Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JEREMY
I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor with a huge bowl of peanut M&Ms in my lap while I watch How to Train Your Dragon, which was a colossal mistake, considering the musical score alone makes me cry.
It’s been two weeks.
Two weeks since I woke up alone.
Two weeks since he stopped answering my texts.
Two weeks since that asshole fucked me and left.
At first, I was livid, and I held onto that anger as long as I could because I knew if I spiraled, I might be tempted to cut myself, and I didn’t want Marcus fucking Conner to have that power over me.
But the anger eventually flatlined, replaced by suffocating grief and the haunting feeling that I’m once again unwanted by the person I wanted to want me the most.
Then, after a couple days of wallowing, I picked myself up and started working again.
After the pub’s final inspection, I’ll be free to move on to my next job in Cannon Beach.
Marcus was good on his promise to give Flash a reference, and I got an email last week with a request to finalize the paperwork.
I haven’t decided whether I’ll be leaving Seattle permanently or not, but I’ll definitely need a break from this place for a while. At least Flash’s over-the-top mansion will keep me occupied.
My mood finally started to level out, but today fucked me up again because I stumbled upon Marcus’s engagement announcement. The photo of him and Sabrina was perfect—Marcus, his serious face clean-shaven, with one hand in his pocket, the other resting on Sabrina’s waist.
I shovel another handful of M&Ms into my face.
They looked really good together. And, yes, I know it’s not real, but also, why wouldn’t he want someone like that?
She’s really pretty. My eyes tear up, and I blink, trying to stem the tide of emotions swirling in my chest. I slide one finger under my waistband and finger my scar forcefully.
It hurts because I’ve rubbed it raw. Just the pressure alone is starting to help less, and it enrages me.
He’s just a stupid hot man. He shouldn’t have such a stranglehold on my mental health.
My eyes refocus on the screen just as the music crescendos, and, as if on cue, my door swings open.
I yelp in surprise and M&Ms slosh from the bowl, skittering across the floor as I turn and stare open-mouthed at Tristan and Marcus.
To his credit, T doesn’t startle at all.
He just looks annoyed that I moved my leg.
They stare at me, and I stare at them.
“Jesus, Jeremy,” Tris says finally, clucking his tongue as he takes in my pathetic state. “Are those Spider-Man pants?”
I push to my feet, then glance down. My whole body flushes with anger and embarrassment. “What the fuck, Tris. Why did you bring him here?” Marcus isn’t supposed to see me like this, and it’s mortifying. “How did you even get in?”
“I still have a key,” Marcus mumbles.
I glare at him and give Tris a pointed look.
“What?” Tris protests. “Marion said you went dark, and she wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
I make a mental note to revoke her BFF privileges for a week.
I throw my hands wide. “As you can see, I’m fine.”
Then why is your lower lip trembling?
I spin and grab the remote, turning off that infernal movie music. I hug my bare torso, unable to meet their eyes. “Why did you bring him, Tris?” I ask again.
Tris sighs. “Because he won’t shut the fuck up about you, Jeremy.”
“I wouldn’t say that—” Marcus starts, but Tris shoots him a glare and he closes his mouth.
“He’s been moping around extra grumpy today, which is making him practically intolerable. This morning, I caught him crying in the storage room, blubbering about what a mistake he made, and I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
I raise my eyes and finally take Marcus in. He looks like absolute shit, his eyes tired and his hair unbrushed, which gives me a little thrill of satisfaction.
“I was not crying,” he sputters. “It’s dusty in there.”
Tris pinches the bridge of his nose. “God, you two deserve each other. Can you just make up so we can go? I’m hungry.”
I put my hand on my hip, and Marcus’s gaze drops to my abs. “Make up? Are you kidding? Did he tell you what he did, Tris?”
Tristan purses his lips. “He told me everything.”
I stare at Marcus in shock. He’s never been forthcoming about anything with me, let alone another person, and the idea that he willingly shared so much with Tris hurts. The emotion must show on my face because Marcus pushes past Tris and crowds my space.
He smells woodsy, and his hands are ice-cold as he grips my biceps, and it sends a chill through my whole body.
“C’mon, Starlight,” he murmurs and pushes me toward the bedroom.
“You don’t have to manhandle me,” I huff, but my voice lacks its usual heat.
He closes the door with his foot and turns back to me. I stare up at him miserably, trying really hard not to cry. I’m just so tired, and I feel so defeated.
Marcus doesn’t say anything, but his hand drops to my hip and he pulls gently at the fabric of my waistband, pausing when I flinch. I swallow as he stares at me, and I nod, giving consent.
