18. Marie
18
MARIE
Sitting here with the guys—well, with Hugo and Trick while Sam cleans—is the closest I’ve ever had to a normal moment, I think. Not that having my first experience with three guys is normal, but the aftermath, when we’re all loose and loopy, just chatting about nothing…that’s the normal part.
I can’t believe this even happened. It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever done, and no one is weird about it. When my best friend in high school, Andra, had her first time, she said it got weird after, that neither of them knew what to say. They broke up a week later, and that was that.
But I don’t think that’ll happen with the guys. Not that we’re together in any real sense of the word, but I don’t get the feeling that they’re done with me either. I’m not done with them, that’s for sure.
A faint jingle sound catches my ear, and I look for the source. It’s familiar—oh shit, my phone. I grab my bag and tear through it, and when I see what’s there, reality strikes with a jarring thud, breaking through the haze of warmth and adrenaline still coursing through me.
Dad.
The message is short and to the point, but somehow that makes it worse.
Come home. Now.
The haze shatters. The laughter, the heat, the overwhelming closeness of the guys—all of it vanishes in an instant, replaced by a cold wave of guilt and panic.
“Everything okay?” Sam’s voice is soft, and when I glance up, his eyes are full of concern. It’s strange to see. Only a moment ago, he seemed distant. I wanted to ask about that, but it didn’t feel like the right time in front of Hugo and Trick. They’d probably make a joke about it instead of letting Sam talk. I have the feeling they do that a lot.
I nod quickly, stuffing my phone back into my bag. “Yeah, everything is fine. I just…I have to go.” The words tumble out fast, too fast, but I can’t stop them. I’m already moving, grabbing my things, and heading for the door. I don’t give them a chance to stop me, to ask questions, or try to convince me to stay.
I want to stay. I want that more than anything.
Almost.
“Why are you running outta here like your house is on fire?” Trick asks.
If I tell them who the text was from?—
“Who texted you?” Hugo asks. I should have expected a grilling. If not from the others, from him. He’s not too big on boundaries.
If I tell them it’s Dad, what will they say? They’ll talk to him for me? Absolutely not. I can’t think straight right now, but I’m certain that would only make things worse.
“Eh, no one. I just heard it, saw the time, and realized I was late for family dinner. We do it every Sunday, and Dad will freak out if I’m not there.”
“We could talk to him,” Sam offers.
I shake my head and smile. “Um, no. This is a me and Dad thing, and I don’t want to mess with that right now. It’s our catch-up time from the week. Anyway, I gotta go.”
I charge out the door to get to my car. My head is spinning, my heart is pounding, and all I can think about is getting home before Dad starts calling.
The last thing I hear before I step outside is Trick’s voice, confused and just a little worried. “Marie? Hey, wait?—”
But I don’t wait. I can’t. Waiting will only make it worse.
The drive home is short, but it feels like it takes forever. Normally, I’d have everything handled by now. On Sundays, when I work at the library, I make sure dinner is ready before Dad gets home from church. It’s our routine, something we’ve been doing since I moved back. A roast chicken stuffed with lemon and garlic, mashed potatoes, and a seasonal vegetable unless he requests canned green beans again, which is about a fifty-fifty shot.
But tonight, I forgot. I forgot about dinner, about church, about mashed potatoes, about everything the moment I decided to go to The Lethal Legacy.
And now I’m going home to face the fallout. Panicking over that is almost enough to make me forget how sore I am, but I remember every time I hit a bump in the dirt roads. It’s a good sore, admittedly, but I still wince every time.
I’m not a virgin anymore. Huh.
I wasn’t really married to the idea of virginity in the first place, but still. It feels like the last step into adulthood. Maybe that’s silly of me—of course you can be a virgin and be an adult. My brain is just rambling nonsense now.
The soreness is a strange sensation. I’ve used toys on myself for years, so it’s not a hymen issue. I think it’s from how rough they were. It was like they couldn’t hold back.
Or maybe they were holding back and next time, I’ll be sorer.
The thought of next time gives me shivers, and I start to get wet again. I can’t help it. Just like I can’t help the smile on my face. That was amazing. I still can’t believe I got the three guys I have wanted forever. All in the same night.
I’m not a good girl anymore, and there’s no going back. This is who I am now. The girl who had a four-way.
The thought makes me laugh until I pull into my driveway and see Dad’s truck. I gulp at the sight and remember why I’m here. Sunday dinner. I’ll spatchcock the chicken to make it cook faster, whip up the mashed potatoes, and heat a can of green beans in the meantime. Easy peasy. Forty-five minutes, and dinner will be done.
But the second I walk through the door, I know I’m in trouble.
