“I have a present for you,” Marc says once we’ve decorated the tree. “And don’t worry. It’s barely a present because you’ve been giving off a vibe that screamed you didn’t want a present, but this was needed for what we’re going to do next.”
“You really have this day planned?”
“Gotta keep you busy,” is all he says as he leaves the room, returning a moment later with a gift. It’s a medium-size box, which has me worried. What could it be? “Have faith in me, Elizabeth,” he repeats for the second time today.
Turns out, it’s only cookie cutters. They are in the shapes of flowers. There’s also cans of icing and sprinkles.
“We’re going to bake cookies and decorate them the way normal people would. Then, we’re going to eat all of them.” He stands, holds out his hands, and adds, “Come on. We have work to do.”
I let him pull me up, and then I kiss him. It’s just one, simple, sweet kiss. He’s kept his promise. This has been a good day.
Today is Roger’s birthday. It is not a good day. I left Marc’s, and he thought I was going to see Sylvia and the girls. I’m not. Instead, I’m sitting on the cold ground next to a tombstone with my shoulder resting against it. On past birthdays, I’ve talked to him. Sometimes, I didn’t, but I’ve always spent the day with him.
I’m uncertain what I want to do today, so I’ve been silent thus far. This is the first time I’ve felt both at ease and yet uncomfortable here. I mean, just yesterday I was with someone else, someone who doesn’t even know I’m here now.
That familiar guilt rears its ugly head. “I’m sorry,” I finally whisper, leaning my head against the side of the stone as I watch the limbs of a nearby tree sway back and forth with the strong breeze. I rest my hand on the ground and pick at the dead grass. “I guess we don’t need to go over my guilt again. You’re probably tired of hearing about that anyway. But if we don’t talk about that, then that means we have to talk about Marc, and I don’t know which would be worse.”
Hearing footsteps, I stop talking and look behind me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Scott. He never comes here when he knows that I’m visiting Roger and they all know when I come. Practice must be over, and for a second, I worry that he told Marc about me being here, but I should know better.
“I came to check on my brother and my sister-in-law.” He sits down next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “How are you doing?”
I shrug. My eyes begin to burn with a sudden need to cry. “It feels different this time. I’ve felt the same way each time I’ve come, but now, it’s different. I don’t think I want it to be different.”
“Aw, Lizzy,” he whispers. He pulls me closer. The tears fall without my permission. “If you’re happy, then you know he’s happy. The day he married you, after all the convincing you had to do to get your parents to come to the wedding, do you know what he made me promise him?”
I shake my head.
“He said that if anything ever happened to him, he wanted Sylvie and me to look after you. Make sure you took care of yourself and had someone around for support because he didn’t think your parents would be. He said if he wasn’t here and you found someone else, to make sure you let yourself be happy again.” My crying turns to sobs now. “It always confused the hell out of me that he was thinking about this on your wedding day, but I think he just wanted to make sure he always did his husbandly duty to take care of you, even if he wasn’t here to do it himself. So, it feeling different is a good thing. You don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for, but do what makes you happy.”
I nod. Scott wipes away my tears and quietly sits with me. As a thought occurs to me, I can’t help but voice it to Scott. “What do you think would’ve happened if he was still here when I’d met Marc?” We both would’ve met Marc at some point had Roger been alive, and it probably would’ve been sooner than when I met him.
Scott frowns. “What do you mean? Like, would you have still been attracted to Marc if Roger was alive?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I don’t know what I mean.
“I think Marc wouldn’t’ve annoyed you as much as he did in the beginning, and you might have found him attractive, but that’s it, Lizzy. There’s no reason to think about what would’ve happened if they were both here.”
I want to ask him if he thinks Roger would forgive me for what I did, but that would be inappropriate and Scott would be a bad person to ask.
“How was yesterday with Marc?”
“Good. I’m actually glad I didn’t spend it alone.”
“That’s good. Are you going to spend all day here?”
I nod. Stupid questions don’t deserve for my breath to be wasted on an answer.
“Marc know you’re here?”
“He thinks I’m with Sylvia and the girls.”
“Maybe you should let him know you’re here instead. Only because it seems like you’ve been open with him, so why stop now?”
“I’ll think about it.”
Scott nods. “Okay, well, I’m leaving now. I just wanted to see you and talk to you for a few minutes. Maybe you and Marc can come over for supper sometime.”
“Yeah, maybe we can.”
But right now, I’m going to sit next to the grave of my late husband and try not to think about anyone but him. I think about everything he’s missing because he’s not here. About how he would’ve grown over the years. How he may have looked now, which is probably more like Scott because the Boyd men have strong genes. I try to think about what our future would’ve looked like, but it’s botched and Marc keeps replacing Roger. That rattles me. I should be able to see certain aspects easily, but I’m not because Marc is the one who keeps showing up in my mind. I know I should move on, and I want to, but I should be able to remember Roger in peace, too. Upset and bothered, I mutter a goodbye and leave earlier than I normally do.
“WHAT’S UP WITH you?” Noah asks me.
We’re sitting in the hotel bar in Chicago after our game. We spent most of the game down by two goals and working our asses off to keep the score as just that. There were a few near-disastrous moments like when Savage for some ungodly reason skated away from his net just enough that he was out of his position and a goal was almost scored on him. Or when I turned over the puck three times all on my own. But we came back into the third and tallied three goals for the win. Thank goodness we won and it’s over.
“Nothing. How was Christmas?” I don’t want to admit that I’m worried. Elizabeth didn’t talk to me yesterday. She hasn’t responded to my texts today either.
Noah sighs, but there’s a bit of a grin on his face. “I tried to spend all my time with my nephew, but Mere kept dragging me into wedding planning. How much fucking planning does it need? I’m over it already, but she’s insisting I have an input on almost everything. We did decide to have it in the backyard of her house, which is now our house.”
“She miss me?” I grin.
He shakes his head, but begrudgingly answers, “Yeah. I’m supposed to convince you to come over Wednesday and to tell you that you can bring Lizzy if it means you’re coming over.”
“Is she making pasta?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be there.” I check my phone again. Still nothing.
“Lizzy not talking to you?”
“Since yesterday,” I admit. “I don’t know why, though. Yesterday was Roger’s birthday, so maybe that’s why? I don’t know. She seemed fine when she left my house.”
“How are things with you two, other than that?”
“Good, I think. She loosens up more and more, but he still haunts her.”
“And what about you?” he asks.
“What about me?”
“Does she know about your ghosts? Have you told her you’re in love with her yet? Have you told Scotty yet?”
I stare at him for a moment before laughing. “I don’t have any ghosts, Rams. What makes you think I’m in love with her? I haven’t
told anyone I’m in love with her.”
“Don’t give me any bullshit, Marc. I know you better than you think, or better than you’d like me to. There’s shit no one knows about you. Meredith once asked me if I knew anything about your family and I told her no, because I don’t, and then I had to tell her to stop thinking about why I don’t know a damn thing about my best friend’s family. You have ghosts. I don’t need to know them. All I wanted to know is if Lizzy does.”
That’s when I feel bad. I know all of this stuff about Elizabeth, and she still knows so little about me. “She only knows a tiny bit.”
“How come?”
I shrug. “Not my favorite thing in the world to talk about.”
“And I’m sure talking about Roger is a walk in the park for her,” he fires back sarcastically.
My mouth opens to retort, but my phone rings in my pocket. The caller ID says it’s Sam, my agent. Fuck. It can’t be good if he’s calling me this late. I walk away without excusing myself and answer.
“What is it?”
“Francis wants to see you. He’s been annoying the hell out of me, Marc. You know I don’t call unless I need to. I’ve told him it’s out of the question, that your schedule is busy and you’re too focused on the season right now, but he’s not hearing it. I had to talk him out of flying down to see you on Christmas Day. He had bought the plane tickets, Marc. Have you talked to him? I think that’s what you’re going to have to do in order put an end to this.”
I lean against the wall and nearly slide to the floor. I can only imagine the disaster that would’ve been to have my father show up on Christmas when I was spending it with Elizabeth.
“Have you talked to him?” Sam repeats.
“No. I’ve been ignoring his calls.”
“Talk to him, Marc. He’s not listening to me. I’ve done all I can do.”
“Okay.” I sigh. “I’ll talk to him. Thanks for the call, Sam.”
“No problem. You’re not going to ask if he’s clean?”
“You know I don’t care if he is or not. Keep me posted, Sam, and let me know when you deserve a raise.”
He laughs. “We surpassed that day months ago.”
I say a goodbye and we hang up. Back inside the bar, Noah looks a little concerned.
“Everything okay?”
“Are you worried about me, Rams?” I place a hand over my heart. “I’m so touched, but there’s no need. Marco Polo can take care of himself. He also needs to make a few more phone calls, so I’m heading up.”
Noah doesn’t say much more, and I make a break for my hotel room. I try calling Elizabeth on my way there, but she doesn’t answer. This is really starting to bother me. What the fuck has happened for her to be ignoring me? For the first time ever, I hate my job a little. If I was at least in the same state, I could drive over there and demand some answers.
This puts me in a great mood to deal with my father at least. I call him next. He answers on the second ring.
“Hello, son.”
My entire body tenses at hearing his voice. I hate hearing him calling me that. “Hey.” There’s a brief pause. It’s only long enough for me to wonder which Francis I’m going to get today. Will it be the nice guy or the hateful son of a bitch?
“It’s nice to finally talk to you.”
Looks like he’s going to fake being the nice guy.
“Sam called. He said you wanted to see me, but I don’t think we can make that happen. Not anytime soon.” We don’t need to make small talk. We need to get this over with as soon as possible. I only add that last part because it’ll buy me time. I haven’t seen my father in years and I’d like to keep it that way. It’s safer that way, too.
“You don’t want to know why?”
“Why do you want to see me?” I ask, withholding a sigh.
“It’s something that should be told in person.”
Of fucking course. “We can’t make that happen. We’re in the middle of a season, my days are full, and you don’t need to make the trip.”
