37. Marcus
37
Marcus
“Are you sure about this? I could tell Charlotte you’re not up for a party,” I say to my dad as he slowly puts his jacket on.
He shakes his head before I’m even done talking. “I’m fine. I can handle a little excitement tonight. In fact, I need it. It’s been a hell of a month.”
I hold the bedroom door open for him to exit, and I slowly follow him to the living room. It’s quite a challenge trying to hide my concern for his fragile figure. I’m used to my dad being big and powerful, filled with health. The man who used to carry me on his shoulders as a child is slowly dwindling in front of my eyes.
There’s nothing I can do to make it stop.
“Wipe that look from your face, son,” he orders as I press the elevator button. “Tonight is a celebration. No moping around.” He steps inside the car wearing a sudden smile that gives me a flash of his old, cheery self. “Chemo tried to kick my ass, but I kicked right back. I’m still here, Marcus.”
“I know.”
“So act like it.” He lightly punches my arm, and I smile. “That-a boy,” he praises .
I slip my arm around his shoulder right before we enter my garage. His body might look frail, but it’s still firm. It still feels strong. My spirits lift, and I gently squeeze him. “Let’s go turn shit up, Dad.”
“Not too much, though,” he advises me. “I need to reserve some energy for my early morning Zumba class. There’s an eighty-year-old who’s been trying to out-dance me, and I want to put him in his place.”
His comment makes me chuckle as I help him into the front seat of my Mercedes SUV. We pull out of the garage a minute later, leaving behind the residue of worry and fear. Dad is right. Tonight is a celebration—not only for Charlotte and her fiancé, but for my dad surviving the worst month of his life.
“How’s it going with Harper?” he suddenly asks, giving me an emotional whiplash.
Waves of guilt replace that joyful feeling. I’ve been putting off telling Dad about not moving things further with my ex. My concern for his health was one thing. I also feared he’d try to change my mind.
God knows I have no power to tell my dad no., especially now.
I can’t lie to him either.
“Harper and I aren’t going to work out, Dad,” I reply, keeping my eyes focused on the road ahead. I can’t bear to look at him. “She’s not the one.”
“What does that mean? What happened?”
An image pops up of Lauren curled up in bed with me. “I’d rather not get into it. We’re just not…” I search for the right word, finally settling for, “compatible.”
Dad snorts. “You guys were an item for quite a while in high school. There must be some compatibility there.”
“That was high school. People change.” Especially her. She’s not the innocent girl you knew back then .
“People don’t change that drastically, especially Harper. I’ve seen her quite often, and she’s still warm and kind-hearted—”
“What do you mean, you’ve seen her quite often?” I interrupt. As far as I know, Harper has been living in Miami for the last couple of years with that asshole she cheated on me with.
My father shrugs. “Well, I probably wouldn’t say ‘often’, just when I’d visit Arnold. She’d pop out of her room a few times to say hi. That was it.”
“What do you mean, her room?” I press.
“Yes. Harper moved back in a few months ago,” he replies, his calm response clashing with my growing alarm. “Apparently, she fell on hard times and has started from scratch. I admire how humble she was to come back home.”
I bite my tongue. Harper ‘borrowed’ twenty grand to move into a new apartment, giving me the impression she was already living on her own. Why would she hide that she’d been living with her dad? It makes no sense.
“Is she still living with Arnold?” I ask.
Dad nods. “She just bought the lease on another apartment, though. I guess she’s ready for her own space again.”
His response fills me with more relief than I expected. Well, she’s not a complete liar.
“Harper is a good kid, just like you,” Dad is saying, as if he just read my mind. “She knows what she wants, and she goes for it. So do you. I’m certain you two could make a good life together.”
It’s no surprise my dad isn’t letting up. Maybe I should give him the entire story for him to understand Harper and I won’t be making anything together.
“Harper cheated on me, Dad. Twice,” I tell him.
He doesn’t even flinch .
I still go on. “The first time was during our first year in college, right before we broke up. She got front row tickets to a Knicks game and slept with the point guard. For money, Dad.” I shift my eyes from the road to look at him. “She slept with him because he had more money than me.”
Well, back then, I had nothing . It was Dad and Sam’s money that took care of me throughout college.
“A few years later, we tried to reconcile. We made plans to tell you guys that we’d be getting back together. A few days before the announcement, Noah ran into her at a couple’s resort in Miami with another ball player.”
Dad’s calm stare meets mine as I glance back at him. “Did you hear what I just said?”
“Yes,” he replies, just as calm.
“Now, I have a strong feeling she has either reconnected with that ball player, or she found another one. Either way, I can’t consider dating her again, much less marry her.”
“You must marry her.”
I sigh. It’s possible that some of my dad’s brain cells were affected from the chemo. It’s the only explanation behind that disconnected response .
“Pray on it. Forgive her. Marry her.”
He’s clearly not listening to a word I’m saying, so I just reply, “Heard.”
Dad seems pleased with my answer, for he says nothing more. We turn off the highway and make a sharp right that takes us on an incline, leading us to Charlotte’s estate. It was once the Cain family home, but she won it in the divorce.
