her things to make her happy.”
I roll my eyes, leaning back on my palms. “Well, I think Lucy is right. You like things you know you can’t have. And I think deep down you like it because of something that happened in your past, maybe. Deep down you know people like me and Lucy won’t stick around forever, which will only cause you to end up alone.” I narrow my eyes at him, hoping that’s enough to get him to open up.
“What can I say? I’m a lone wolf.”
“Being lonely isn’t always a good thing. What if you grow old and have no one to take care of you?”
“I’ll check myself into a good retirement home. I could make friends there, all of us showin’ denture smiles while playin’ bingo and eatin’ sugar-free rice puddin’.”
I bust out laughing. “You are ridiculous!”
He smirks, then sweeps his eyes all over me. “Come here.” His face is serious now, eyes mellowing. I crawl his way and he reels me forward so I’m sitting on his lap. “You fit on top of me perfectly, you know that?”
I feel a blush creep up from my neck to my cheeks.
“When this little trip is over, will you stay in touch with me?” he asks.
I blink quickly when he airs his question. My expression alone is probably enough to reveal the truth. My jaw goes slack, and I lower my head, inhaling deeply before exhaling. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No. I don’t know.”
“Would you want to see me again?”
I shrug.
“Look at me.”
I slide my eyes up to his.
“Would you want to see me again?” he repeats.
I press my lips and lightly bob my head. “I know I will…and that’s what’s going to kill me.”
“Why let it kill you? Why not just make a trip to see me again? No one would know but us.”
“Because it’s wrong, Marcel. I can’t live with that guilt.”
“Even if the man you’re married to treats you like you’re a fuckin’ object?”
His face is even, but when he narrows his eyes, searching my face for answers, I can tell he’s annoyed. I start to move off his lap. I’m not in the mood to be interrogated. He’s been upset about my marital status ever since this morning. I knew he wasn’t going to let it go that easily, but having the conversation here is upsetting.
He doesn’t let me go, though. He holds tight, forcing me to stay in place. “Let me go, Marcel,” I mutter.
“Fuck no. I never want to let you go.”
I can’t lie, my belly flutters from those words, but I remain strong. “You’ll have to eventually, and you know it. I don’t know why you keep trying to avoid the reality of our situation.”
“Reality is torture, Gabby. Torture that I don’t want to go through again.”
I frown at his statement, forgetting about my fight. “What do you mean again?”
His head shakes, and his eyes fall for the first time. “Nothin’. It’s nothin’.”
We sit for a moment, breathing. I watch him carefully, but he avoids my eyes, looking over my shoulder at the water again. “What happened to you?” I ask softly, and his eyes finally swing up to mine. They’re damp now, full of a pain I don’t understand.
“You’re deflectin’,” he mumbles and then places me down beside him. He stands up and walks to the shore again.
I follow him. “No, you’re deflecting, Marcel. Something happened to you, and I can tell you never talk about it.”
“Nothin’ happened to me.”
I don’t want to push too much. I want him to be comfortable telling me his truth—his past—but we can’t do it out here. Sighing, I grab his hand and he looks down as I entwine our fingers. “Come on. Let’s go back.”
He nods in agreement, turning with me. We pick up our towels and I grab my bag, trudging through the warm sand to get back to the villas.
Once we’re back in our room, I notice Marcel is still quiet. We shower together, but we don’t have sex this time. He smiles as I brush by him with soap on my body, and even kisses me after washing his hair. He smirks when I rinse off, but he’s so damn quiet that it’s maddening. He’s never been this quiet around me. I must have really struck a nerve.
He orders a pepperoni pizza for us, and we eat it while watching a movie on the couch. He still doesn’t talk much. I ask him questions about what his favorite color is, which is blue, and what his favorite music is, to which he replies, “I can listen to a little bit of everything. Don’t have many favorites.”
Around midnight, I can barely keep my eyes open. The sun and beach completely drained me.
“Let’s get you in the bed,” he murmurs after watching me yawn. He’s off the couch, and I follow after him. We curl up beneath the blankets after changing into pajamas. Marcel is on his back, and my head is on his chest. I listen to his heart beat steadily in one ear, the distant ocean sounds in the other.
“Please tell me what happened,” I finally whisper. I can’t take it anymore. He seems so…sad now.
“Nothin’ happened, Gabby.”
I sit up to look at him. “Yes, it did. You can tell me. I swear I would never judge you.”
He’s quiet again for several seconds, then he says, “I know you wouldn’t, but I’ve never talked about it with anyone.”
“Well try to now. Maybe it’ll make you feel better.”
He glances down at me, and I think he’s going to open up, but instead he shakes his head and pushes me away to sit up against the headboard. “This is our last night, and you want to know about somethin’ that doesn’t matter right now.” He scoffs.
“Don’t scoff at me. I know you’re covering something up, and if it’s bothering you so much, then clearly it matters to you all the time. I’m not letting it go until you tell me.”
