Chapter 9 Marco #2
I’ll still handle every morning drop off, at least for the next little while. Eventually Jess can transition to that as well, but for now she just needs to show up in the mornings to help my daughter get ready.
I pocket my phone and force myself to move.
I grab my gym bag from the mudroom. Text Filepe that I’m heading out. He’s already on standby. Security doesn’t sleep just because I’m having a crisis.
Filepe texts back: Ben?
He knows I don’t leave my five-year-old daughter alone in a four-story townhouse. Ever. I don’t care if she’s asleep. I don’t care if the house has more cameras than a casino. A sleeping kid needs an adult present. That’s non-negotiable.
I text Filepe: Luis has the overnight shift. Already upstairs in the monitoring room.
Three dots. Then: Copy. Waiting for you outside.
I pocket my phone.
Luis is ex-NYPD. Been with me since Ben was three. He knows the drill. He’ll do a walk-through every thirty minutes. Check the monitors. Keep his radio on. If Ben so much as whimpers, he’ll be in her room before she’s fully awake and on the phone with me.
That’s the system. That’s how it works. No one gets left alone. Not my kid. Not ever.
The gym is in Tribeca. Twenty minutes in traffic. Filepe drives. I sit in the back and stare at my phone like an idiot.
I should text Jess. Thank her for today. Professional courtesy.
But my thumbs won’t cooperate because everything I want to say would violate that contract.
Thank you for taking care of my daughter.
Thank you for being brilliant.
Thank you for existing and also please stop existing because you’re destroying me.
I settle for: Frederick was a great call. Thank you.
Her response comes back immediately. A thumbs up. Three snail emojis.
That’s it. No words. Just emojis.
And I stare at those stupid little snails like they contain the meaning of life. Turn the phone face down on my thigh. Count to ten without breathing. Realize I’m doing the same useless thing Ben was doing. That I made Ben do.
Fuck.
The gym is packed. Monday night open mat. Every serious practitioner in Manhattan is here.
Felipe sweeps the change room and gives me the go-ahead to enter. While I’m changing, he takes up a position near the mats.
When I’m ready, I tape my fingers and try not to think about what they were almost doing to Jess twenty minutes ago.
Ethan’s already on the mat. Rolling with some purple belt I don’t recognize. He sees me and taps out. Comes over.
“Look who showed up.” He grabs his water bottle. “Thought you were bailing. Dad duties or whatever.”
“Luis has it covered.”
His expression shifts. Something protective slides into place. “Luis? What about Jess?”
“Gone home for the day.” I point at my watch. “It’s past Ben’s bedtime.”
“So how’d it go? Jess didn’t text me back.”
“She was great. Ben actually liked her.”
“Good. That’s good.” He’s studying me now. Really looking. “And you?”
“Fine.”
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m serious.” He moves closer. Lowers his voice. “You only show up here after tough days. Should I be worried about what kind of tough?”
Fuck.
He knows.
Or rather, he doesn’t know, but knows.
“Work,” I say flatly. “Just work.”
“Right.” He doesn’t believe me. I can see it. “Because if this was about something else. About someone else. We’d have a problem.”
There it is. The warning.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning keep it professional.” He’s not joking. His voice has that edge. That protective older brother thing. “I vouched for you. I told her you were safe. So keep it that way.”
The words hit like a body shot. Because he’s right. He did vouch for me. And I’ve already broken that trust in about nine different ways. If only he knew the half of it...
“It’s just a job, Ethan.”
He nods. “Keep it that way.”
He walks back onto the mat. I stand there like an asshole processing the fact I just lied to my best friend’s face.
I need to roll. Now. Before I lose my shit completely.
But not with Ethan.
I turn my back on him, find the biggest guy on the mat. Some heavyweight who probably outweighs me by forty pounds. I don’t care. I need someone who can make me work. Someone who can grind me down until I’m too tired to think. Someone who has no idea I’m a billionaire.
We slap hands. He pulls guard. I drive forward.
The next thirty minutes are pure violence. I’m going too hard. I know it. He knows it. But he matches my energy. Lets me burn it out. I get submitted twice. Choked unconscious once. Don’t care. Just tap and go again.
By the time I’m done I’m drenched in sweat and my lungs are screaming and I still can’t stop thinking about her.
About Jess leaning over that notebook. About her lip between her teeth. About how close we came to breaking every rule we just made.
About how I’ve wanted her since Vegas. Since the night before I married my wife.
And now she’s in my house, during the day.
With my daughter.
And I’m supposed to keep my hands to myself.
If either of them knew the full truth...
The drive home is quiet. Filepe knows better than to make conversation when I’m like this. I lean my head against the window and watch Manhattan slide past.
Streetlights. Taxis. People living normal lives where they don’t lie to their best friends or want things they can’t have.
My phone is still in my pocket. Face down. Like that helps.
I pull it out. Look at those snail emojis again.
You’re fucked, Marco.
Completely fucked.
I turn the phone face down on my lap. Close my eyes.
Tomorrow she’ll be back. And I’ll sit at that kitchen island and pretend I don’t remember how she feels. How she tastes. How she says my name when she’s cumming so breathlessly.
I’ll be professional. Appropriate. I’ll focus on Ben and the routine and keeping everything controlled.
I’ll be fine.
Liar.