Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Marcus
T hings I wish I would’ve had time to Google today include correct etiquette when visiting the grave of your ex-girlfriend’s grandmother . Except, I bet few others have been fool enough to find themselves in this situation: visiting the grave of a woman whose funeral I missed because I was busy breaking up with her granddaughter minutes before it started. Or perhaps they, like me, have been smart enough to keep their actions off the internet, knowing full well that every single Reddit user would agree that, yes, I am the asshole .
Let’s be honest. If I were a religious man, I’d still be doing penance for that day.
But I am sorry I didn’t come to pay my respects eight years ago. That I haven’t made the effort to stop by in the time since. Hallie’s grandmother had given teenage me more credit than I deserved. She’d seen how wrapped up I was with her granddaughter and let us spend time together instead of trying to pry us apart. Which hadn’t ended up mattering since I’d managed to do that on my own. But she’d believed in me —in Hallie—more than we’d believed in ourselves. I’d had a special mention in her will that’d proved it. Today gave me the opportunity to make amends in the smallest of ways. It’s what had me calling Erica, asking for a florist recommendation.
Flowers—who even knew the last time I’d bought them in person? The things I generally bought for women were dinner, drinks, and sometimes condoms if neither of us was already packing. Really fucking classy stuff. The flowers I send to my mom, I order online.
Today, however, I needed flowers, ones that I’d picked. Thankfully, Erica hadn’t laughed at my ass or made a single sarcastic comment. To be fair, I’d expected and understood that I’d been asking for both each and every time I opened my mouth these days.
And while all of this is true, it couldn’t be denied that I offered to meet Hallie here because I want her company. I want to be around her while I still have the chance, because, whether I like it or not, our time together is ticking closer and closer to an end.
I hadn’t missed the surprise on Hallie’s face when I pulled into the car space next to her, followed by that of swift relief. I knew without asking that some part of her had believed I wasn’t going to show.
She’s unusually quiet as I follow her along the packed dirt path, winding its way through the cemetery’s pristine grounds. Trees, flower beds, and wooden benches break up the rows of gravestones and markers.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when I should’ve been,” I say, turning toward her as we walk side by side.
She looks back at me quizzically, a tiny furrow between her brows, like she doesn’t quite know what I’m talking about. “I know you must run a tight ship at work, but being right on time isn’t late.”
She thinks I mean today. Fuck.
My heart, that ridiculous, compulsory-for-life organ, throbs in my chest. I hate to have to bring this up, to upset her or our current status quo by rehashing the past, but how can I not? Even if it breaks a rule.
She moves to turn away, but I gently touch her arm, bringing her attention back to me and our movement to a halt.
“No, Hallie, I mean the funeral. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, that I didn’t show up for you that day. Regardless of anything else, I should’ve been there, and I wasn’t.” The words come easily once I start. It’s nothing I haven’t thought of before; no word of it’s a lie. Apologizing for this is one of many things, none of which is painful. There are more apologies to be given, but I’m not looking to push my luck.
Hallie’s lips press together, and I lift my fingers from where I’m still touching her, giving her space to respond.
“You’re breaking a rule,” she says, looking over her shoulder like someone’s going to hear. Like the dead are going to care.
Her words aren’t what I’d expected or what I hoped for, but I shouldn’t be surprised.
“I know,” I reply with a curt nod. She continues to look unsure about the conversation, glancing down at the flowers she’s got clutched in her hand. And I can only imagine how we look standing together: me in my dark suit pants and button-down shirt, her bright and light in ripped jeans and a white T-shirt, both of us holding our pink bouquets.
“We’re not meant to talk about the past,” she reiterates, as if I don’t know the damned rules. And I consider for a moment if she’s worried that I’m going to use this to end things. To bring all the time we’ve been spending together to a premature close.
