Taming Marco (The Moran Family Book 2)

by Alexis James

  Once we settle at a table and are sipping our drinks, I let my gaze drift over him again. Victor is a very good looking guy and our time apart hasn’t changed that. Not one bit. Sadly, I know that underneath the handsome face and the fine-ass body is a guy who is self-absorbed. I suppose he could have changed since our breakup, but I highly doubt it. I do carry some good memories of our years together, but the crappiness of how we ended remains front and center.

  “Are you still with Moran?” he asks, leaning back and pulling his arms across his chest.

  I shoot him a blank look. “None of your business.”

  One side of his mouth lifts. “Just curious. Don’t get your panties bunched.”

  Suddenly I’m regretting this lunch, regretting ever giving him the benefit of the doubt. “You need to understand something. You and I are not friends, and you are no longer entitled to ask personal questions about me or my life. We are acquaintances now and as such we talk about things like work and your truck. Got it?”

  He looks slightly stunned at my harsh words, eyes widening. “Wow. He’s turned you into a royal bitch.”

  My stomach dips. If only he knew that the he he speaks of turned me into a sniveling, opera-listening fool—one who cries over the dumbest things and keeps a tissue at the ready for any of those impromptu meltdowns. “Glad to see you’re still the dick I remember.”

  Our food arrives, which puts all the unnecessary sniping to rest, for now. We eat in silence, as we used to so long ago, though this time it’s without the interference of the TV playing in the background.

  An odd sense of sadness rolls over me and the turkey and avocado catches in my throat. I spent years with this man, not months, not days … years. And in those four years I never felt one tenth for him the way I feel about Marco. Victor was only ever someone I considered in that way you do when you’re obligated to include someone in your thoughts. From day one Marco has held my body, my thoughts, my heart, completely captive. Before he and I were something more, I craved his attention, his time. Once we took that next step forward, I craved his future, our future together, and eventually I even started to crave his love. Now with him gone, I crave nothing more than the ability to open my eyes in the morning and not feel my heart crack in two.

  Four years with Victor and never once did I long for him like I do for Marco—with that deep, intense need that runs through my blood like fire. Four years where I settled for what we had, never demanded more, and assumed he was what I deserved. Four years with a man I sit across from now who feels like nothing more than a familiar stranger.

  Our eyes meet across the table, and I’m shocked to realize I don’t really know this man at all. I know all the surface stuff, like what side of the bed he likes to sleep on and what foods he doesn’t like, but there’s this invisible wall between us that I fear has always been there, giving us each the inability to permeate it or scale it—even if we wanted to, which very clearly, neither of us did. I may not recall anything simple like Marco’s favorite food, but I can say with purposeful clarity that he can speak to me without saying a word and I’ll know exactly what he’s thinking. I can say without a doubt that when he touches me I feel that touch on every single level, visceral and emotional.

  Pushing back from the table, I state, “Thanks for lunch. I’ve gotta get back.”

  He grabs my wrist before I can make a clean getaway. “You haven’t finished your sandwich. What’s the hurry?”

  Gently extracting my arm from his grasp, I reply, “I need to go. Have a nice Thanksgiving.” He’s calling my name as I move quickly through the restaurant and out onto the street, but thankfully he refrains from following me.

  I walk briskly back to the office, slink down into my chair, and drop my head to my arms on top of the desk. Why I ever believed lunch with Vic was a good idea, I’ll never know. I am grateful for one thing: being with him made me fully understand and believe how much of nothing we were. It’s sad, really, wasting that many years on a man simply because it was convenient. I might have believed I loved him at one time, but I now know it was emotion based mostly on what I thought I wanted, not on any actual feelings I was having.

  Who knows? Maybe it’s a good thing I spent those four years with Vic. It certainly gave me a good perspective about what a relationship really should be like. Not that Marco and I were perfect, because we were far, far from that. We did have substance and our relationship, as hot as it was, was rooted first in friendship. And at the end of the day, when all is said and done, that friendship is what I miss the most.

