by Tracy Deebs
Page 28
“Tempest, please. ” He pulled me into his arms, kissed my cheeks, my forehead, my mouth. As his lips moved against mine, it took every ounce of strength I had not to kiss him back. I didn’t, though, and it took only a minute before he pulled away. “You promised you wouldn’t do this. ”
“I’m sorry. ”
“You’re sorry? You’re ripping out my heart and that’s all you can say? That you’re sorry?”
“I have to go, Mark. ” The tears were there, burning right below the surface. I bit my lip in an effort to force them back, then shifted my gaze so I was looking past him, not at him.
He followed my stare. “Oh, right. We wouldn’t want to keep Kona waiting, would we?”
His sarcasm was a punch to the gut. I sucked my breath in but didn’t defend myself. Of course it looked like that to him, and there was nothing I could say to change it—nothing I would say, anyway. Maybe if he thought I was leaving him for Kona he’d be angry instead of devastated.
“What is it with that guy, anyway? He snaps his fingers and you just forget everything you promised, everything you said you wanted, because he comes calling?” Mark shook his head. “That’s bullshit, Tempest, and you know it. ”
“I’m not leaving for him. I’m leaving for me. I can’t be here anymore. I can’t do this—”
“Can’t do what? Can’t give him up? Can’t keep your promises? Can’t take care of your family? What exactly is it that you can’t do?”
I stepped back, fumbled for the door handle. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. ”
“No! Please! Wait. ” He reached for me again, grabbed my free hand. “You need a break. Fine, I get that. These last few days have been intense. But at least tell me where you’re going; I’ll meet you there during Christmas vacation like we planned. We’ll talk about this then. Maybe you’ll have changed your mind—”
“I’m not going to change my mind, Mark. ”
He fell to his knees next to me, pressed his face against the back of my hands. That’s when I realized he was shaking as badly as I was. That he was crying the tears I wouldn’t let myself shed. “How do you know that? You don’t know that. ”
It hurt. I couldn’t believe how much it hurt. Like I had severed a limb or like someone had ripped out my heart. “I do know. We’re done. ”
It nearly killed me, but I pulled my hand away.
Opened the door.
Stepped over the threshold.
Mark stood up again. “Tempest. ”
One more time, I extended the belly chain to him. “Take it. ”
He put his hands up, started backing away. “That’s yours. It was a gift. ”
“I don’t—I don’t want it. ” Even as I said the words, my fingers tightened on the chain. I wanted it, wanted him, so badly I could taste it.
He didn’t answer me, just walked backward down the steps, his eyes never leaving mine. He stopped when he got to the sidewalk and just stared at me through eyes gone dark with pain. He was wrecked, absolutely wrecked, and as he stood there, a thousand different images flashed through my head of the boy I’d known since childhood.
In first grade when his parents had sent the nanny to Parents’ Day.
On his ninth birthday when his parents hadn’t bothered to come home from work to celebrate with him.
When he was eleven and they hadn’t shown at the bus stop to pick him up from summer camp.
His freshman year, when he’d made the varsity basketball team and had led LJHS to the state championships and they hadn’t bothered to show up. Not to one game.
By then he’d stopped showing what it did to him when they showered him with things instead of time, but I’d known. I’d sat in the stands with my own father and seen the lost little boy he’d worked so hard to hide. I’d hated his parents that night, and a hundred nights since. But nothing they’d done, nothing they’d failed to do, had ever made him look as miserable as he did right now. I was trying to save him, and all I’d done was rip him to pieces.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated.
“Don’t say that to me. ”
“I am, though. I’m so—”
“Don’t! Damn it, Tempest! Just don’t!”
I nodded. I couldn’t say any more even if I wanted to. I was too busy choking on my own tears. Good-bye, Mark. I mouthed the words and then slowly closed the door.
I heard him bound up the steps, slap his palms against the outside of the door. I pressed my back against it, absorbing the blows as I sank to the floor. I sat there for long minutes, tears pouring down my face as he knocked and knocked. Finally, the knocking stopped. I stood up, peered out the peephole, and watched as, head down and fists clenched, Mark slowly walked away.
I took a deep breath, wiped my face. Then went to tell my father the same news.
Chapter 13
The trip back to Coral Straits was the most miserable, uncomfortable one of my life. Every mile farther I swam from California was another crack in my heart, until I felt like Humpty Dumpty, never to be put back together again.
I tried not to cry. Sometimes I succeeded and sometimes I didn’t, but in the end it didn’t really matter. After all, I was immersed in a giant ocean of salt water—it wasn’t like my tears were exactly visible. Provided I didn’t sob or project my thoughts clearly enough to attract the attention of Kona or his guards, no one would have a clue that tears poured down my face for hours at a time.
It worked for the most part. Of course, that could be because Kona went out of his way to pay absolutely no attention to me at all. His guards alternated between ignoring me and shooting me venomous glares. I was clearly extremely unpopular with the selkie crowd these days, especially Kona’s clan. Not that I blamed them. I might have rescued the crown prince/new king from Tiamat’s clutches, but it wasn’t enough to negate the harsh feelings that came when I broke up with him days after almost his entire family was murdered by the sea witch I had been charged with stopping. Add in the Mark thing—even if they didn’t see us kissing, I’m sure they saw us walking back to the house—and it was no surprise they were less than impressed with me. Most days I was less than impressed with myself.
I could still picture Mark’s expression when I closed the door in his face. I’d never seen a more devastated person. Not even Kona had looked like that in the midst of his kingdom’s ruins.
My heart wasn’t the only one I’d broken that night.
We’d been swimming for nearly two days now, and if my sense of location was actually working, then we were about two hours away from Coral Straits. The tears were still there, in triplicate, but they’d been joined by a swarm of butterflies. What was I supposed to do when I got to the mercity? What was I supposed to say? Should I head straight to Hailana’s underwater residence or go to the merCouncil’s chambers? Should I try to prepare a speech for the citizens of Coral Straits or just wing it, speaking from my heart?
The problem was, I didn’t know how to do that. Not about Hailana and not about being merQueen. It would be hard enough to do at any time, but to try and do it now, when I was nervous, stressed out, and heartbroken, seemed an impossible task.
