15. Markus
CHAPTER 15
MARKUS
He’s gorgeous when he sleeps. Well, he’s gorgeous all the time, but when he sleeps, the tension in his face melts away, and all I see is beauty in the arch of his brows, the curl of his lashes, the soft coral color of his lips, the indent of that dimple on his chin…
God, I want to touch him. My fingers itch to reach out and rest my palm on his cheek. I want to wake him and ask him a hundred and one questions about himself. The little he revealed to me over dinner was so enlightening, yet it leaves me wanting.
But he’s exhausted. How selfish of me that I didn’t even consider he’d come straight from a twenty-four-hour shift to care for me. He stayed up cooking and cleaning when he was probably dead on his feet, if the depth of his sleep right now is any indication.
I pull the blanket off the back of the recliner and place it over him, tugging it down a little so it covers his socked feet. And it’s those socks that really get me. They’re green with little shamrocks on them. This big, strong firefighter asleep on my couch is wearing St. Paddy’s Day socks just before Halloween. God, he’s adorable.
Shit. I’m watching him sleep like some sort of creeper. What if he were to wake up right now? How awkward. I step away, and Rufus backs up with me, his nails scraping on the floor.
That’s all it takes—that little bit of sound is what wakes Adam. He springs up from deep sleep to wide awake, like someone hit his light switch—off to on in an instant. The sudden movement startles me, and I stumble backward. My knees hit the recliner, and I fall into an awkward sprawl across the chair.
“Oh, Jesus, are you okay?” Adam jumps to his feet, the afghan I just covered him with pooling on the floor. He’s instantly in hero mode again, like it’s his natural state of being, and sleep is only a slight pause in his programming.
“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Oh.” He sort of blinks, then looks back at the couch. “Oh.”
He straightens the cushions and picks up the blanket from the floor, folding it and replacing it on the chair like he doesn’t want to disturb anything here.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, turning his attention back to me as I stand from the chair. When Adam first arrived here in his work boots, the added lift made it feel like he towered over me. Now, however, with both of us in our socks, we’re the same height again. And every part of us lines up so nicely. Our eyes, our hips, our mouths… Breath shudders out of my mouth as I stare at his, and the shape of his full lips, their pale peach hue, the freckle right at the dip of his Cupid’s bow.
Crap. He asked a question. What was it? Cute little lines furrow between his eyebrows as he waits for my answer. Finally, I manage to gather my thoughts and say, “Everything is fine. I’m fine, never better. You really don’t need to waste another day here. You should get some rest.”
What am I saying? Why am I sending him away? I could offer to let him spend the day with me… Sleep in my bed tonight. Would that be weird?
He looks down at his watch, then back at me. He surprises me when he reaches out and places a hand on my cheek. Oh. Is he going to… Are we about to… God, I really want him to kiss me right now.
But he doesn’t. Instead he tilts my head up so he can inspect my eyes. After a moment, he seems satisfied by what he sees and slowly nods. “Yeah, okay. I think you’re going to be fine, so I’ll get out of your hair. Do you need me to take Rufus for another walk before I go?”
Well, shit. I just cockblocked myself. Why am I trying to convince him to leave? This isn’t what I wanted. But Jesus, do I even know what I want? Not at all. I like Adam, a lot, but?—
Shit, he asked me another question. I don’t know what it was, so I just answer, “Sure.”
Adam nods and walks over to the leash on the hook by the door. He’s taking my dog for another walk? I open my mouth to stop him, to tell him he’s already done enough for me, but he’s talking so sweetly to Rufus, and Rufus is eating up every bit of the attention.
Behind me, my phone rings on the kitchen table. I shuffle over to grab it, collapse into a chair, and glance at the Caller ID. It’s my mother.
Why is she calling again? Her voicemails the last couple of days have just said, “Mark, call me back.” Nothing specific, nothing that sounded urgent. And I’ve been so busy, too busy for an awkward conversation with my parents. But this is the third call in as many days. Something must be wrong.
Still, I hesitate to answer, and my hesitation fills me with shame. I look across the room at Adam, who pretends to ignore me as he snaps the leash to Rufus’s collar. Is he wondering why I don’t pick up? If this were him, he’d answer his mom on the first ring.
But Adam’s family is perfect; they are loving and accepting, while mine is…not. For me, it takes strength to talk to my mother. My hesitation is a defense mechanism. So here I sit, just staring at the ringing thing in my hand while I muster the required energy and armor.
Without a word, Adam and Rufus leave. I listen to their steps as they descend the stairs to the street. At the same time, my phone chimes to indicate a new voicemail. Without listening to it, I call her back.
“It’s about time you returned my calls,” my mother chides me, without even a hello.
“What’s going on?”
She huffs, giving her exasperation a voice. The sound is one I know all too well, a sound that still haunts me from my childhood.
When she finally speaks, I hardly hear her words, and it takes me a moment to process what she’s saying: “Your father is dying. You need to come home.”