“I don’t mind making the trip. You don’t play every single day and I can come down on one of those days.”
“No,” I firmly respond. “Just fucking tell me what it is.”
That was a mistake.
“You don’t fucking cuss at me, Marc Francis. You don’t get short with me and you don’t get annoyed with me. Since I finally have you on the phone, why don’t we catch up? Let’s start with tonight’s game. For once, I wish you’d get on the ice and act like you’ve fucking played before. You—”
I hang up. I listened to that shit enough growing up and I’m in no mood to endure it tonight because yes, sometimes I find myself still enduring it. He immediately tries calling again, so I turn my phone off. It’s not like I’ll be talking to anyone else tonight.
“Can I come over early?”
Noah’s eyes widen. “You’re not going to rush over and see Lizzy? Or see if she wants to come over for dinner, too?”
“You said Meredith missed me, so I thought I would surprise her. I’m sure this will somehow earn you bonus points by having her favorite Rebel show up. So, can I come over or not?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Are you coming over to see her or coming over as a means to avoid the fact that you still haven’t heard from Lizzy?”
I roll my eyes. “I want to come over because your fiancée is probably going into Marco withdrawals and it would be extremely cruel of me to make her wait until later tonight. Not to mention, I haven’t hit on her in a while, so I’d like to do that as well.”
“So, you are avoiding the fact that you haven’t heard from Lizzy.”
“You know what? Fuck you, Rams.” I turn, get into my truck, and start driving.
I don’t need him giving me a hard time over this. My phone rings. It’s him calling, but I ignore it. I won’t come tonight at all. I’ll send an apology text to Meredith later. I keep driving, not wanting to go home, but not having anywhere else to go since Noah’s a dick. Somehow, I find myself in front of Elizabeth’s house. I can’t keep driving by because she’s unloading groceries and she glanced over her shoulder at the sound of the engine, dropping three bags when she sees it’s me, so I go ahead and pull into the driveway.
She’s standing there with one grocery bag left in her hand, but she hasn’t tried to pick up the ones she dropped. I get out and come to stand across from her. There’s a disconnection between us. I can feel it. If there wasn’t, she’d be smiling. She’d have said hello already. She wouldn’t look nervous because I’m here. I should probably say something, but I can’t.
No single word, or string of words, seem to sound appropriate or good enough. She’s standing over there in a pair of heels, slacks, some dressy top, a coat, and that lipstick. She must have just come from work. She’s fucking beautiful. Hey is not a good enough word to say to her. How are you? is too plain and not well suited for this because her eyes are bloodshot and puffy. I can figure out how she’s doing; I don’t need for her to tell me.
But what is she going to do? Is she going to break and let me hold her? Or is she going to go off on me? Which part of Elizabeth is winning the war inside of her right now? The one who wants me, or the one who has dealt with so much pain in her life that she gets stuck and stops moving forward?
“What are you doing here?” she asks in a tone just shy of a normal conversational tone.
I shrug. “You’ve been ignoring me.”
She nods. That’s it. No excuses. No lies. No act of defending herself. Just a simple acknowledgment of the truth. Her eyes are already welling with tears, even though the conversation has been relatively light.
“What happened?”
She shrugs.
“Elizabeth.”
“Why are you standing way over there?”
“I’m right here.”
“No, you’re not.” She holds her arm out and it’s not long enough to reach out and touch my chest.
She’s a few inches short. Her arm drops.
I walk forward until she’s having to crane her head back to look up at me. The other bag falls as her arms loop around my waist and her face presses to my chest. Only now do I relax. As long as she’ll let me hold her, then things will be okay. As long as she’ll let me hold her, then she isn’t pushing me away.
“Marco,” she whispers. Why hadn’t she said that sooner? Maybe she doesn’t realize that all she has to do is tack that o to my name and I immediately know she needs me. All she has to do is call me that, and I’ll come running. Why hadn’t she said it sooner?
It doesn’t matter now.
“Polo,” I whisper back.
“I’ve missed you.”
“Didn’t have to,” I point out.
“Would have anyway.”
I cup her face, making her look at me. Silent tears fall down her face. I kiss her gently. “Go unlock the door. I’ll get the groceries.”
“We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Marc,” she starts, but I interrupt her.
“Elizabeth, go do as I asked.”
“You didn’t ask.”
I smile because this Elizabeth I can deal with. I remove her arms from around me and nudge her toward the door. I pick up the groceries from the ground, then the rest from the trunk of her car, and close it, feeling proud of myself that I managed to grab all of them to make only one trip. Elizabeth is in the kitchen. She’s changed into a pair of sweatpants, a long sleeved T-shirt that looks too big for her, and her hair is up in a small ponytail. She starts putting things in their rightful places while I watch. She knows where she likes to have her groceries and I’m not about to mess with her system.
“I wasn’t with Sylvia and the girls Saturday; I spent most of the day at the cemetery,” Elizabeth says without looking at me. “It’s what I’ve always done.”
Because It's You (Carolina Rebels Book 2) Page 13