As we roll down the driveway, I see the party already in full swing, occupying both sides of the manicured front lawn. A parking attendant directs me into a designated spot, and I move around to help Dad from his seat. He gives me a pointed stare, and I back off. He’s still keeping his illness on the downlow, though from his slow approach toward the guests of honor, I wonder how much longer he can hide it. We greet Charlotte and her fiancé, and I spot Gabriel and Zyon at a table nearby, so I head over. My dad can certainly take care of himself.
“I hope you weren’t trying to be fashionably late with that get-up,” Zyon teases me as I sit around the table with them, my eyes scanning the venue for Lauren. “Epic fail.”
Glancing down at my tailored slacks and buttoned-down shirt, I throw a smirk at Zyon. Gabriel shoots me a look that says, ‘Don’t start’. He knows how far things can go when Zyon and I get into it. Zyon has a thick skin and so do I. Gabriel doesn’t. I will never forget how he wanted to punch my lights out for that harmless flirting with Zyon the night they met.
Again, I scan the area for Lauren. Last night, our lovemaking ended on a sour note when Harper called in the middle of things. The worst fucking timing ever, especially since she hasn’t called me in days. I cut the call, turned the ringer off, then rest the phone on its face.
Terrible decision.
A cocktail server saunters by us, and I wave her over to order a glass of ginger ale. Not my usual choice, but I’m sitting with two recovering alcoholics. Zyon and Gabriel are about three years sober and doing well, but I don’t want to rub anything in their faces.
“Wonders of wonders, you’re not staring at her ass,” Zyon comments dryly, as the server walks away.
“Maybe she isn’t my type. Have you thought of that?” I reply, smirking.
Zyon smirks back. “You don’t have a type. As long as she has a pussy, she’s fair game.”
“He has a type now, though,” Gabriel comments, and Zyon’s head twist toward him.
“Do tell,” she urges .
My eyes widen at him. Gabriel’s eyes squeeze shut; I can see the ‘Oh shit’ clearly on his face. Zyon folds her arms, her eyes darting from him to me. She sees it too.
“What am I missing?”
“None ya,” I reply. Gabriel is suddenly quite intrigued with his water glass.
Zyon’s mouth falls open. “Are you seeing someone?”
“I said, none ya business—”
“Oh, look, there’s Lauren!” Gabriel interrupts, sounding uncharacteristically chirpy, pointing to the side.
My head turns in that direction. My heart skips a beat.
Lauren looks breathtaking in that emerald dress. That thigh-high split is already leading my mind down to the gutter, but that’s not the reason my heart is now clashing hard against my chest.
Without thinking, I push to my feet. My hands curls into tight fists at my sides as I walk over to where she stands, a cocktail glass in hand. Her head falls back with a laugh. The asshole beside her seems pleased with whatever he told her. I bet he thinks it’s enough to take her home, but over my dead fucking body. No one takes Lauren home but me.
Her laughing abruptly stops when she sees me approaching. Her arm shoots out in front of him, and it pisses me off even more. Is she protecting him from me, or me from him? Her eyes are saying, “Don’t even think about it.”
The only thing I’m thinking of is throwing her over my shoulder and getting the hell out of here, to punish her for not taking my calls all day.
He finally realizes he lost her attention, and he turns to regard me. My scowl darkens. His flirty smirk falls flat, and he glances from me to Lauren. “Uh, should I go?” he asks her.
“You should,” I answer for Lauren. “Bloodstains on a white shirt won’t be a good look. ”
Lauren rolls her eyes and huffs but says nothing. He gives her one final stare, as if waiting for confirmation. As the silence continues, he lumbers away, and she rounds on me. “What gives, Marcus? That was such a dick move.”
“What are you doing, huh?” I throw back heatedly. “Trying to make me jealous?”
“Huh? I didn’t even see you! Why would I want to make you jealous, anyway? We’re not a thing.”
I cock my head at her. “Are we not? You were riding my dick just last night—”
“Don’t be crude. Jesus.” She massages her temple with her free hand. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not your woman, and you’re not my man.”
“Let’s get one thing clear, baby girl.” I close this gap between us. “Once we’re fucking, it doesn’t matter how long or how frequent, you are my woman. I am your man.”
Lauren scoffs. Her chin gently lifts. Her eyes pose a challenge. “Prove it.”
Silence.
She closes the gap a little more. “Prove it, Marcus. Kiss me, right in front of our family and friends. Prove to everyone here that you’re mine and I’m yours. Prove that we’re exclusive.”
I wet my lips as I stare down at hers.
“Show me I’m not just a notch on your belt. A good time. An itch you keep wanting to scratch, because for some reason, you can’t get me out from under your skin. Yet, I’m not enough for you to truly claim. Maybe I’m wrong about all that. Kiss me and prove I’m wrong, Marcus .”
Silence.
“Yeah.” She snorts, backing off. “I can’t say I’m surprised.” Her eyes sparkle from the sudden appearance of tears. “Coward. ”
With that, she hurries off, leaving me tongue-tied and desperate, wanting to get the words out but not knowing what exactly to say. It’s too late now, though. She’s already stomping across the lawn, heading to where her mother and her fiancé are hanging out.
Instinctively, I glance over where I was a few minutes ago, and my eyes lock with Gabriel’s murderous stare.