Hometown Hero

by Marisol Logan

  “You think he came back because of me?” Mara asked, nervousness bubbling like boiling lava in her gut. Phillip nodded, silently. “Well, then he'll be sorely disappointed that he made the trip. I don't have anything good to say to him. And I'd rather not see him at all. Cookie?”

  Phillip took the cookie that she offered with her outstretched hand, and a soft smile pulled at his lips. “I also didn't want you to be angry,” he murmured softly. “I didn't want it to ruin our relaxing day.”

  “I'm not going to let Mark Mitchell ruin any more of my days than he already has,” Mara assured Phillip with a confident smirk, and a happy chomp out of a cookie.

  No matter what her dreams told her, Mark was her past—her deep, dark past that she'd rather ignore, so ignore him she would. Phillip was here now, Phillip had been here for her and Phillip was not the sort to abandon people.

  And if she ran into Mark, she would give him a piece of her mind and that would be the end of it.

  FOUR

  Mark awoke with a start, drenched in sweat, cries of pain and desperation echoing in his ears, and the familiar shooting pain up his arm into his chest. He caught his breath, clutching his ribcage, and tried to shake the screams from his head. Many of them were unknown, but one was recognizable, and that scream was his, from the fateful day he'd never forget—a hundred times worse than the day after his shoulder surgery. A thousand times worse than he'd wish on anyone...

  Was there any possibility of returning to a normal life? he wondered, hauling his aching body out of bed and making his way to the kitchen for a glass of water. Obviously, he'd never have the celebrity and adoration he'd acquired when he was the state's most popular young athlete. But, he didn't need that. Not everyone's admiration, anyway. He'd settle for just having Mara's acceptance and forgiveness, and if he could earn it back, her admiration...

  But, in his venture downtown that day to reopen his bank account, he had learned from the teller that Mara was engaged to the new loan manager. Some guy named Phillip, who had apparently had the day off otherwise Mark was planning on scoping him out, even if he'd had to pretend to apply for a loan.

  Mark opened his wine cabinet and remembered he was yet to stock his house. He had completely forgotten to stop at the liquor store while he was out. The trip had been overwhelming and he'd come home quickly, abandoning further errands. Old high school friends flocking to him with 'Remember me?'s and 'Let's hang out!'s. Old men waving at him and patting him on the shoulders, saying 'glad you're okay! Wish you still played. Midwest ain't the same without ya!' Not to mention, several young women he didn't recognize trying their best to be flirty and seductive.

  It was too much after years of relative solitude in Alaska. And, to top it all off, the news of Mara being engaged...he was starting to question why he had come back. But, deep down he knew why. Even if he couldn't have Mara, and couldn't gain his family's forgiveness, he could keep them safe.

  He shut the wine cabinet door with a sigh and headed back upstairs to his room, not sure how he was going to get any sleep as the cries and memories still flooded his thoughts, and the pain in his chest wouldn't cease. In fact, it had gotten worse, as it was now added to by the pain of realizing that the love of his life may have moved on...

  ***

  “Damnit!” Mara cursed and hopped on her right foot while clutching the toes on her left one. Shooting a furious glare at oversized wooden desk in her tiny office, she called down silent curses on Lucy for insisting she needed the monstrous piece of furniture.

  But she wasn't really mad at Lucy. She knew who she was mad at.

  Mark Mitchell.

  His image rose up in her mind, and just for a second Mara enjoyed the nearly instant rush of heat that whipped through her. But the heat was gone a moment later, replaced by a cold fury. She figured it was healthier if she concentrated on that particular emotion, and not any enjoyment of his physical appearance, which she assumed was the same as when they were twenty.

  She hadn’t been thinking of Mark for a long time now, so even with him occasionally popping up in her dreams lately, it was a shock to her entire system to hear that he was back. She never expected to hear that news, not after he had been gone for this long. The prospect of running into him made her knees a little rubbery and gave her butterflies in her stomach.

