Catch a Mate

by Gena Showalter

  “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, as if unable to hold the words back a moment longer. “I never meant to hurt your mother and I certainly never meant to hurt you. I loved you. I love you. You’re my baby.”

  A hot tear cascaded down her cheek. “Why did you do it?”

  He shook his head. “The reason doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does. You picked Mrs. Prescott over your own family.”

  His eyes darkened with remembered pain. “That wasn’t how I saw it at the time. Your mother and I were having problems. Her depression was getting out of hand. She never let you see it because she wanted to be perfect for you, but I had to deal with it every day and I was tired, Jillian, so tired of the fits and the tears. When she left to visit your aunt, it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Jennifer—Mrs. Prescott—always made me feel important. Like a man. Not a doctor or a therapist or a burden. But a man.”

  Hearing the torture-laden tone nearly undid her. And hearing his side, she could kind of maybe almost understand why he strayed. Cheating was never okay. After all, he could have just left. But maybe sometimes there were two sides to the story. Everyone made mistakes. Look at her life. She’d blamed her dad for her mother’s depression, thinking it had all stemmed from him and what he’d done. Not so, she realized now. Her mom had always been troubled.

  “I’ve regretted my behavior all these years,” her dad added. “I’ve wanted to go back and fix it, but…”

  Not knowing what to say, Jillian stretched out her arm. She waited, just waited, without saying a word. Tentatively her dad reached out and wrapped his fingers around her palm.

  They sat there, holding hands and simply absorbing each other for a long time. Jillian wanted to sob for all the years she’d pushed him away, but she held back her tears. Later, she’d cry later. Right now, she was going to enjoy her father. A man she’d tried and convicted—then sentenced—without ever really listening to the full story.

  “I’m so sorry, Dad. I never should have treated you like a criminal.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. You were—”

  “Grandpa! Grandpa!” Apple had spotted him and raced over to him, catapulting herself into his arms. She laughed.

  His hand was torn from Jillian’s as he wrapped his arms around the little girl. “Now which one are you?” he asked with a watery smile. “Peach or Mango?”

  She uttered another carefree laugh. “You know who I am.”

  Cherry raced over, too. She shouldered Apple out of the way to get in on the hug. “I’m glad you’re here. Did you bring me a present?”

  “Cherry,” Brittany admonished. She anchored her hands on her hips. “We’ve talked about that.”

  “What?” the girl said innocently. “It wasn’t the very first thing I said to him. I told him I was glad to see him.”

  Her dad barked out a laugh. “She’s got you there, Brit.”

  Seeing them together—so happy and at ease—nearly dropped Jillian to her knees. She could have had this a long time ago. This love and affection. This family. Because of her stubbornness, she’d lost so many years.

  She pressed her lips together to cut off her moan.

  Glancing over at her, her dad set the girls aside. He leaned toward Jillian and wrapped his arms around her. She vaguely heard Brittany gasp, foggily saw her sister cover her mouth with her hand, thought she heard the twins giggling about something, and then all she knew was her dad. His smoky-cigar scent. His strength. She hugged him back for all she was worth.

  “I love you, Jilly.”

  “I love you, too, Dad.”

  “Well, I so did not expect this to happen,” Brittany said with a smile.

  He kissed the end of Jillian’s nose. “You’re invited to the wedding. Christy would love it if you’d agree to be a bridesmaid. But if you’d rather not, I understand. Hell, I’d even love it if you were best man,” he said.

  She laughed, a genuine laugh.

  They stayed at the park a little longer before bidding each other goodbye. She received another bear hug and a request to stay in touch—which she promised to do and would do. She was also going to take him up on his offer to stand up in his wedding.

  Healing felt as nice as she’d dreamed.

  She managed to remain calm the entire drive home. No tears, no wild thoughts. She parked and emerged—still no reaction. Mrs. Franklin was outside, saw her, hmphed, and strode inside her house, evidently still upset over the sex-in-the-backyard incident. Jillian’s chest ached as she climbed up the porch, unlocked the door and stepped inside. When the door closed behind her, she walked into the living room.