“I know, and I won’t say another word about it. But I’m still sorry,” I say, and I mean it. Because there are things I’m not sorry for, like us having sex that very first time or the way an optimistic teenage version of myself had asked her to marry me. But what I don’t get to apologize for today is how I hadn’t been able to follow through on that final promise.
She looks at me for a long time, in this place that’s so peaceful, so quiet. There are no distractions, only the gentle rustling of leaves through trees.
“Okay,” Hallie says, voice quiet but questioning. “Thank you.”
I can’t help but think she doesn’t believe me or is at least having trouble taking my words seriously. It stings a little, but it doesn’t make what I said any less true.
I’d given Hallie privacy to catch up with her gran after placing my own flowers, my multitude of both thanks and apologies silent but heartfelt. Out of earshot, I’d watched her crouch down, tracing the engraved names of both her grandparents as she’d spoken softly. Part of me was curious about what she’d been saying, if she’d explained my presence. But when she turned back to me, ready to leave, a small smile curving her lips, I hadn’t been able to make myself ask.
Walking back to our cars, side by side, our hands are bare of the bouquets we’d arrived with. The silence between us is comfortable, even as my body starts to feel the opposite. Rolling my shoulders back, I shake them out a little, but it doesn’t stop the discomfort as it trickles through me. My arms feel wrong, awkward, even. I stretch my neck from side to side and quickly flex through my fingers—and that’s where it is. My hands are empty, and for the first time in my life, I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t even know why I’m thinking about them.
For a moment, I feel relief, the corners of my lips curling up at my own ridiculousness because the issue is mental, not physical. But when I think about it again, my almost-smile drops because it’s mental, not physical . There’s no stretching out of this discomfort. Walking next to Hallie, I can’t help it as my fingers flex again in abject discomfort. How the hell do I normally walk side by side with another person? Do I swing my arms? Do I put my hands in my pockets? Do I cross them?
Am I going insane?
Playing with my phone or my keys is not the right move, but as my arm brushes Hal’s, I know what my issue is.
My hand wants hers.
I stretch my fingers one last time and put a little more space between us as we walk.
As we enter the parking lot, I take my phone out, needing to do something. Three missed calls from Johnathan Cairns. Fuck my life, this man won’t take a hint.
“You look less than impressed,” Hallie states, gesturing to my phone.
“Work,” I reply, pocketing the device again, but it feels heavy in my work pants.
“Being able to have your phone set to do not disturb is great, but blocking numbers is where it’s at.”
I laugh, but I’m sure it comes off as strained. “Yeah. Sadly, as the boss, blocking numbers and hiding away with my phone on silent really isn’t an option.”
“I know. But it’s nice when it is,” she says before pausing and looking up at me. “I blocked my dad’s number not long after I arrived. Honestly, best decision I’ve made in a long time.”
Best decision for her, maybe. For me, not so much.
I think of my dad and what I’d give to have another conversation with him. Of the group chat Jules and I have with our mom. Of what a difference the money Johnathan Cairns is offering could make. “You’re not tempted to speak to your parents at all while you’re here? To see if they’ve changed?”
Stopping abruptly in front of her car, Hallie looks incredulous at my question. Who can blame her?
“No. I’m really not. People who hurt you, who do it knowingly, they don’t change.”
I nod in response, a quickly dejected puff of air the only accompanying sound. Answer received loud and fucking clear. I shove my hands in my pockets, fingers brushing against both my keys and phone respectively. It’s time to go.
“Marcus, I—” Hallie starts, obviously noticing the same parallels I have.
I’d been hoping that she’d see something other than our past, but apparently not. And considering I’m still fielding calls from her dad, I guess she’s right. People like us don’t change.
“Marcus. I didn’t mean—” she starts again. “I know we were young. It’s not the same.”
“It’s all good, Hal,” I say. Because I’m not young anymore.
And you have to be worthy of a second chance in order to be given one.
I want to tell her now, to explain this whole fucking thing, but I have too many people counting on me to blow it all to hell without a viable plan B.