“Jesus Christ, Gabby!” He pushes out of bed and storms out of the bedroom. I waste no time climbing off the bed and chasing right after him.
“You know more about me than I do about you, Marcel!” He’s standing in front of the patio door, running a hand through his hair. “You play this role of a good guy who acts like he doesn’t have any worries, but there’s always this cloud of sadness that surrounds you. It’s like you will never be able to escape it and you know it.” My voice breaks as I study his back. He refuses to look at me, and I hate being ignored so I rush across the living room, past the coffee table and sofa, to get to him. I grab his arm and twist him around, and though it requires me to use all my strength, I’m able to.
He’s facing me, breathing hard through his nostrils like an angry bull. “Drop. It. Gabby.” He’s angry, the rage broiling in his eyes. Why is he so upset? What could possibly be so bad that it’s made him this way?
“Please,” I plead with him, then I push his arms away to wrap
mine around his large torso. He freezes up, holding his arms out at his side. A breath shudders out of him and, finally, he closes me in his warm arms. I keep my cheek to his chest, holding him tight. I refuse to let go until he understands that I’m here for him. I want to know his truth. Hell, I want to know everything about him.
He’s quiet for so long. I hear the ocean roaring outside the patio doors. It’s a soothing sound. His body is no longer tense, breaths no longer ragged.
“I don’t like talkin’ about it,” he mumbles.
“You can trust me,” I whisper.
The ocean sounds swallow the silence again. My heart is beating rapidly. I’m so worried for him, afraid he’ll do something crazy if he doesn’t let it out.
“It was my fault,” he says brokenly. “All of it.”
“What was?” I pull back to look up at him. His eyes are wet and red now, like he’s trying to fight tears but is losing the battle.
Silence again.
“Marcel,” I beg, focused on his eyes. “You can trust me.”
His Adam’s apple bobs, and he finally lowers his gaze to look at me. We watch each other’s eyes for just a moment, then he drops his hand to grab mine, leading the way back to the bedroom.
He’s quiet as he lies back down and pats the spot beside him. I climb on the bed and rest my cheek on his chest again, sighing. Waiting.
“My sister died because of me,” he mumbles after what feels like an eternity.
I don’t move. I’m afraid that if I do, he’ll think I’m judging him or ready to demand answers, so I remain perfectly still and meekly ask, “How?”
“She needed me to pick her up one night. She was in trouble—always gettin’ in trouble. We got into an argument on the road, and I wasn’t payin’ attention. I lost control, and my truck veered off the road. Slammed right into a tree.” He sucks in a sharp breath. His body is tense all over. I finally make a move by looking up at him, and his eyes are squeezed tight. I feel his fist clenching between us so I sit up to look at him. “There was…blood everywhere. I kept callin’ her name, wantin’ her to answer me. She never did. I was so mad at her when I picked her up, complaining about how she wasn’t doing anything with her life and hangin’ with the wrong people. If I could, I would take that whole argument back if it meant she could be here right now. She was all I had left, and now she’s gone because of a mistake I made.”
“Oh my God, Marcel. I am so, so sorry.” I have no words. I wasn’t expecting this truth at all. “I’m sure it was just an accident. You can’t blame yourself for—”
“No, it wasn’t a damn accident, Gabby! I was drivin’! I was supposed to take her home! I wasn’t supposed to be yellin’ at her about somethin’ that didn’t even fuckin’ matter!”
His voice booms, and when his eyes open, I see the corners are filled with tears. Literal tears. Oh my God, I can’t take it. My heart hurts over and over and over again for him. I feel my eyes getting prickly hot so I look away, before he can notice the tears and feel worse about himself.
“It was cold that night, and I didn’t realize it then, but there was a lot of black ice on the road we were on. We were arguin’ and she kept tellin’ me she wanted out the car. I told her I should let her ass out and freeze to death. It was one of the last things I said to her, right to her face. Didn’t even get the chance to tell her I loved her. She got on my nerves so damn much, but I loved my sister. Still love her.” He swallows hard, still fighting the tears. “We became closer after our mom died, but she started hangin’ out with the wrong crowd soon after. It annoyed me because I knew she was better than all of the shit she was putting herself through.”
“Is that how you got this scar?” I ask, running my fingers along the raised scar below his left rib.
He nods, swiping at the tear that runs down his cheek. Another one falls, but before he can get to it, I’m reaching forward to wipe it away with the pad of my thumb. I climb on top of him, holding his face in both my hands. “Marcel, look at me.”
But he doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t. If I thought he was stubborn when he was just his regular self, his stubbornness is ten times worse when he’s reliving grief.
I force his eyes on mine and he breathes raggedly. “That wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know it would happen.”
“But it did, and I was behind the wheel. I was a few points shy of gettin’ a DUI that night. It was my fuckin’ fault.”