  She made it to the glass coffee table before her knees gave out and she cried. Her entire body shook with the force of her tears. They were hot, scalding. Her stomach clenched painfully. She’d given up so much, and for what? So she could hold on to fears? Hurt? Pain? Yes, all of those. And she was doing that again now, with Marcus. She hadn’t even tried to win his heart.

  She was stupid, so very stupid.

  The tears continued to pour until she had nothing left. Her nose was swollen and she had trouble breathing. Furious with herself, she banged her fists onto the glass. It shook and there was a small satisfaction in that. She banged again and again and again, releasing all the emotions pent up inside her, unable to stop until they were drained completely.

  With her last hit the glass shattered, tinkling like bells in her ears. A sharp pain radiated up both of her arms. Her eyes were swollen as she glanced down at them. Red droplets ribboned from her wrists to her elbows. Flowing, flowing.

  The first thought that flooded her mind was that she wanted Marcus. He’d take away the hurt. She pushed to shaky legs, went into the bathroom, and grabbed two hand towels. She wrapped one around each wrist, then she picked up the phone and dialed.

  He answered on the third ring. “Marcus Brody.”

  “Marcus?” She loved him. She did. She hadn’t wanted to, but there it was, in all its awful glory. She loved him. Yes, he was infuriating. Yes, he had a smart mouth. Yes, he was as jaded as she was. But he was also tender and passionate and she wanted him in her life, no matter what.

  How could you have let this happen? And so quickly? Too late for recriminations now.

  “Jillian?” At the office, Marcus straightened in his chair. The client across from him, a young woman who wanted to test her boyfriend of four months, frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “I love…my wrists,” she said, sniffling.

  His eyebrows furrowed together. “You called to tell me that you love your wrists?”

  “No, I—” sniffle, sniffle “—cut them, but I can’t tell you over the phone. Want to tell you in person.”

  “You cut your wrists?” Panic hit him and hit him hard.

  “I’m bleeding, but that’s not why—”

  “Fucking hell.” How much blood had she lost? “Hang on, baby. I’ll be right there. No, hang up and call 911. I’m on my way.” He threw down the phone, but it missed the cradle and bounced off the desk and onto the floor.

  The girl’s frown deepened. “Hey, what’s going on? I haven’t told you—”

  He was already at the door, yelling for Jake. His friend bounded around the far corner, expression concerned. “Take care of her,” Marcus instructed, pointing to the girl.

  “Where are you going?”

  He didn’t stop to answer, but sprinted outside and into his car. He made the fifteen-minute drive in six, weaving in and out of traffic. It was a miracle he wasn’t pulled over.

  Why would Jillian try to kill herself? Why? Was she following in her mom’s footsteps? He blamed himself. He should have been more careful with her feelings. He shouldn’t have pushed her so hard to accept him. He’d told her he would wait for her, and he would. For however long she needed.

  He didn’t bother shutting his car door as he emerged, he just raced onto the porch and into the house. When he didn’t see her in the foyer, he stalk
ed into the living room. Gaze wild, he looked left and right. “Jillian!” God, where was she? Had she passed out? Concern and fear washed through him in sickening waves. The coffee table was shattered. Had someone attacked her? What if she were—

  “Right here,” she said softly.

  He almost collapsed in relief. She was curled on the recliner, her feet tucked up to her chest. White towels were twisted around her arms. No, not fully white. He could see the crimson stains.

  “What happened, baby?” He closed the distance between them and knelt in front of her. She was pale—except for her swollen, red-rimmed eyes.

  “I accidentally broke the table.”

  Thank God. Not suicide. His relief was tangible. “Let me see. Your wrists, not the table.” Gently he gripped one of her arms and unwound the cloth. There were multiple cuts, the one directly on her tendon the deepest, but they were already drying. He examined the other arm. It had a few more cuts, but nothing deep. “I don’t think you need stitches.”

  “Good.” She exhaled a shuddering breath.

