“Are you ignoring Scott?” Elizabeth’s face blanches. I shake my head, decide I don’t care to get into the middle of that, and add, “Have a seat. Is water okay? That’s all I have to drink.”
“Water’s fine,” she answers. I chuckle at how she pronounces water. Who knew such simple words could bring so much humor?
I fix our bowls, glasses, and set them on the bar. There’s room for a table, but I don’t have one. I sit next to her and take a deep breath. Finally, I feel as if I can relax.
“So, Scott told you I was ignoring him?”
“Only because he thought it was because of me for some reason. It’s not, is it?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t care.” Elizabeth’s eyes widen. “It doesn’t have to do with me, and believe it or not, I don’t like to be in the middle of things.”
She nods and takes her first bite of pasta. She had been poking at it up until now. She moans, covering her mouth with her hand. “Are you sure you’re not Italian? This is the best pasta I’ve ever tasted!”
I grin. “The original Marco Polo was Italian, I think. Maybe the nickname gives me magical powers.”
“It must. Let’s not talk because you’ll probably ruin the deliciousness.”
I shake my head, but stay quiet. I don’t think I’ve ever sat in silence for a meal. It’s nice and weird all at the same time. Unsurprisingly, I only last five minutes. “How was work?”
“It was okay. My co-workers have something new to talk about now.” She shoots me a quick glare.
“So, the lipstick left on my face that you let me walk into practice with was advance payback?”
She tries not to giggle at first, but she can’t help it. “I thought you might see it before you got that far. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I can hear your sincerity through your laughter,” I reply dryly, which only serves to make her laugh harder.
“Did you see it or did someone tell you?”
“Noah told me after the security guards failed to clue me in on why they were giving me funny looks. Thankfully, no one else saw me.”
“That’s what you get for showing up at my work.”
“Won’t happen again unless it’s a dire emergency.”
“Good.” After a moment, she turns in her chair to angle toward me. “I feel like I should warn you.”
“About what?”
“There’s a good possibility I’ll turn into a flaky, uptight, stressed out, emotional bitch for a few months and if there are days when you just don’t want to deal with me, I’ll completely understand. Don’t say that won’t happen because you don’t know. I usually hole up in my house around this time of year and interact with Sylvia and Scott as little as possible, so I don’t know what it’s going to do to me to force myself to be around someone when I’m normally not.” She laughs a little humorless laugh to herself. “You thought I was crazy before...” Her voice is strained as it trails off.
“Do you want me to stick around, Elizabeth?” I ask.
“Well, yeah, I think so.”
“Then don’t worry about it. I’m a hockey player; I’m tough. I can handle whatever you throw at me.”
That makes her smile, even though she keeps her head down to avoid looking at me. My own smile disappears when she lifts her head and says, “Okay, your turn. What can you tell me about your dad?”
Fuck. Just sock me in my jaw right to start with why doesn’t she. Now I’m the one poking at my food, stirring it around. “You don’t have to say anything, okay?” I start. Elizabeth nods. “What I’m going to say isn’t the full story, but it’s still for your ears only. Noah doesn’t even know. I meant it when I said it was a need-to-know basis and the only reason I’m telling you is because you’re right. I should let you in, too, and I haven’t really been doing that like you have.”
I take a deep breath and focus on my food again. “My mom died hours after she gave birth to me, so I never knew her. My dad and I used to be okay. At least, I thought so. But then I’d see other kids and their dads and realize someone’s relationship had to be abnormal. It didn’t take long to realize it was mine. We haven’t gotten along in forever. We have our issues on top of his issues, and fuck, Elizabeth, I don’t want to get into this.” I drop my fork with a sigh and slouch in my seat.
“My life was far from good growing up. But, then, in some ways, it was great. You think you’re complicated?” I scoff. “My relationship with my father is complicated. If I could never see or speak to him again, part of me would take that chance in a heartbeat. But then I’d probably feel guilty and wouldn’t be able to do it.” With a deep breath, I turn to face her and find confusion written all over her face. I thought I knew what to tell her, but now, I don’t. It all sounds terrible, and I don’t want to tell her any of it. So much weight already rests on her shoulders and I don’t want to add to that. “I know I’m not giving you much, Elizabeth, but that’s all I have right now.”
