Chapter 11 #2
“What about me?”
“What’s going on with you? I saw you on TV last night when that guy died, and you looked more annoyed that he did it mid-game than you did concerned that he was dying. Are you okay?”
Mark’s hand stills on my hip, and he says nothing for a long moment. “Joey Carmichael,” he mutters finally. “You recognize the name?”
I shrug but say, “He was on trial for rape recently, right?”
“Yeah. Him and four others. If it were up to me, I’d have fired all of them. I wasn’t exactly heartbroken to see him die.” He takes a breath. “Thanks for the warning about the camera. I didn’t expect you to be watching.”
“Well. Normally I wouldn’t have been, but I was having drinks with a friend and the game was on.”
“What did you think?”
“About what? I don’t know anything about hockey.” He waits, seeming to want more, so I tack on, “Vaughn said something about your offense looking strong. It just looked like a melee to me, though.”
Mark snorts as he asks, “Vaughn?”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot that you’re the jealous type. Vaughn is an old family friend. I’ve known him since I was born.”
“I’m not the jealous type.”
“Are you sure about that? The way you practically dragged me away from that hockey player who tried to introduce himself the other day would indicate otherwise,” I say lightly, hoping to elicit more information from him.
“That had nothing to do with jealousy. Garret Fischer is the ringleader of that little group of rapists. I couldn’t be jealous of that pissant if I tried. I just don’t want him anywhere near you.”
Interesting. He called them ‘rapists.’ He believes they did it. The jury didn’t believe Katie, but Mark did. Or maybe he just knows exactly what kind of men they are, I think, though I say nothing.
“What makes you believe I’m the jealous type?”
“Well, that. But also your vague comment about your last relationship ending badly combined with you saying you don’t share well, and your question about Vaughn. Plus, you just have that vibe about you. And there was the fact that you wanted to lock me down after a single date.”
“That vibe?”
“That vibe that says ‘mine.’ I can’t imagine you’d react well if you thought I was flirting with someone else.”
“Well, first of all, I’m not the jealous type.
But no, I wouldn’t react well to you flirting with someone else.
However, I wouldn’t be here if I thought you were the sort of person who would do that.
Second, I was only asking about Vaughn out of curiosity.
To get to know you better. And third, it was at least a date and a half,” he says, and the words vibrate through his chest to my back. It’s almost soothing.
“You’re counting the hospital?”
“And pizza. Yes. We spent half the day together. I’m pretty sure it counts.”
“So you want—” I’m interrupted by a knock on the door.
Pizza. I grab Mark’s shirt off the floor, looking down at myself after I’ve tugged it on.
You can see a whole lot of leg, but nothing else, and it’s good enough.
I double-check to make sure Mark won’t be visible before I open the door.
The delivery guy gives me a once-over and smirks as I take the pizza from him.
“You were saying?” Mark says when I return to sit next to him, leaning against the wall, my shoulder brushing his, the pizza box balanced across our legs.
“Um. I think I was going to say something about you wanting to get to know me without reciprocating. You’ve functionally told me nothing about yourself, but you want details about my friends and family. It doesn’t seem fair,” I comment as I open the box. Pineapple, pepperoni, and jalapeno.
“You’ve been to my house,” he responds as he takes a slice of pizza. “I still haven’t been to yours.”
“Yeah, but you know all about my family. I know nothing about yours.”
“I don’t know all about your family. Besides, you volunteered that information,” Mark reminds me. “By the way, how did your visit with your dad go?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Fine, I guess. Why? Do you want to meet him?” I ask, fighting down a grin. The idea is hilarious. Mark in a prison visitors’ room.
“Wouldn’t be the first time I visited someone in prison.”
“Oh yeah? Who else?”
“My older brother.”
“You have a brother? I pegged you as an only child. What was he in prison for?”
“You really don’t know anything about me, do you?” Mark asks, sounding surprised.
“No. I still haven’t Googled you, or read your Wikipedia page, or whatever, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I have an older brother. