I nod, feeling acid rising in my throat. “So it’s not to escape the reality of a dead wife. Or the fact that his daughter killed her?”
There’s a long moment where Marcus just looks at me. I expect him to say all the things Aunt Becky and my friends and the therapists said to me two years ago, just after it happened. But instead of telling me he’s sure it wasn’t my fault, or that it’s going to be all right, he says, “That’s got to be tough.”
I nod, feeling the threat of tears I’m not going to indulge.
“Did he drink before your mother died?” he asks.
I set down the slice I’ve barely nibbled and haul a deep breath, holding it a second before exhaling. “Not like now.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I might be way out of line here, Addie, but if he drinks to forget about losing his wife, that’s still his issue, not yours.”
I shake my head. “It’s not about losing his wife. It’s about how he lost her.”
He straightens up and looks at me a long moment. “How did he lose her?”
“Car wreck. We were fighting.” I drop my gaze and shake my head. “We were always fighting.”
“So, she was upset,” he says, but I’m already shaking my head before he’s finished.
“I was upset.” My heart knots in my throat with the words and my voice breaks. “I wasn’t paying attention and ran a stop sign.”
I glance up and find his eyes wide. “Oh, man. I’m so sorry, Addie.” He pulls me to his shoulder and I let him.
A tear slips over my lashes and trickles onto his shirt. Then another. His fingers stroke gently over my back and I feel his breath in my hair. I expect a barrage of questions, but he just holds me. Finally, I draw back and look at him. His eyes are so open and so deep I could lose myself in them.
“Whatever you need, Addie,” he says. “Just ask.”
I give him a weak nod, trying to decide if I’m relieved he’s not pushing for all the gory details. Part of me wants to talk to him, but a bigger part of me is terrified to. And I’m not even sure I have the words just yet.
He jiggles the pizza box. “One more slice of fishy deliciousness.”
I scoop it up and Marcus takes the empty box to the trashcan just up the path. But this time, as I watch him go, I’m thinking less about his perfect ass and more about the fact that he’s the only person I’ve ever talked to about my mom. And I don’t regret it.
Chapter 9
Marcus
I drive Addie home and force my eyes and hands to stay focused on my driving instead of migrating across the divide to comfort her. She’s in so much pain. That’s what I’ve been seeing in her eyes—that loss of innocence. I want to take it all away, but I know platitudes aren’t going to cut it. There’s no one-size-fits-all solution. All I can do is listen.
And the more I hear, the more I feel our connection. It’s been there since the day of Blaire’s wedding. It’s nothing I can put my finger on, except to say I trust her, and I feel like she’s starting to trust me. Maybe it’s because she’s dealing with so much of her own shit that mine seems insignificant by comparison. Or maybe it’s because despite everything, she’s still this strong, funny, incredible girl, and I have all kinds of respect for her.
It’s because of that that I don’t push her for more right now. I know she’ll tell me what she wants me to know in her own time. What she needs is to feel safe and understood, and I can do that for her.
When we pull up to her house, her father’s car is in the driveway. She looks at it and then at me. “Thanks for the pizza.”
I smile. “Thanks for a new culinary experience. I will never look at anchovies the same.”
“I’m not sorry your date didn’t work out,” she blurts.
I watch her eyes as she says it. Is she just glad for the company? The pizza? Or is it more?
I realize in my search for the meaning behind her words, I’ve leaned closer. Her face flushes under my scrutiny, and she’s holding her breath. Waiting.
I lift my hand and do what I’ve been dying to. I brush my fingertips over the wisps of hair around her bandages, along her cheekbone, to the dark circle under her eye. “You are incredibly strong, Addie. Most people who’ve been through what you have would have cracked, but you keep pushing through it. You’re a survivor, and you’re going to be fine.”
I realize I should have kept my mouth shut when her face crumbles into a grimace and she pulls away from my touch. Before I’ve even lowered my hand, she’s out of my truck and moving up the walkway to her door. At her doorstep, she glances back before vanishing into the dark inside.
I sit here for another minute, trying to wrap my mind around what I said that scared her. Because it was clearly fear in her eyes. Terror. And something else.
I shake my head to clear it, then head back to my apartment.