  I’ll be okay without him. Eventually. I’m used to being alone, although I won’t go so far as to say that I enjoy it. Even when I was with Victor I felt alone and lonely, always taking second place to his ego, his inability to sit still, and his constant demand for sex whenever he felt like it. That’s not to say I won’t miss Marco, because I will. I do. I doubt that feeling will ever go away, regardless of how many years pass.

  The difficult thing here is learning to maneuver my life without having any contact with the Morans. I now don’t feel like I can go to Mia’s without the fear of running into him. I can’t go to the office either and being around Cruz has proven to be more than difficult. It was hard before, but then I got tipsy and offered to have a three-way with him and Mia. Not my best move.

  The new year will be here soon and maybe that’s what I need to get my butt in gear. I have no real obligations to life here in Miami. Sure, I’d miss spending time with Mia if I moved, but she has her own life now. Before long she and Cruz will be having kids, so now is probably the best time for me to expand my horizons.

  The idea of packing my suitcase and heading off to parts unknown does have certain appeal. There’d be no risk of running into Marco on the street, no forced family get-togethers where he and I awkwardly make nice in front of everyone. With me gone he can move on, and whether that’s back to his sleazy ways of sleeping with any easy female or whether or not he decides to finally settle down, I won’t have to witness any of it.

  Lifting my head, I quickly do a search on all the job hunt sites and set to work filling out the required sections. Maybe a new job in a new city will be exactly what I need. Yes, I’d be starting over again, but hey, I’m no stranger to having to adjust. I had to do it my entire childhood, moving around constantly because my mom forgot to pay the rent. Settling here in Miami has been good for me for a considerable amount of years, but I think it’s time to toss in the white flag and set down roots somewhere else. Someplace where the name Moran isn’t on a good majority of buildings throughout the city. Somewhere with no memories attached to each room, each surface. Somewhere safe away from any more potential pain. The pain I will carry with me is more than enough.

  The house is filled with the sounds of people talking, pots and pans being banged together, and my mother’s beloved music from Spain. Papa and I are sprawled on the couch, catching up on the big game, although my attention is elsewhere and has been since yesterday. Since I saw Amita strolling down the street with Vic.

  It’s a hard pill to swallow knowing she’s moved on so easily, especially while I’m still sitting here unable to breathe without her. Ever since I stood across the street and watched them interact with one another, I’ve carried this added sense of dread with me. I did this. I pushed her away. I pushed her right back into his arms, all because the idea of forever terrified me.

  I can’t blame her for wanting to move on. Hell, I’m surprised it took as long as it did, not that I believe Amita needs a man by her side to function. Clearly she has her shit together, unlike myself, who at a week shy of turning thirty-one still prefers to hide behind the persona of an arrogant player.

  “How are you, Son?”

  I shrug, keeping my attention on the big screen TV. “I’m okay, Papa. How are you feeling?” It’s the standard question I ask whenever I see him, though he usually refrains from answering. Mostly he grunts a response and rolls his eyes.

  “I’m fin
e.” He rubs his stomach. “Ready to eat?”

  I wish I could tell him that food, among other things lately, is incredibly unappealing. It has a little something to do with the unsettled feeling that permeates my gut, which has only worsened since learning about Amita and Vic. Damn, if I could take back that moment I would. I was better off not knowing that she’d moved on. Better off believing she’s decided to put her love life on hold for a while.

  Jesus, Moran, really? Why the hell should she do that? She’s not the fucked-up one, the one with all the weird fears and anxieties over love.

  Love? Where the hell did that come from?

  Amita and I were many things but never once did love factor into it, not on my part at least. Sure, she made the offhand remark occasionally, boasting, “That’s why you love me.” And I did, I do, but not like my parents love one another, not like Mia and Cruz do.

  You so sure about that?

