Chapter 25 Hattie
HATTIE
My eyes widen instantly.
I have completely avoided Marcus since before Christmas, hoping the solution to this problem would magically dawn on me before I had to face him again.
No such luck. All that time ignoring his texts and steering clear of my dad’s ranch was bound to bite me in the ass eventually, and I suppose today is that day.
“Hello, Marcus,” I say.
He pulls me into a hug right away. My arms stay at my sides, and I make eye contact with Mesa over his shoulder. She’s livid, but hiding it well.
“I missed you, babe,” he says after pulling away and kissing me on the cheek. “Thought I’d bring dinner by, since I haven’t heard from you in a while. You had me a little worried.”
“I’ve had a lot on my plate recently,” I explain.
He lightly pinches my chin and gives me a wink. “Totally understandable.”
My eyes fall to the brown paper bag in his other hand. Judging by the smell, it’s filled with a takeout dinner for two—warm and garlicky enough to make my stomach turn with hunger. Nausea overpowers it at the thought of eating a meal that he brought me.
He steps inside and nudges the door shut behind him with his heel, then smiles at Mesa, easy and charming. “Sorry for the book club intrusion.”
My lips part, but I quickly close them and swallow down the comment that was on the tip of my tongue. I’ve only missed one book club since moving into this house behind the library. It’s at the same time on the same night, each and every month.
He knows this, and I think he specifically picked this night to corner me again because it’d be the most intrusive.
It’s also easier to push his play along agenda when I’m with someone.
I hate that I’m so good at masking my feelings around people when I want to—the downside to having that skill is that after pretending to be fine and dandy for so long, I’ve lost some of my ability to let my true emotions show, even when I want to.
I’m glad I told Mesa about this the other night because I am so fucking done playing that game.
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye.
We hadn’t anticipated this, but I think we’re on the same page about not attacking him or exposing that I’ve recruited my friends for help.
She nods subtly, and I exhale to steady myself.
“It’s no problem,” she says. “I can—” Her sentence trails off as she points over her shoulder with her thumb.
“No, please stay. We’ll just be a minute. This is Marcus, by the way. Marcus, this is Mesa.”
They shake hands after my rushed introduction.
Their interaction causes uneasiness to seep into my veins, and I wish I could snarl in his face and demand that he stay far away from my friends.
The only thing stopping me is that I don’t want to push him to the brink and cause him to retaliate against my dad.
That, and the fact that Mesa doesn’t need my protection. She’s intuitive and can handle her own. Plus, if any of the guys at the bunkhouse heard even a whiff of someone threatening her, they’d probably kill the guy. I wish that were an exaggeration, but it’s not. Not even a little bit.
I should tell them about this as soon as possible. Especially Heston. As much shit as I give him for always blaming time, I know exactly what he means. Timing is always awful for us.
I grip Marcus’s forearm with a tight-lipped smile and drag him through the entryway into the kitchen. The paper bag crinkles as he sets it on the counter.
“What are you doing at my house?” I start in right away, whispering to keep up the ruse that Mesa is clueless about our situation.
Marcus tilts his head and draws his brows together, just subtle enough to pass for concern instead of defensiveness. “I figured book club was flexible,” he quietly admits. “It’s not, like, mandatory attendance, right?”
My head tilts toward the ceiling, and I blink against the lights overhead. “Marcus.”
“What’s the problem?” he asks, stepping closer and taking my hand. His tone is more sultry and teasing now, and he bends to kiss the side of my neck. “You haven’t been avoiding me, have you, sweetheart?”
I push him away. “Don’t ever do that again. I don’t like it when you touch me, and I especially don’t like it when you try and kiss me like that, either.”
He peeks over at Mesa and purses his lips.
“This is not a good time,” I whisper.
“When is a good time, then, Hattie?” He crosses his arms. “You haven’t been able to pencil in a little time for your fiancé in a month.”
I want to cringe, but I don’t want to tick him off. Not yet. “I’ll swing by sometime this weekend, if I can,” I lie. “Just please get out of my house.”
No part of me wants to carve out a single moment of my weekend for him, but if it gets him out of my hair and away from Mesa for the time being, it’s worth it. His mouth lifts into a smug smile.
Bile rises in my throat when I realize that backing down a little and bending to his will, even a tad, was all he needed from me. Sometimes I feel like I’m standing on a rug that could be pulled out from under me with one wrong move around Marcus, but I don’t know how to step off of it.
His continued delusion is starting to scare me a little.
This week, I felt safer knowing my dad and the girls are behind me in tackling this whole thing.
I’ve even been able to laugh about how ridiculously stupid his demands are.
But having him show up here to manipulate me even further makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Thankfully, he turns and walks away from me before my frustration boils. As he walks toward Mesa, he slows by the bookshelf.
Shit.
I hold my breath. He looks over his shoulder at me with a single lifted brow, then continues to the door.
I hold a hand over my stomach.
“Good meeting you,” he says to Mesa. “You girls have a fun night.”
“Yeah,” she replies with gritted teeth. “You too.”
The door closes, and Mesa breaks immediately. “He is awful, oh my god. And what the hell was he wearing?”
“The outfits are pretty bad,” I admit with a wince. “I mean, some girls probably dig that style, but I can’t believe I tried to convince myself he was even remotely my type when he first asked me out.”
“Yeah, you need your head checked, girl. I was trying not to throw up.” She fakes an exaggerated gag.
“Now you’re going a little overboard,” I say, playfully rolling my eyes.
“That’s nothing. Female frogs fake death to avoid mating with males they aren’t attracted to. I could do a lot worse than gagging at the sight of a sweater vest.”
I laugh. “I know what you’re doing. Stop trying to make me laugh so I won’t cry.”
“But it’s working.”
She walks up and wraps me in a hug. The tears usually come too easily and too often. But strangely, I don’t feel the urge to cry anymore. I’m scared. But I’m not in this alone, and I like our chances against him.
“You’re right,” I agree. “It’s definitely working.” Determined not to let him ruin our night, I smile and loop her arm through mine once again. “Should we go?”
“Do you still want to?”
“Of course. Come on, I have a whole round of discussion points ready.”
She huffs as we walk toward the door. “No, you don’t.”
Okay, I don’t. But I’m good on the fly.
Marcus is already gone by the time we step outside and begin following the sidewalk that leads around to the library. The fresh air does wonders for the slight tremble in my hands.
We walk in silence for a minute, footsteps falling into an easy rhythm.
“Have I mentioned that I have a bowl of poisoned black-eyed peas and a big, old tarp in my trunk just in case?” Mesa asks casually.
I snort a laugh. “You can’t kill him. Jesus. It’s not that serious.”
“Okay, I know. But hypothetically, if I did, I wouldn’t do it alone,” she explains. “Tripp would help me. Plus, Gage’s dad is a bigwig lawyer in New York. You wouldn’t believe the things he’s covered up. I’d be fine.”
“You don’t say?” I pretend to consider it with a sly smirk. “That changes things.”