“Are you done with work for the day?” Hallie asks, changing the subject to what should be neutral territory.
And yet it’s not, because in an ideal scenario, I’d say no and suggest we spend the rest of the day together.
“No, not yet. I’ve still got some work to do,” is what I say instead. The comment about her dad only reinforces that we’re forever taking two steps forward and one step back, something that we can’t keep doing.
We stand together, neither one of us saying anything else, and neither one of us making a move to leave. Still, I resist the urge to take out my keys and go.
“Thanks for offering to come with me today,” Hallie says, and it just might be the most polite sentence she’s ever said to me. It’s enough to shock my brain back into action, to help me remember how we play this game.
“Thanks for not assuming I was trying to get you alone in order to bend you over a tombstone,” I reply with a blasé shrug.
“Marcus, what the hell?” Her affronted look is worth the uncomfortable step toward necrophilia.
“Hey, you only ruled out beds,” I point out with a smile. “Everything else is fair game.”
The narrowing of her eyes in response is perfection. “I’m about to rule you out altogether.”
“Liar,” I tease, finally satisfied enough with the mood between us to take out my keys. I gesture for her to get in her car first.
“Prove it,” she calls, opening the door and hopping in, a smile lighting up her face.
“I will. Tonight. On the floor, against the wall, I’ll bend you over something tall.” I sound like a dumbass Dr. Seuss, and I don’t even care. I open my mouth around Hallie, and I lose IQ points on the spot.
“You’re such a loser.” She rolls her eyes at me and slams her door shut. I watch as she drives off before I get into my truck, turning on the air-conditioning just in time for my phone to ring. Fucking perfect.
“Finally, you answer a call,” Johnathan starts. No hello, no how are you , just jumps straight into being an asshole.
I put my sunglasses on, taking my time to reply. “Johnathan, I have this thing—it’s called a job. You might’ve heard of it. I do it well, I get paid. I don’t do it well, both I and the people I employ become unemployed.”
There’s no point in playing nice or pretending that he doesn’t respond best to a firm word. You give this man an inch, and he’ll take a lot more than a mile.
“No need to be a smart-ass,” he says gruffly. “Especially considering for someone so concerned with money, you no longer seem to want mine.”
Here we are, then, straight down to it.
“Well, it’s never come with terms and conditions before,” I reply, knowing that he’s already well aware of the fact.
“What I’m asking could hardly be considered as terms and conditions. It’s a simple favor.”
A laugh slips out of me. “Johnathan, we don’t have that type of relationship. I have a charity; you’ve in the past provided annual donations toward it. This year, you’re refusing to provide a donation unless I do you a favor. It sounds pretty conditional to me. Or is there something I’m missing?” I know I could’ve left the question off at the end, but I can’t help myself. I’m not missing a single fucking thing.
There’s a short silence on the line, and then, “You know, I don’t know what she ever saw in you.”
Both you and me, mister , but I don’t bother to answer him. Don’t bother to gratify him with an agreement or a fight. Instead, I let him stew in the silence and let myself stew in the truth of it.
“How is she?” he finally asks. And the question is so…parental. He really could just be a dad asking how his daughter is. I think of Hallie today and how she looked. A little tired, unsure, sad, and then, right at the end, grateful and maybe even happy. Always beautiful. But none of that is mine to share.
“She’s fine,” I say instead.
“Have you—” he starts.
“Let me stop you right there,” I say, jumping in before he can finish his thought. “Your daughter still barely wants to look at me, let alone trust me enough to bring you up and have it be anything other than negative.”
“Have you even tried?”
“Yes.” And it wasn’t even a lie—I just hadn’t tried very hard, not willing to risk having her shut me out altogether. “But I’m not going to push it.”
“You’ll change your mind.”
But I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t go ahead with this unless I had Hallie’s consent first, and if she said no, well, it wasn’t an option. Because backing out from supporting these young people wasn’t an option for me.