I sigh, closing my eyes. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”
“She would have been better off walkin’ home, not ridin’ with me.” His throat bobs as he swallows the pain. “When I lost Shayla, I lost myself. I had nobody else—no friends or family. We lost our mother to a car crash six years before that. She died instantly, and even though I had grieved, I found myself lucky to still have someone to protect and love. My father died when I was nine. Cancer ate him alive, and by the time he went to be diagnosed, it was too late. He had a lot of pride…it’s probably where I get it from.” He sucks in another breath. “I’m a fuckin’ disease, Gabby. That’s why I want things I know I can’t have. Because I know they can’t stay forever. If anyone else stays for too long, there’s a fair chance I’ll lose them sooner rather than later, and it’s always fuckin’ tragic. I know it. So, it’s better to be prepared in advance, or better to keep a distance.”
“So, you want whatever this is between us to be temporary?” I ask.
“No…but I know it has to be that way. I know you’ll never leave him, and even if you did, I wouldn’t deserve you.”
I drop my eyes, pulling my hands away. “Your past is your past, Marcel. I can’t blame or judge you for any of it. Whatever is meant to happen, happens. That’s life. I mean, I can’t imagine losing my brother, so I can only imagine what you must feel, but blaming yourself for it instead of forgiving it will only have you running in circles. You have to forgive yourself.”
“I’m not ready to.”
“It takes time, I’m sure.”
He lets out a shaky breath, then hauls me forward. My face is between the crook his neck, my arms going around him as best as I can in this position.
“I’ve never told anyone what really happened to Shayla. I’ve been tryin’ to run away from what I did…”
“Well you don’t have to run anymore.”
He pushes me back to look me in the eyes. His mouth is close to mine, the tips of our noses touching. “I’m afraid you’ll end up hurt too,” he murmurs. “Because of me.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Maybe it’s best you go back to him. Forget about me.”
“I would never be able to forget about you.”
He presses his lips together, and I move to the side, cuddling between his arm and the side of his body. Holding me close, he kisses my forehead twice, his warm breath running over the bare skin of my shoulder.
“If I tell you somethin’, you promise not to freak out.”
I look up at him, meeting mellow blue eyes. “Depends on what it is…”
“I know I’m not supposed to, but I think I’m fallin’ for you.”
My heart thumps in my chest. I don’t have the words. I don’t want him to feel this way—things will only be harder tomorrow—but the truth is I’ve fallen for him too. Hard and fast, without any restraints or limits.
I blink quickly, putting my head back on his shoulder.
“It’s alright.” He sighs. “I don’t expect you to say anything. Just thought you should know.”
He sounds defeated, and I feel an ache in my chest. Tomorrow will be our last day, and I’m not glad about it. I know I’ll be back to reality soon, but reality will be a bore compared to this.
The two days I’ve spent with Marcel so far have been a dream. Even though my time spent with him is illicit, it feels so right. Deep down I’m glad I took the chance of coming here. Had I not, I would have regretted it and wondered about what could have happened here for years.
Time ticks on, and ev
entually we fall asleep. I’m sure I fall asleep first. Marcel always stays up longer. He holds me all night, though, and I hold him just as tight, knowing he needs the comfort.
I want him to know he has someone he can trust. Even if things are never the same again, he can trust me. I would never tell a soul about his past, and he knows it.
I’m here for him, just like he’s here for me.
FORTY-THREE
Gabby
When I wake up, Marcel is no longer in my arms.
I sit up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes as I look toward the window, where the ocean is. The waves are gentle, sunlight slowly creeping over the horizon.
I rub his side of the bed, and it’s cold. Panic sets in as I look at the corner where his duffle bag was last night. It’s no longer there.
Scrambling to get out of bed, I rush out of the room in my gown. There’s no sign of him in the kitchen. It’s cleared out, no food or drinks on the counter. Did he leave without saying goodbye?
I already want to curse him out, but then I see his bag by the coffee table, and then I see him. He’s sitting on a chair on the patio, focused on the ocean. I think he’s watching the sun rise.
Relief swirls in my veins as I watch him for a moment, and then sigh. His arms are on the arms of the cushioned chair, and he’s at an angle, so I can see the left half of his face. Something seems to be bothering him.
I hear a buzzing in the room and go back to check my phone on the nightstand. It’s a text from Kyle. I sigh as I read it.
Kyle: What’s going on? You didn’t answer yesterday. Feeling okay?
Me: I’m fine. I was napping when you called.
Kyle: Okay. See you soon
I shut the screen off, placing the phone back down.
“I’m a terrible person,” I whisper to myself. My eyes shift over to the wedding band and cushion-cut diamond ring beside it. I pick my rings up, running the platinum bands between my fingers.
I have no idea what I’m doing, or what tomorrow brings. When I walk out of that door today, I don’t know if I’ll want Marcel more, or wish that I’d never met him.
The Man I Can't Have Page 29