“It’s more than enough,” she says quietly. It doesn’t feel like it is, though. She leans over to hug me. “His name is Francis, isn’t it?”
My arms tighten around her and I pull her over into my lap. “Yeah.”
She rests her forehead against mine. It’s tempting to close my eyes to avoid those probing hazel ones, but I don’t. “He’s the one who kept calling you?”
“Yeah.”
“You never answer?”
“Try not to.”
As if summoned, my phone starts vibrating in my back pocket. I pull it out, ignore the call, and switch it to silent, tossing it on the counter. Elizabeth watches it light up with call after call until I turn it over.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. What do you want to do for the rest of the night?”
Elizabeth suddenly looks nervous.
“What is it?” I ask.
“You make me brave, too,” she whispers. She gulps and takes a deep breath. “Eventually, I think that maybe I want to go to a game. Maybe.”
“Elizabeth,” I start, but she speaks over me.
“No, listen to me. I want to try. And what if there’s a big game and you’d like me to be there every now and then? Or what if one day, Stella wants me to come to one of her games? She won’t understand if I say no. I’ve been listening and doing okay with that. I want you to help me with what I think is my next step.”
Knowing that she isn’t doing this for me makes it easier to support her somehow. “What do you want to do?
Her hands begin to tremble before she’s even uttered a word. “Is there a game on TV tonight? Can we try watching it on mute?”
“If that’s what you want.”
She nods and slides off my lap to stand. I take her hand, give it a sturdy squeeze, and mute the TV before changing the channel. We settle into the couch and she presses her face against my shoulder. Her breaths are hitting my skin hard and she hasn’t even seen anything yet. Maybe this was a bad idea. Her hand gets tighter and tighter in mine.
I release her hand. “Scoot over.” She moves all the way to the end of the couch while avoiding the TV. I stretch my legs out, wishing I had a big sectional that was long enough so my feet wouldn’t hang over the edge and onto the end table. I fix the throw pillow and once I’m comfortable, hold out my hand for Elizabeth to lie on her side between my legs and resting on my chest.
I cover her eyes with my hand and kiss the top of her head. “Just relax, okay?”
“I’m scared.”
“Why? I’m here to protect you and so far, you aren’t even seeing anything.”
“Well, move your hand.”
“No. We’re going to ease you into it.”
Her body instantly relaxes. She might have thrown herself to the wolves in this situation, but that’s obviously a bad idea and since I’m taking control, we aren’t doing it that way.
“Keep your eyes closed,” I order softly.
“Okay.”
I reach over my head for the remote and pause th
e TV just as a face-off is about to happen. The view is showing the players from a camera above the ice. I cover her eyes again, part my fingers just a little so she’ll see only a sliver of the screen, and murmur, “Open one eye.”
Her body freezes and she stops breathing. Damn. She’s barely seeing anything. I trail my fingers up her spine, trying to remind her of the present.
“You are here with me, Elizabeth. Take a deep breath.”
Her breathing is faulty, so I close my fingers. “All I see is his blood,” she whispers.
“No blood,” I whisper back. “Just clean ice. There’s also a bunch of ugly players.” That makes her chuckle. “It’s probably a good thing you aren’t looking just yet. They might scar your eyes forever. Although, we both know no one can compare to me.” A small giggle. I let my fingers part a fraction and press play with the other hand. “I’ll just tell you how I’m better than they are. Like, that dumbass sixty-seven just passed the puck to the wrong player. Fucking idiot.”
I keep talking like such even if I’m not necessarily telling the truth about what’s happening just to make her laugh, and every so often I spread my fingers a little wider to let her see more. She tenses when the guys are hit, but it’s brief because I force her to listen to me as I talk nonstop.