  Shaking my head to ward off the heavy thoughts and the annoying voice in my head that won’t shut the fuck up, I glance over my shoulder to see Mia and Cruz walking into the room. Mama prattles over them, yammering in rapid-fire Spanish about how late they are. I know Mia doesn’t understand a word, so she stands there calmly nodding and occasionally glancing up at her husband. Her hand is clasped in his much larger one, the perfect unit instead of two separate entities.

  I could have had that.

  I could be standing here right now, Amita’s hand in mine, anxiously awaiting stuffing our faces.

  I could be looking at her, seeing that warmth and need and yes, love, in her eyes.

  I could have had it all, and now I have nothing.

  Muttering a few incoherent words to Papa, I move across the room and out through the slider onto the deck. The boat sits idle in its mooring, another stark reminder of another time, another place, another memory to stow away for another time. I walk out onto the dock and turn my attention to the still, blue water.

  I’ve got to get my shit together and put on a happy face. My moping can wait until I get home, where the silence is so loud it’s deafening. Smiling and laughing might now take effort that it didn’t used to, but I have no right to sit here and wallow in crap I created. I deserve to live with every painful reminder for a good, long time.

  “Time to eat,” Mia says, stepping up behind me and laying a hand on my shoulder.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Unmoving, I continue to stand there, hands in my pockets, until she eventually starts to move back into the house. The question is burning my mouth, blistering my tongue, until the need to speak unleashes from deep inside. “She’s back with Vic, isn’t she?”

  Mia turns, her face blank of expression. “What?”

  I take a few steps toward her. “You heard me. Answer the damn question.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You don’t tell me what to do. You don’t get to demand answers to questions you’re not entitled to.”

  I crumble under her hostility, clearly having left my manhood and my cojones out on the sidewalk yesterday when I witnessed Amita’s ability to move on. “Come on, Mia, just answer the question.” Moving closer, I grasp her fingers in mine. “Please, babe, I need to know the truth.”

  She spends a good long time berating me with her eyes then with a heavy sigh, she replies, “I honestly don’t know. I haven’t seen much of her, except for earlier today and she was alone.” She blinks repeatedly and averts her eyes. “Why would you think she’s back with Vic?”

  “Saw them. Together. Yesterday. Walking.” In my head it comes out as a perfect sentence, but at the perplexed look on her face I’m guessing not so much.

  Mia arches her brow. “She has every right to be with him or anyone else she chooses to be with. She owes you nothing.”

  Direct hit, right to the heart. “Yeah, I know that.”

  Always the perfect best friend, to Amita and to me, Mia sags under the weight of all this, eyes filling with tears. “You know what? I almost hope she is with him. Then at least she’s not alone, watching Netflix in her pajamas.” A stray tear rolls down her cheek. “Do you know how hard it was for me to leave her there alone today? She deserves to be with family.” She gestures back and forth from me to her. “She deserves to be here with you and me and the rest of these amazing people.”

  “So she didn’t have any plans for today?” The thought of her sitting all alone in her apartment makes me want to scream.

  Mia shrugs. “Not that she would say. I sort of doubt it though, given the pajamas and the copious amount of junk food she had stacked up on the table.” She cringes, eyes wide. “See what you do to me, Moran? I’m not supposed to tell you this stuff, and yet here I am, yammering on like you have the right to know what she’s doing.” She reaches out, poking me in the chest with her index finger. “You broke her heart. You left her and now you think you can just stand there and ask questions and I’m going to answer.”

  I risk a small smile. “Uh, yeah. Because you love me as much as you love her.”

  The tears spill over and run down her cheeks. “Of course I do, you big jerk.”

  “Come here, little one.” Pulling her into my arms, I glance over the top of her head where Cruz is standing just inside the doorway, giving me the death stare. “Your husband is plotting my assassination as we speak for making you cry.”

  Mia chuckles and takes a step back. “He is rather protective of me.”