  He re-bandaged her arms with fresh towels, then scooped her up and settled into the chair with her on his lap. She instantly cuddled close. “I was scared,” he admitted.

  “Sorry,” she murmured.

  “I thought you’d tried to kill yourself.”

  She snorted weakly. “As if I would ever do something like that. Apparently I’m like my mom, or so she tells me, but I couldn’t put the people I love through that.”

  “You said you’d cut your wrists,” he accused.

  She chuckled. “And I didn’t lie.”

  Happy to be with her again—and holding her—he tightened his grip and simply breathed in her scent. “I’m glad you called me.”

  “Me, too.”

  She yawned and he felt the warm exhalation of her breath. “I went to see my dad today. I hadn’t seen him in years and I kind of had an emotional breakdown when I got home. A good breakdown, though.” She yawned again. “He told me how much he loves me. I was just so overcome with regret, I hit the table.”

  “No reason to regret. You have many, many years with him to look forward to.” His stomach clenched as longing washed through him. He wanted years with her. He wanted to look forward to them. Thinking she had tried to kill herself…He squeezed her all the tighter.

  She sighed, weary. “Will you stay here for a while?”

  “Of course.” He closed his eyes, sucked in a deep breath. Home, he was home, and there was no place he’d rather be.

  “I’m too tired right now, but maybe in a little while we could talk.”

  “I’d like that.” No way in hell she’d be able to get rid of him now. When she woke up, he’d make her understand that they were meant to be together. “Go to sleep, baby. I’ll be right here.” I’m never letting you go.

  She curled deeper into him and was asleep a second later.

  Twenty-Seven

  How would you like your eggs in the morning?

  MARCUS AWOKE as something buzzed in his pocket. He slowly cracked open his eyelids. Darkness had fallen. Thin strands of moonlight dripped throughout—a brown room? Confused, he blinked and tried to orient himself.

  Jillian was in his arms, on his lap. They were sitting on her recliner. She was quiet, still and warm. Asleep. The buzz in his pocket continued.

  Frowning, he dug out his cell and quietly answered. “Yeah?”

  “Marcus,” Jake said. “I need you to come over to my place. Something’s happened.”

  “I can’t.” Softly, gently, he kissed Jillian’s temple.

  “Please. It’s important. And hurry.” Click.

  Marcus’s frown intensified. He replaced his phone in his pocket, careful not to disturb Jillian. He glanced at her. Her head rested against his shoulder and her expression was soft, sweet. Damn it. He hated to leave her.

  He also hated to wake her. She’d been so tired, so despondent. He knew she needed whatever rest she could get. Easing to his feet, he balanced her light weight in his arms. God, he loved this woman.

  To think, he was holding the most important part of his life right now. When he’d stopped seeing her as an enemy and started seeing her as a partner, he didn’t know. He was only glad that it was so.

  He carried her to the bedroom and laid her down gently. She mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over with a sigh. He took off her shoes and pulled the cover over her lower half, then he kissed her cheek.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  He checked her wrists again to make sure they hadn’t started bleeding, then wrote her a note, telling her where he was going so she wouldn’t worry if she woke up. He wouldn’t leave for anyone except Jake. Jake had seen him through some tough times, and he had always vowed to do the same for his friend, who still suffered some pretty bad days over Claire’s death.

  Marcus left before he changed his mind. Really, what the hell was wrong with Jake? His friend had never called him and begged him to come by like that.

  He sped to their apartment building and this time he was pulled over. He took the ticket without protest and hurried on. At Jake’s door, he knocked. The TV was too loud and he could hear laughter.

  “Jake,” he called, knocking again.

  A second later, his friend opened the door. To Marcus’s shock, he was grinning ear to ear. “Welcome to the party.”

  Sweet Jesus.

  Joe appeared in the doorway and latched onto his arm, tugging him inside. “Don’t even think about leaving.”

  “I thought something was wrong,” Marcus said darkly.

  “It was,” Jake replied. “You weren’t here.”