“That guy, Jax Godwin? He talks nonstop on the ice. Runs his mouth all the damn time, and then that’s Ashton Campbell. Those two are best friends off the ice and complete rivals on the ice, which is definitely how it should be.”
“So if you were traded to a different team than Noah, you’d play just as aggressively against him as you do when he’s by your side?” Elizabeth asks as I casually let my hand fall to the side. We’re into the third period, so I figure it’s safe.
“Hell yeah. I’m paid to play for whichever team is on my jersey. Friendship loyalties end the moment you take the ice. Not to mention, why would I want to take it easy on him? I don’t want him to win.”
Elizabeth lifts her head and smiles at me. “Thank you, Marc.”
“No thanks needed, Elizabeth.”
I try being quiet while we watch the game, but her thoughts seem to get to her. Her body locks up, her breathing goes haywire, and she clutches my shirt. Of course she’s not cured. I talk softly throughout the rest of the game. This causes me to make the decision to ask Scott what exactly the accident was with Roger. Only because I don’t want Elizabeth to have to tell me, to have to relive it if she doesn’t have to, and if he can tell me for her, then that’s what I want to do.
But the thought of asking him without Elizabeth knowing doesn’t sit right with me. Once the game ends, I turn off the TV.
“I need your permission for something,” I begin quietly.
She lifts her head. Her brows are pinched together, her lips are pulled downward, and she seems both worried and confused. “What?”
With a sigh, I cup her face, hoping to give her some comfort in advance. “To keep from asking you, can I ask Scott to tell me about Roger’s accident?”
Elizabeth sucks in a deep breath and immediately starts hyperventilating and crying. Fuck, this is what I was trying to avoid. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I thought if I knew, then maybe it could help me help you. I don’t want you to tell me if you don’t have to.” Her tears are falling faster than I can wipe them away, and I regret asking. “Fuck, Elizabeth, forget it. I’m sorry.” I pull her head down to rest on my chest, holding her until her crying slows.
“I should go home,” her voice croaks.
At first, I tense. My instincts say to demand she stay here. I should tie her to the bed and not let her leave until morning, or until I know she’s okay and that I haven’t fucked things up with her. My arms tighten around her, but loosen up. I can’t force her to stay here. If she wants to go home, I don’t need to fight her on it.
Right?
“Marco.”
She sounds as if she’s on the verge of tears once more. My arms squeeze around her again. Last time she called me Marco, she needed me. Is she using my name as a code word? I wonder if she realizes she’s doing it. Who fucking cares? That’s all I need to hear to say what I want.
“Polo,” I murmur with a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re staying with me tonight. It’s been an exhausting evening and you’re not leaving when I know you’re not completely okay. You can wear something of mine to bed, or go completely naked, I don’t care.” She chuckles, which makes me feel so much better already. “I have extra toothbrushes and you can leave early enough to go home to get ready for work at your house.”
Elizabeth is quiet for only a moment before she nods. We get up and set about getting ready for bed. She chooses to sleep in one of my T-shirts. Unlike the first time she slept over, she’s relaxed from the start and it takes her all of five minutes to fall asleep. I hold her as close to me as I can without squeezing her too hard.
Elizabeth’s already warned me that these next few months are going to be hard on her. I need to hold on as tight as possible all the time because she needs to know that I’ll be here through it all. Good, bad, ugly, sad, cheerful, I don’t care. Elizabeth rolls onto her back in her sleep. I slide down the bed a little and press my ear over her left breast, listening to the rhythmic pulse. All I know is I want her more than my next breath and I have to find a way to ensure she wants me just as much.
I WAKE UP feeling both suffocated and all warm and snuggly. It’s an odd set of sensations. Marc has his head on my chest, his strong arm thrown over my ribs, and a long leg thrown over mine. Two limbs and a head is all that really covers me, yet I’m certain he’s practically lying on top of me. Does he ever sleep in mostly the same position? So far, every time we’ve slept in the same bed, he’s always in different positions. Me? I’m either on my right side or on my back. I don’t toss and turn. I sleep soundly and mostly still. There’s no telling when it comes to Marc.