He inches my pants and underwear down just enough to reveal the scar. It’s pink and angry-looking. He grazes his finger over the raised skin and lets out a relieved sigh.
“You’re as bad as Marion,” I mumble, crossing my arms. He’s seen me naked many times, so why do I feel so vulnerable right now?
“She’s worried about you being alone.” His voice is rough like gravel. “So am I.”
“You’re talking to Marion now, too?”
He has the decency to look a little sheepish. “I needed to know you were okay. I came by yesterday, but even the hot dog mat lady refused to let me in. Did you tell her what I did, too?”
I huff a laugh. “Maybe.” I try to step farther away from him, but my back hits the wall next to the door frame. “Why are you here?” I whisper.
“I just want to apologize and explain.”
“Explain what?” I say vehemently. “You. Fucked. Me. And. You. Left.” I bite out every word with venom. “Not much to explain.”
He flinches and reaches for my hands. I stare at his fingers brushing mine. I haven’t refreshed my nail polish since that night, and it’s chipped and cracked, a physical manifestation of my current mental state.
“I did it to protect you, Jer.”
“Protect me? From what? You were the only person who could hurt me, and you did it in epic fashion.”
He sighs. “My father—”
“Your father what, Marcus? Could ruin my career? Could threaten me like he did Seb and Charlie?”
“Well, yeah,” he sputters. “But there’s more—”
“Did it ever occur to you that I already thought of that? That I accepted that risk because we were worth it? You were worth it?”
His mouth opens and closes a couple of times while he considers my words. “But why would you do that? This is your career, Jeremy. You’ve worked so hard. I could never forgive myself if he . . .” He hangs his head, and his forehead brushes the top of mine. “I’m not worth it.”
“That’s not your choice to make,” I say brokenly. “That was my choice, and you took it from me!”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have just talked to you. I thought if I . . . if we . . .”
“Had sex?” I offer.
He pauses and then shakes his head. “I know how it looks, believe me. But I wanted to keep you safe. I figured if I left, you’d think I was just another douchebag.”
“Yeah? Congrats. That’s exactly what I thought. And what I still think.” I push my hands into his chest, fisting his shirt as a rush of anger sparks from my stomach. “You can’t hurt me under the guise of protecting me—”
“It wasn’t a guise. I had to!”
“Why?” I growl. “Give me a better reason.”
He grips my wrists, his fingers digging into my skin. “Because it’s not just about your career. Ryan could have killed you.”
“What?” I blink up at him. “Like murder?”
“Yeah, like murder.” He tugs me closer, our mouths inches apart.
“Fuck, Jeremy. John found evidence that Ryan’s a fucking psychopath.
He puts hits on people who get in his way.
I couldn’t lose you, baby.” The nickname slices me open, and my lower lip trembles, my composure failing.
“Jer, please talk to me,” he pleads. “What’s going on inside your pretty head? ”
“I don’t care about any of that,” I whisper. “Let him fucking kill me. I just wanted you to want me.” It’s a completely irrational train of thought. Of course, I don’t want to die. But it’s how I feel, nonetheless. Everything gets blurry, and a sob crawls up my throat. “Why don’t you want me?”
Because that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? It’s why this fucked me up so bad. No one has ever wanted me.
My foster family didn’t want me.
My aunt was kind, but she didn’t actually want me.
Marcus doesn’t want me.
No one wants me. I’m too much.
Marcus’s arms wrap around me in an instant, enveloping me in strong muscles and familiar warmth, and it makes me cry even harder.
His hands stroke my back and run through my hair as I cling to him, tears and snot running down my face.
I’m so fucking embarrassed. Marcus must think I’m the most pathetic person on the planet.
“Shhh, I’m so sorry, Jer. I’m so sorry I did this. It’s all my fault.”
I cry until there’s nothing left in my body, and everything just feels itchy and achy. I sway on my feet, feeling a little dizzy, and Marcus helps me to the bed and lays me down, tucking me under the covers.
I hide my face in the pillow, knowing he’s about to leave. I don’t want him to. I don’t want to be alone. I miss him.
But instead of hearing his departing footsteps, the bed dips and he lays a gentle kiss on the top of my head. “I’m going to talk to Tris for a minute, but I’ll be right back.”
“Promise?” I whimper into my pillow.
“I promise,” he says earnestly. Then he stands, and I hear the door open. The walls are paper-thin, so their muffled voices carry easily.
“I’m going to stay.”
“Okay” comes Tristan’s reply.
“Will you tell Marion that he’s okay?”