Chapter 14 #2
Something’s off, and I kneel down next to him, watching him work. When he looks at me again, I notice the red in the whites of his eyes. “Are you stoned?”
“Oh, yes. I am very stoned.”
I sit back, not sure whether to be amused or alarmed because he’s loopy as hell. But it’s also kind of adorable.
“There was this really nice man at the kite store who looked a lot like Leo from That 70s Show, except, like, a lot younger. His name was Tommy? Timmy?” He swipes absently at the hair tickling his forehead.
“Teddy! His name was Teddy. Really nice man. He said I was uptight.” He looks worried. “Am I uptight?”
I raise my hand. “Hold up. You bought edibles at the kite store from a guy named Teddy?”
He gives me a tolerant look. “No, Jeremy,” he says, like I’m the one who just word vomited nonsense. “I bought edibles from the cannabis store. Keep up.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, I can’t imagine why I was confused.” I still don’t understand where kites came from.
He presses shells into the sand. “How did your meeting with Shooter McGavin go?”
“You mean Flash Montgomery?”
“That’s what I said.”
“You said Shooter McGavin. He’s from Happy Gilmore.”
He glances up at me in confusion, and I shake my head. “It went really well. The space is beautiful, and he asked me to send him photos of the pub when we finish.”
Marcus nods, then gives me a shy smile, and I honestly have no idea how to act right now because I’ve never seen him so . . . happy. “This reminds me of when we met.”
I shake my head. More nonsense. “How does making a sandcastle on the beach remind you of the gay club?”
Marcus gives me a sad look. “You don’t remember me.”
“I actually remember that night really well,” I say with a smirk.
“Not the night in the gay club, Jer. It was here.” He pats the sand. “On the beach.” He points at the rock in the distance. “Except I think we were closer to Haystack Rock, or maybe it’s because we were smaller.”
What the fuck?
“Sweetie,” I say softly, reaching out to tip his chin so that his gaze shifts back to me. “What’re you talking about?”
“Well, I mean, your sandcastle was much better than mine.” He stares at his mound of sand. “And you had sea glass for your windows, not shells.” He looks around for a moment. “I tried to find sea glass, but I guess it’s not sea glass season.”
“I don’t think sea glass has a season,” I murmur as my mind spins. Something about his words tickles my memories as I think back to my many visits to Cannon Beach over the years.
One in particular stands out.
A dark-haired older boy who told me about Spider-Man.
My mouth goes dry as I stare at him like I’m seeing him for the first time. I squint, and I can almost see the boy in him. He has a beard now and muscles and height, but somewhere under all that man, in his warm brown eyes, is the boy I met that day.
“You don’t like ice cream!” I blurt, wide-eyed.
“It hurts my teeth.”
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
This new information is flooding my brain, ramping up my heart rate, but before I can ask more questions, Marcus jumps to his feet and grabs my hand, yanking me up so hard that I stumble into him. He catches me around the waist, and the air explodes from my lungs.
He leans close, his mouth millimeters from my ear, and whispers, “Come on.”
Goosebumps rise along my neck at the brush of his hot breath against my skin.
With our hands still locked together, he tugs me forward.
We run for a minute, and it feels like we’re children as water and sand splash our ankles and seagulls scatter from our path.
My foot hurts a little, but I ignore the ache.
A giggle slips from my lips, and Marcus looks back at me, his eyes shining with mirth. Just when my lungs start to burn, he slows and yanks me to his side. Panting, I stare down at where our hands are connected; his fingers are warm, his calluses scraping against my palm.
I look back up at his profile, lit up by the afternoon sun. “Where are we going?”
He nods his head down the beach. “The tide pools.”
A family passes close to us, throwing a frisbee for their dog, and I instinctively try to let go of Marcus’s hand, but he grips me tighter. I look at him in surprise. He did the same thing when we got caught last night, but I figured it was a fluke.
“You—you’re okay with this?” I ask hesitantly.
