Chapter 42 #3
After months of imagining the worst possible reactions Marcus could have had to finding out the truth, those two little words show me complete and total acceptance. Even though a part of me knew that would be his response, having it confirmed is a surreal experience.
We sit silently for a moment, and I let the truth wash over me. It’s freeing to finally have it out in the open. Like the world has lifted from my shoulders. But it’s mixed with a twinge of bitterness when I remember that it’s too late for it to matter.
“So, what happened?” Marcus eventually asks. “I haven’t heard anything from you since you got back from New York. I’m so far out of the loop here. I know Luke got fired, and you apparently quit. People keep saying you beat the shit out of Frank? And seriously, when did you get a cat?”
“It’s Luke’s cat,” I answer, reaching out a hand to pet Misty. She’s gotten more friendly with me since it’s been just the two of us—maybe because she was afraid I’d stop feeding her if she didn’t warm up to me. “And Luke… Luke broke up with me.”
“Why?”
A wave of unexpected emotion comes over me, and I can’t answer, my jaw clenched. Marcus sees me struggling, and he puts a hand on my shoulder, gripping it tightly.
“I’m sorry, man,” he says.
“This almost hurts worse.” I don’t need to say worse than what. Marcus immediately understands.
“You care about him that much?” he asks.
“I love him, Marcus,” I say softly. The words are surprisingly effortless now. Maybe because I know they don’t mean anything anymore. I wasted my chances. “I’ve never felt like this before.”
“Seriously?” He seems genuinely surprised. “Fuck. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that about anyone.”
“I know. It fucking sucks.” I laugh, tears coming to my eyes. “I bought a house.”
“I’m sorry, you bought a what?”
“I bought a ten-million-dollar mansion…in Manhattan.”
Marcus gapes at me, eyes wide, and I know he’s having difficulty processing the words.
With a groan, I sit up, reaching back over for my phone—noticing and ignoring a new text from my mom on the screen that just reads, call me bitch—and I pull up Zillow.
I plug in the address and find the listing for the property.
It reads ‘sold’ now, but they left all the pictures up.
I hand the phone to Marcus and watch as he stares at every new picture with growing awe.
“You really are down bad, aren’t you?” Marcus whistles. “I mean, fuck, Ethan. I know I told you to buy something for yourself for once, but….”
“Go big or go home, right?”
“You do not do things half-assed, that’s for sure.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” I whine. “Luke hates me. I might as well turn around and sell it since there’s no point in me moving there if I’m not going to be with him.”
“Oh, brother.” Marcus rolls his eyes. “We’ve gotta get your head back in the game. No one wants a sad, mopey little man for a boyfriend.”
“Rude.”
“When’s the last time you ate? Or had a shower….” Marcus asks, scrunching up his nose.
“Okay, if you’re going to be a dick, you can just leave.”
“Come on. Get up. Take a shower. Get dressed. You’ll feel a lot better. We’ll meet the guys at Lucky’s for dinner and have a few rounds. It’ll cheer you right up.”
As much as I hate to admit it, I know he’s right. That is the sort of thing that would make me feel better. My friends have always been good at propping me back up when I’m down, and this should be no exception.
In the end, I agree. After getting up and feeding Misty, I take a nice, long, hot shower, feeling more like a human than I have in days.
I put on clean clothes and head downstairs.
While Marcus busies himself with watching the tail end of a football game on my TV, I take the opportunity to go out on the deck and call my mom to let her know I’m all right.
As expected, she wastes no time reaming my ass for worrying her and waiting so long to call her back. After hearing the whole story, she calms down, her tone turning more sympathetic. She even laughs when I tell her about the house, saying she’ll move in if I don’t want it.
At one point in the conversation, she asks me point blank if I love him.
I can feel how my heart aches with that soul-crushing agony when I tell her I do, his absence weighing me down.
Looking out along the deck, I recall my dream.
My skin tingles slightly, as if I can still feel my father standing there, almost imagining I could see him at my side.
“It feels like you and Dad,” I say—a sentiment I know she’ll fully understand. She knew exactly how much I idolized their romance—their love story.
“Oh, baby,” Mom says, her voice full of sorrow. “Then don’t you dare give up on him. You keep fighting. You hear me? You better not let him go.”
The words bring tears to my eyes, and I let out a deep, shuddering sigh. “I’ll try.”
When we hang up, I pull up my unread text chain with Luke, glancing at my long-winded messages. I hover over the keyboard for what feels like a millennium before typing out a single line and hitting send: Can we talk?