Glancing over at the clock, I see it’s five forty-five. Who needs an alarm? I should go. Marc nuzzles his face into my chest with a deep breath before stilling again. Carefully, gently, so as to not disturb him too much, I rake my fingers through his hair. His lashes are long and light against his skin. I don’t know what his father did to him, but I already hate him. Hell, I don’t know if I ever want him to tell me.
His struggle, his pain, and his uncomfortableness were so clear. I’ve never seen Marc seem so unlike himself as he appeared to be when he was talking about his father. Part of me realizes, or thinks, that it only seemed unlike him because he keeps that part of himself locked away. Anyone who could have such a negative impact on someone as wonderful as Marc is obviously a bad person and anyone who could do anything bad to him deserves me to hate him. Marc doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve me either. I mean, with how crazy and uptight I am, and considering I’m a piece of work. He deserves better than me. Way better. Not to mention the things I’ve done.
Marc groans low in his throat, turning his face inward so it’s pressed against my breast. His lips lift into a smile a split second before he lifts his head. “Hey, you’re awake.” His cheeks brighten with a dash of pink and I wonder if it’s from being caught at smiling into my boob. God, he’s beautiful.
“Yeah, I’m awake.” I let my hands fall from his hair, one resting on his shoulder, the other on his arm over my ribs. “Why are you sleeping on me?” I blurt out.
Is that a flash of vulnerability that crosses his features? Or am I seeing things? Marc shrugs. “I wanted to see what it was like to switch places with you.” Then he grins and and covers my body with his, pressing his mouth to mine with a kiss that is all too brief. “Plus, it allows me to easily do this.” This...this is why Marc is both a good and bad idea. One little motion, one action, one sensation of his hardness between my legs is all it takes for me to stop thinking and want to spill all my secrets, want to hand myself over to him on a silver platter. What’s worse is it doesn’t even have to be sex that does this to me.
It could b
e hearing his voice. When he takes my hand, reassures me, or places his arm around my neck and pulls me close. It could be how he seems unfazed by whatever I throw at him and how he’s ready to catch whatever it is. Hell, anything he does could be something that makes me want to wish I could forget, wish I was stronger, and wish I could really have him—something I’m not yet convinced of despite what’s happening between us.
“What are you doing tonight?”
“Sylvia’s coming over.”
Marc’s fingertips caress the edges of my mouth. “Why is that upsetting you?”
“Because I was ignoring her too and because I’d rather listen to your game. When am I seeing you again? Tomorrow?”
He shakes his head. “We have a game in Pittsburgh. Last road game until after Christmas.”
Damn, that stupid holiday is creeping up faster and faster. I need to go shopping. I may not spend Christmas with my family, but I still buy them gifts.
“Can—” Marc stops, seemingly thinking better of his question.
“What?” I push.
He stares into my eyes. For a moment, it makes me uncomfortable. He trails his fingers down the side of my face. “Keep in mind,” he starts softly, “that I don’t do Christmas with anyone either.” One quick deep breath and then, “Can I spend it with you this year?”
Does he just come up with this shit on the fly? Like shouldn’t these kinds of things be well thought out and planned and not launched on someone within minutes of waking up? And why does he have to look so hopeful? Why do I want to say yes when I know it’s going to be a disaster waiting to happen because I can’t even talk to my own family on Christmas and I’m supposed to spend it with Marc? It feels wrong and right all at the same time and that shit is fucking confusing and I hate him for asking.
My life shouldn’t be this hard. Marc shouldn’t have a bastard of a father who did whatever he did to make his only son want to spend the holidays alone and without his family. This shouldn’t be such a hard decision.
“Why in the hell are you smiling?” I snap. It’s more of a smirk, but there’s a small smile there none-the-less.
Because It's You (Carolina Rebels Book 2) Page 10