  There was a time when she’d loved him more than life itself, when she’d enjoyed the adventure their love had created and the security their relationship gave. She’d awakened every morning with a smile on her face and hope of a great future with what she thought was a great man. She had loved without reserve and he had left without looking back or ever explaining his disappearance. Not even a goodbye. Mara had come to the conclusion he had never loved her if he could just leave like that. She had been arm candy—just the pretty prom queen to his undisputed King, a prop to keep the groupies at a distance, and to brag about in the locker room.

  No matter what Phillip believed, in possible jealous paranoia, Mara was sure issues pertaining to her were the last on Mark's list of priorities. If he cared at all, he never would have disappeared. Why, then, had he come back?

  “Mark Mitchell,” she muttered through gritted teeth, “at least you created an independent woman in your wake.” She plopped into her swiveling office chair and shifted uncomfortably in its sticky leather seat. Before his return, she had been able to keep her anger minimal and under control, but now she felt like releasing all of it. It was unsettling how the bottled up feeling came rushing to the surface on hearing of his return.

  Weird and strangely unsettling—she thought she'd gotten rid of these emotions for good. How did just the mention of him have so much power over her?

  She could still remember the horror of staying wide awake for days on a very dry eye, she had been miserable for weeks, months, till she had no option but to bottle all up and move on with life. Unfortunately, all it took to pop the cork was him coming back, and she hadn't even seen him yet.

  Did he even remember her? Did he even think about her at all while he had been away? He had been back a full twenty-four hours and hadn't tried to make any contact, she thought with a fresh wave of anger toward him. Did he not think she deserved an explanation? Or did he just not care?

  “Oh, God. What am I doing?” She blew out a breath as her stomach began to twist and ripple with nerves. She buried her head in her hands and dug her elbows into the pile of paperwork she'd come in on a Saturday to organize. “I'm talking to myself. I'm talking to myself about Mark freakin' Mitchell! Knock it off, Mara. Get to work.”

  But she couldn't make herself work, especially not on a tedious task like filing. Her focus was elsewhere, and dwindling rapidly. And being cooped up in her hot, tiny office was making it all worse. She grabbed a stack of papers and a filing box, and her briefcase and purse, and stormed to her car with her load.

  She needed a break from her thoughts, and to get out of that suffocating office. Her paperwork and filing could easily be done at the coffee shop with an iced latte, and air conditioning. Hopefully, Lucy was staying on top of the repair man for the unit at the clinic, she thought as she sped toward the main street area of town. They'd be boarding a few dogs over the Labor Day holiday weekend, and the dogs would need the cool air in the kennel overnight.

  Parking her car in the almost empty parking lot at Main Street Coffee House, she loaded herself back up with all her items and made her way in, and was immediately assaulted by the fantastic, earthy, roasted aroma she loved so much. She took a deep inhale of it through her nose, and felt rejuvenated and clear-headed already, without even having to take a sip yet.

  After dropping her things on the desk in the 'study corner' of the coffee house, which usually held highschoolers flirting and doing homework, but not on a Saturday at one in the afternoon, she made her way up to the counter to order.

  “Hey...Mara,” the barista, Ted, said nervously as she approached.

  “Not you too?!” she groaned. “Yes, I know h
e's back and I don't want to talk about it. Please. Sorry, Teddy. Can I have my usual? Iced?”

  Teddy's eyes surveyed her carefully before flashing behind her briefly.

  He nodded as he quickly grabbed a cup and scribbled her order on it. “Large iced almond milk white mocha, comin' right up,” he said, now refusing to make eye contact with her.

  When he did look up to quote her the price, his eyes flashed behind her again, and Mara's heart flipped in her chest.

  Shit, she thought. He's here.

  She whipped around just in time to see him rising from his seat and coming toward her.

  “Mara,” he said softly as he approached. Her stomach tightened, trying to quell the nerves of seeing him again. Seeing him, the same but more mature looking—dark stubble lining his square jaw, and every single muscle on his giant frame cut with stony definition—walking carefully toward her, his face full of caution, and maybe fear.