“With what?”
“Us . . . touching? I know you’re not really out or anything.”
He shrugs. “I guess right now, in this place, it feels okay.”
I push my shoulder against his. “I’m pretty sure that’s the edible talking.”
He grimaces. “Edibles. I ate two.”
“What?” I stop him and cup his face, my eyes bouncing between his. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just . . .” He sighs. “I just wanted to relax. Everyone kept texting me, wanting me to fix their problems.”
“Problems?”
“Charlie is worried about her friend, Fiona. She went radio silent. But, like, her mom died the same day her girlfriend broke up with her and she lost her job.” He stops and gives me a very serious look, and his eyes are a little glassy.
“Poor Fi. I mean, imagine how that feels? I’d want to be alone too. ”
I nod. “Yeah, wow. That’s a lot for one person all at once.”
He squeezes my hand, wipes his eyes, and starts walking again. “And Sebastian needed to find insurance paperwork.”
“Insurance? Did something happen in Vancouver?”
“Just one of our regular patrons. An ex-hockey player. He’s kind of a handful.
Causes a lot of issues. I honestly don’t know why Seb tolerates him.
” He grimaces. “And then my dad texted to remind me about Skynet’s Thanksgiving fundraiser that I’m skipping this weekend, and I lied and said I was sick, so he showed up butthurt at the pub and freaked Tris out; so then he texted me too.
” He stops again and faces me, his eyes intense.
“I don’t always want to be the person they want me to be. ”
I cock my head. “What do you mean?”
“I’m always fixing their problems, but really, I just want to fix my own problems, you know?” His voice cracks on the last words, and my heart aches for him.
“And what problems are those?”
He steps closer. “You.”
“I’m a problem?” I ask huskily as our breaths mingle.
“You’re a huge problem.”
“And why’s that?”
Marcus snakes a large hand over my hip, his fingers sliding under my shirt, rubbing against my bare skin. “Because I want to kiss you and touch you all the time, but I can’t tell you that because it’s insane. Until several weeks ago, I thought I was straight. Now, I’m . . . crooked.”
I laugh, but Marcus swallows it up with a searing kiss.
I stiffen in surprise, but as our lips slide together, I can’t stop the quiet moan that vibrates my throat.
His tongue tangles with mine, making me dizzy with need.
And just when I feel lust overtaking my senses, he pulls away with a sultry smirk and continues toward Haystack Rock, leading me like I have no choice.
And I don’t. I have no choice. I’m so fucked right now.
We skirt around signs and yellow tape laid out to protect the habitat, and wade through the rush of the incoming tide to reach the accessible tide pools, stepping carefully over rocks and navigating between patches of sand.
The pools are full of small minnows, tiny crabs, teal sea anemones, and purple and orange starfish.
Muscles, barnacles, and algae dot the expanse of rock that rises above us like a small mountain.
Marcus takes it all in like a little kid, excitedly pointing out each sea creature like it’s the first time he’s seen it.
I’ve seen Marcus mostly as a driven businessman—always so serious—and this version of him is a stark contrast. I can’t help the way my heart flutters watching him explore.
Is this the Marcus he keeps hidden from the world?
Just a boy who wants to be his authentic self?
Who wants to be accepted? I can relate hard.
He crouches down to look at a starfish and almost falls face-first into the water. I grab the back of his shirt, stumble over my own feet, and fall at his side, the cold salt water seeping into my pants.
Marcus looks dismayed. “I think you ruined your sexy clothes.”
I grin because I don’t think he realizes how unfiltered he is right now. “Sexy, huh?”
“Shit.” He rubs the back of his head. “Did I say that out loud?”
Case in point. “You did.”
I straighten my leg and our thighs press together.
He looks back at the starfish. “When I was a kid, my dad and stepmom, Ellen, would take us down here.” A sad smile curves his lips.