  “You think?” We share a knowing look, and I reach out to grasp her hand. “I am sorry for making you sad, Mia.”

  She cocks her hip and swipes one hand over her wet face. “Are you sorry for breaking my friend’s heart?”

  My stomach rolls. “More than you can possibly know.” Releasing her, I give her a gentle shove toward the house. “Go on inside with your man. I’ll be right there.”

  I turn my back on her and let out the breath that I’d been holding onto ever since she told me about Amita. Granted, the news that she’s perched on her couch watching TV is no guarantee that she and Vic aren’t working on putting things back together. From everything Amita has told me, they may not have been the perfect couple, but he was decent to her … at least up until the end.

  Weird, because I now fully understand Vic’s little meltdown when they split. If I’d been with Amita for four years and one day she came home to break up with me, I’d probably go a little ape-shit crazy too. The simple knowledge that she’s no longer a part of my life anymore is definitely making me slightly insane. It’s a wonder I didn’t take off across the street yesterday and start throwing punches.

  When I finally have my shit together again, I move into the house and take my seat at the table next to Mia. This is the seat Amita used to occupy, back when she was a presence at our Sunday meals and my family embraced her in their arms completely. I can only begin to imagine how difficult things must be for her, today of all days. Losing me is one thing, losing an entire family is another. While I’m moaning and groaning and complaining to myself about letting her go, it’s right then and there that the enormity of what she’s lost hits me right in the solar plexus. She’s lost her pseudo brothers and sisters, lost the parents my folks tried to be to her, and while I’m sitting down to a huge meal with people who love me, she’s sitting on her couch in her pajamas eating Whoppers.

  God, I’d give anything to have her here right now.

  Mia grabs my hand as Papa begins the prayer and while I tune out his voice, I say a silent blessing of my own. It’s the least I can do for her, this woman who deserves every happiness. I’ll always be thankful to have had her in my life, but I’m just selfish enough to want more. To want her. To want another chance to make it right.

  “Amen.”

  Lifting my head, my eyes meet Roman’s across the table and for a split second he’s as broken as I am, but then he swallows, takes a breath, and shoots me a fake smile, and I immediately follow suit. Neither of us is happy, that much is clear, but we are grateful for what we have. I may never know what, or
who, has torn him inside out, but I do know that like me, our family is of the utmost importance.

  A second chance with Amita isn’t in the cards, even if I do want it more than I’ve wanted anything. I’ve hurt her too much, taken too much for granted, and avoided an explanation of why, simply because I’m nothing but a coward. My penance for what I’ve done is the knowledge that I could have had it all and instead I did nothing but run.

  The long weekend goes by so slowly that I’m literally counting each hour until it’s over. I survived the holiday with a mix of action and thriller movies and an overabundance of candy that ended up giving me a bad stomach ache. Friday I slept in and then spent three hours at the gym, torturing my body as a sort of payback for all my overeating the day before. While other people were out getting their Black Friday shop on, I was abusing the elliptical machine. While others were enjoying visiting with friends and family, I was sprinting on the treadmill like I was being chased by rabid dogs.

  My crazy, intense workout resulted in me taking a two hour nap that afternoon, followed by a long, hot shower and takeout that I ate while fixating on the boob-tube once again.

  None of my running around and acting like a mad woman made the time go quicker, nor did it keep thoughts of Marco at bay. By Saturday morning as I’m snuggled on the couch with my blanket and coffee, I’m resigned to the fact that he’ll be a fixture in my head for a good, long time. Attempting to ignore thoughts of him hasn’t worked. Keeping myself so busy that I drop hasn’t either, so I spend a few moments indulging myself in memories of his beautiful smile, those laughing blue-green eyes, and the touch of his hand to mine. Then I put the memories aside to be dealt with the next day.

  It works well, right up until my phone rings and Mia’s pretty face lights up the screen. Then I’m right back to wondering how he is, what he’s doing, and hating the fact that my best friend gets to spend time with him when I don’t.