  He was more handsome than she remembered. People had always remarked that his best feature was his entrancing, golden eyes. Large and perfectly framed by thick, dark lashes, they could shine as bright as the summer sun when they were alight with joy, which used to be when he was on the court, or when he looked at her...

  With every step he took towards her, she felt the instinct to step back, but being basically right up against the counter, she couldn't. She was not yet in the right frame of mind to deal with him. Actually seeing him had rendered her speechless, her brain fuzzy, and ears buzzing. Seeing him again she was convinced that she couldn't be angry with him. She couldn't say what she wanted to say. Her stomach churned and breath caught in her chest as he came within a few feet of her and stopped, heat radiating of his body like a fire.

  Mara pivoted abruptly, grabbing her finished latte from the drink station and ducking toward the desk where she'd put her things. She felt Mark follow behind her, but not close enough for her to feel the warmth off his body. She had to get out of the coffee shop before she did something regrettable, like whip around and punch him in the face, or fall into a blubbering, crying mess on the floor.

  “Mara,” he repeated softly.

  “I have to go—have to get back to work,” Mara lied quickly.

  “Okay, can I at least help you with your things? Walk you to your car?”

  “No!” she snapped, much louder and more forcefully than intended, and the coffee house staff all stared awkwardly at the scene she was causing. Papers slipped out of their files and littered the floor around her and she cursed under her breath. She set the file box down on the study desk and stooped down to pick up the paper, and Mark joined her in a crouch, gathering sheets and handing them to her.

  “I've got it!” Mara snarled, her voice a raspy, harsh whisper.

  Mark stood as she finished stacking the papers, and, before she had time to protest, grabbed the file box off the desk. Mara threw her hands in the air in frustration and began her exit, Mark on her heels, as she expected, since apparently he was not going to let her leave without helping her with her things.

  “Mara, we need to talk,” Mark said as he placed the file box in her trunk, where she impatiently gestured for him to set it.

  “We have absolutely nothing to talk about, Mark,” she said back, allowing a bit more volume as they were out of the coffee house now. “You made that crystal clear when you vanished without saying a word to me!” she spat at him.

  She slammed the trunk hatch shut as soon as his hands were free and angrily stomped to the driver side door and got in. He backed away, apparently speechless and possibly defeated, as she revved the engine and put the car in reverse.

  Halfway back to the office, she glanced in her rear view mirror and cursed silently at what she saw—Mark tailing her in a red truck. She sighed and pressed the gas pedal toward the floor, causing the engine to lurch into the next gear, and her speed to climb above the limit.

  This certainly wasn't how she had expected to react to seeing Mark for the first time in three years...

  FIVE

  “Can you tell her it's important?” Mark's voice rang through the clinic waiting room. He had been there for ten minutes, trying to persuade Lucy to fetch Mara from her hiding place in her tiny office. “We need to talk.”

  “But I don’t think she wants to talk to you,” Mara heard Lucy reply. “Otherwise, she wouldn't be hiding from you in her office.” Lucy repeated the line for the third time.

  She had made it very clear back at the coffee house that she had nothing to discuss with him and she intended to leave it that way, but the mule of a man had instead jumped into his truck and followed behind her to the clinic.

  What else would he possibly want? She wondered visibly shaking herself to clear the aftermath of the current still sizzling in her veins from the touch of his hands. It had been like before; the passion the attraction, all had been present and even stronger than before. A single laying of his hand on her arm and she had almost gone weak on her knees. She would have fallen from the sheer pleasure the impact of his hands on her had caused if not for the support of one of the shopping carts.

  Gosh, the man was more attractive than ever before. She had felt like eating him raw just on seeing him back then in the stores and they had been other people there, what would happen if he was to be in close circuits with her?

  She could hear hushed voices from the other room, what were they discussing now in such hushed tones? She wondered feeling for her temple. She was already feeling hot and restless from hiding in a room without an active air-conditioner.

  Sweat trickled down Mara’s back and pooled at her waistline. One more minute in this stuffy office and she would have been out the door. But now she was trapped in it.