  “Jillian—”

  “Nope. Don’t even say her name. You’ve been an ass lately and it’s time you released some of your stress. With someone receptive.”

  Women were everywhere, he realized. Every color, shape, and size. He tangled his hand through his hair. “Guys, I don’t need your help releasing stress. I’m doing fine on my own. Jillian—”

  “No, you’re not and don’t say her name,” Rafe said, his arms wrapped around a blonde and a brunette. “It’s a smorgasbord tonight, so start filling your plate.” The girls twittered at his side.

  Kyle walked over, a redhead in tow. He urged her to Marcus’s side and nodded. “Now, don’t you two look cute together.”

  Marcus tried to give the woman back, but she latched on to his waist. “Kyle told me to show you a good time.” Biting her lower lip, she ran her finger over his collarbone.

  He looked away, desperate for escape. Matt stood off to the side, talking with Amelia. When Marcus saw her, he groaned. He and Jillian were still on shaky ground. If Amelia told her about some woman hanging on his arm, it could crack that ground into a million unfixable pieces. Trust was a big thing and hard to win back. Not that he’d done anything wrong, but Jillian was bait and she wouldn’t believe that. She would only see the implication.

  “Well,” he heard a woman say—and it was the sound of his worst nightmare. He whipped around. Of course she’d followed him. He would have done the same thing. Should have expected it.

  Jillian stood in the doorway as if he’d conjured her. He tore the redhead from his side and leapt forward. “Jillian, this isn’t what it looks like.”

  “I heard you leave, got up and read your note.” Her voice was emotionless, and she was gazing around the apartment. “I didn’t have your cell number, so I came here to make sure everything was okay.”

  “It’s not what it looks like,” he said again. He reached her just as the music stopped; all conversation stopped, in fact. He didn’t care. He’d make a fool of himself if need be. He grabbed her by the shoulder before she decided to run. Thankfully, she made no move to pull away. “Let’s go to my apartment. Let’s talk about this.”

  She surprised him by saying, “Okay.” But her face was as withdrawn as her tone.

  What was going through her mind?

  He ushered her out the door and do
wn the hall. No one tried to stop him. He unlocked his apartment and led her inside, to his bedroom. Still she didn’t protest. Determined to have his say, he reached under his mattress and withdrew a pair of cuffs he’d purchased with her in mind. Without any type of explanation, he cuffed his wrist, then cuffed hers over the bandage.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, confused. Good, a show of emotion.

  “Making sure you can’t get away. We’re going to talk this out.”

  “Marcus, there’s no need.”

  Eyes narrowed, he tossed the key in the hallway. “Damn it, nothing happ—”

  “I know.”

  Her words penetrated his mind, and he stilled. “You know?”

  “I know nothing happened.”

  “Wait. How do you know that? I was holding another woman. Or rather, she was holding me.”

  “I trust you.” Looking unsure, she gazed down at their hands. “And I…love you, so I’m going to trust you, no matter how bad things appear.”

  He blinked in surprise. “Wait. What?”

  “I love you.”

  Again, what? “You love me?”

  “Yes.”

  Slowly he grinned. “Well, hell, baby. I love you, too.”

  Tears filled her eyes and she covered her mouth with her free hand. “Really? Even though this happened so quickly?”

  “Even though. I think I knew the moment I laid eyes on you. Whether I’ve known you one day or one year doesn’t make a difference to me. I love you so much, and I’m going to sign half of the business to you. From now on, we’ll be partners and make business decisions together. Also, I’m moving in with you. And don’t even think about telling me no, because we’re getting married and married people live together.”

  The quick flash of joy on her face was followed by concern. “I don’t want special treatment on the job, Marcus. I just—”

  “Believe me.” He held up his hand. “There’s no special treatment. I trust your instincts for building CAM. And if I didn’t, well, I’d still make you report to me as an employee. You’d just have a different title. Love Slave.”

  Her lips twitched. “In that case, I accept. All of it.” With a whoop, she threw her arm around him and kissed the line of his jaw. “But we have to stop being bait. No more flirting with other people. I want you all to myself.”