“Seb, Charlie, and I would splash through the water, but my stepmom hated to get wet, so my dad would lift her up and give her a piggyback ride through the deeper spots.” He absently digs a hole in the sand with his pointer finger. “I miss the sound of her laugh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. But I wish she were still here.
Maybe my dad would have been . . . different.
” He sighs. “After my mom died, he was so closed off for a while. I was young, but I remember him being gone a lot. Then my stepmom came along, and it’s like she healed him a bit.
But then she died too. So maybe he finally just stopped hiding who he really was.
I don’t know. All I know is that I felt betrayed because he wasn’t my dad anymore.
” He huffs a bitter laugh, the sound making my chest squeeze.
“And yet I still want him to be proud of me. I let him lead my life in whatever direction he wanted, and now I’m so lost, I don’t even know who I am anymore.
” He shakes his head before giving me an apologetic look.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You lost both your parents. ”
His comment stings my heart.
Today is Black Friday.
The anniversary of the day they died.
I heard it in my nightmare. That knock on the door when a stone-faced policewoman told me my parents were in an accident. That they weren’t coming back. That I was alone.
But Marcus doesn’t know what today means, so I push down my sadness.
I resist the urge to run my hands through his tangled hair. “Don’t be sorry. We all have our trauma, Marcus, and it’s all fucking terrible. Mine isn’t any better or worse than yours. Just different.”
He opens his hand, and I place my palm against his, marveling at how much larger his hands are.
“I think this stuff is starting to wear off.”
I swallow. “Does that mean we shouldn’t hold hands?”
“No,” he replies softly as his fingers interlace with mine. “I really like holding your hand.”
“Same.”
And we sit like that until the incoming tide forces us to our feet before we end up completely soaked.
“So tell me about your trip into town.”
Marcus purses his lips. “I can’t go back there.” His voice is quiet, like he’s telling me a secret. “It was the crow’s fault.”
I blink. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Right after the second edible kicked in, I was extra loopy, I guess. I don’t know. But I’m not a very graceful person.”
I snicker. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Marcus’s eyes narrow, and I catch a hint of grumpiness remerging.
There’s my guy. Not my guy. He’s not mine.
“Anyway, I was scaring off the crow.”
“What did the crow do?”
He side-eyes me. “They’re creepy, and this one wouldn’t leave me alone.”
“Makes sense. Crows do lack a sense of personal space.” I hide a smile behind my hand. “Continue.”
“Well, more crows showed up. It was like . . . a whole gang of crows.”
“A murder?”
“What? No, they didn’t kill anyone.”
“No, no, a murder is the official term for a group of crows.”
He stares at me, deadpan. “Really? Or are you fucking with me right now?”
I laugh. “Really.”
“Well, now they’re even more creepy.” He clears his throat. “Long story short, I tried to scare them off and accidentally threw my shoe at the bookstore window.”
“Oh my God. Did you break it?”
“No, but the owner got mad.”
“Where are your shoes now?”
Marcus looks down, puzzled, as we start walking again. “I don’t know.”
“Gosh, you’re a menace when you’re stoned, baby.”
He glances at me, and I realize that I called him baby. We walk in awkward silence for a while longer, and my foot starts to ache again beneath the wet bandage.
“Are you okay? You’re limping.”
He makes a move like he wants to carry me again, and I jump back. “I’m okay. It just stings, but I’ll live.”
He looks at me doubtfully and then licks his lips. “You should let me clean it again.”
“Yeah?” I give him an amused smile. “Was that a good experience for you?”
“I made you feel better, didn’t I?”
“Definitely.”
We climb the steps to the beach house’s yard, and Marcus stops. Several crows are perched on a nearby tree, sparse clusters of brown leaves barely clinging to the branches.
“If one group of crows is a murder and it’s joined by another group of crows, is it a double homicide?”
I burst out laughing. “Is that a joke?”
Marcus grins. “Well, sort of. But it also just makes sense.”
“Sure, it does.”