  Pushing back her frustration with the heat, the office, and life in general, she narrowed her concentration on trying to her what was being said at the other end of the office. There was suddenly absolute silence, like the breeze blew every source of sound away from the clinic, then slowly the knob on the door to Mara’s office turned and opened. She steeled herself in case Mark had gotten by Lucy, but it was her partner, wearing a grim look.

  “What the hell was that about?” Lucy questioned jerking her thumb toward the clinic lobby, which now stood vacant.

  “I have absolutely no idea,” Mara sighed.

  “Oh, I think you have some idea,” Lucy retorted. “I can't keep your lovesick ex at bay forever, hun. I have work to do, too, y'know. A lot of work, if you want to get paid and keep the doors open,” she added, matter-of-factly.

  “Oh, Luce, he's not lovesick,” Mara argued. “Besides, I have nothing to say to him. Nothing nice anyway. I am happily engaged to be married to Phillip and I am not going to compromise that for anything.”

  “I think you should make that point clear to Mark, to his face,” Lucy suggested, leaning over the desk toward Mara, employing the persuasive body language she had mastered for dealing with the clinic's business. “And if I were you, I'd want to know where he went, where he'd been. Y'know, for closure.”

  Mara sprang from her seat, and paced the length of the room like a slinking, skittering fox. She was angry, not at Lucy, or even Mark, but at herself. She had thought she was completely over Mark, but Lucy's words were hitting her deep, buzzing in her ears, and causing flutters in her stomach.

  Was he lovesick? Lucy was a pretty good judge of other people's emotions and intentions—another skill she'd trained herself in to get the upper hand in the business world.

  And she did want to know why he left, where he had gone, and why he was back. But admitting that made her feel weak. She felt much stronger with an iron-willed anger and a resolute stubbornness to not let him explain himself, even if that's what she deserved.

  “I am marrying Phillip, Mark has nothing to do with me anymore,” she declared more for her benefit than anything else. Maybe she would just make it her mantra, repeating it over and over again anytime she felt she was spiraling into anger, or confusion.

  “I don't
think anyone is questioning that, Mara,” Lucy said slowly, as if she were talking to a tantruming toddler. “Except for maybe Mark. So you need to settle that for him. Once he hears you say it, he'll move on. If you mean it...” Her voice dropped into a sultry, suggestive tone.

  “You're infuriating,” Mara snapped.

  “It's because I'm so insightful and honest,” Lucy teased with a sly grin.

  “It's because you like to push my buttons,” Mara rebutted, tossing ball of rubber bands at her friend, partly playfully, but partly out of frustration.

  Lucy placed a hand to her chest in mock offense. “Me?” she gasped. “Never! Now, seriously,” she urged, shoving Mara's purse across the desk, “stop hiding behind your work and get out of here, and talk to that man. Because the sooner you're done with him, the sooner I can ask him out,” she joked.

  Mara laughed and grabbed her bag. “Fine, but just warning you, he'll leave without a word!”

  “Hun,” Lucy drawled, guiding Mara out the door, “that's how I like 'em.”

  SIX

  Looking at the tall, Victorian style house that stood before him, Mark felt so homesick. This was the house he had grown up in, with his only sister, Erin.

  Their parents had been the type that didn’t allow many visits from other kids, nor much playtime out of the house. Mark's mother was obsessive about keeping a clean house, and Mark's father insisted that both he and Erin used free time for more academic pursuits than 'traipsing around the neighborhood'. Growing up had been rough without many friends and only Erin as his playmate. But it had made them very close, much better friends than most people were with their siblings. They had told each other everything growing up, and always took time to listen and give advice as they matured through adolescence and into young adulthood.

  But, while Mark became the charismatic town sports hero in his high school days, and into college, Erin was quite the opposite—an introvert, with shades of their mother's obsessive compulsive tendencies. At age sixteen, she had not had her first date, although she had the looks that men would go to great lengths to have by their sides. But Erin had been too introverted and cautious, afraid of the risks outside of her home, to want to give anyone a chance.