Dad is standing in the kitchen, still in his Sunday suit, his tie slightly loosened, his Bible resting on the counter beside him. His face is stern, his brow furrowed as his gaze lands on me. “Marie,” he says, his voice low and heavy, “what’s going on?”
I open my mouth to answer, but his eyes drop to my leg before I can say anything.
The tattoo. Of course.
He stares at it, his expression darkening as he steps closer.
“Is that—” His voice rises slightly, incredulous. “Marie Eleanor Durand, is that a tattoo ?”
I had completely forgotten about the tattoo, still visible through its clear bandage. I’m suddenly grateful Sam thought to bandage it at all, given that we were pretty distracted. And naked.
I swallow hard, shifting my weight awkwardly. “It’s just a small one.”
“A small one?” His voice sharpens, and I can feel the disappointment radiating off him. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking it might make me less of a target,” I blurt out, the excuse tumbling from my lips before I can stop it. “You know, for…trafficking.”
“Trafficking?” he repeats, his tone incredulous.
“Yes. It’s a deterrent. Traffickers don’t like tattoos on their victims because it makes them more identifiable and less innocent, so they can’t make as much money on them. They consider women with them to be damaged goods…” My voice trails off under his disapproving stare, and for a moment, the silence feels unbearable.
Judging by the look on his face, that’s exactly what he thinks of me now too. Damaged goods, thanks to this tattoo. If he knew about anything else that happened tonight…
Finally, he exhales, shaking his head. “Marie…” His tone softens, but there’s still a hint of frustration in it. “You don’t need a tattoo to protect yourself. That’s what I’m here for. That’s what my friends at The Lethal Legacy are for. Don’t you trust us to take care of you?”
The mention of them makes my stomach twist, and I drop my gaze to the floor, unable to meet his eyes. I need to change the topic, or I’ll lose it. “You have tattoos.”
“That’s different,” he says, his tone firm.
“Why?” I look up at him, bristling slightly. “Because I’m a girl?”
“No,” he says, sighing heavily. “Because you’re you. ” There’s a pause, and his voice softens even more. “You’re my daughter. And it’s hard for me not to look at you and see my little girl.”
I blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. “Dad, I’m more than just your daughter. I am an adult . I’m twenty-six! You can’t keep thinking of me as a kid.”
He chuckles to himself, a small, quiet sound that holds more warmth than I expect. “I know,” he says softly. “I know you’re grown. It’s just…hard to get used to.”
The tension in my chest loosens just slightly, but it’s not enough to make the guilt go away. “I’ll start dinner.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, waving me off.
“But—”
“I’ll just make some eggs or order a pizza or something. It’s fine, Marie. Really.”
I hesitate, torn between guilt and relief. He cooled down faster than expected about the tattoo, and now I almost feel bad for growing up. Like I should apologize for taking his little girl away from him.
When Mom and I left all those years ago, I was still a kid, and then I came back as a woman. It’s no wonder Dad is having mental whiplash over it.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” he adds after a moment, his tone softer now. “I was just worried. After what happened the other night…I couldn’t help thinking…” He trails off, his gaze scanning my face like he’s searching for something.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, forcing a smile. “Really. Nothing happened. I just…lost track of time. You know how I am with books.”
He nods slowly, but I can tell he doesn’t quite settle in his mind. I wonder if, now that the traffickers saw me as a viable woman to take, it forces him to recognize my adulthood. I don’t think asking him that would help the situation.
The guilt settles deeper in my chest as I start chopping onions for the omelet he said he’d make himself. I shouldn’t have let it happen.
Not the tattoo—that’s easy enough to explain. But the shop. The guys. What happened tonight wasn’t just crossing a line—it was shattering it.
And if Dad ever finds out—if he ever even suspects—it would destroy him. They’ve been his friends for decades, and I can’t be the one to ruin that. No matter how much I want to go back.
No matter how much I want them.
My happiness is…well, I have a whole future ahead of me. I can find happiness somewhere else. Probably.
But Dad, as popular as he is in Auclair, being the preacher with the biggest congregation in the parish, doesn’t have a lot of close friends. Just the guys. He drinks and curses around them, but not anyone else in the congregation. More important than that, he laughs with them. There’s a sense of camaraderie with the guys that he doesn’t have with anyone else, not since the divorce.
How could I possibly be so selfish as to take that from him?
I stare at the cutting board, my hands trembling as I dice the onion into uneven pieces. The sharp smell stings my eyes, but I barely notice.
I have to stay away from the shop. No matter how good it was. No matter how much I want more. Because it’s not worth it. Not if it means losing him. Not if it means destroying everything.
I take a shaky breath, wiping my hands on a dish towel as I force the thoughts aside. Tears stream down my cheeks. Damn onions.
Whatever the four of us had, it’s done. It has to be.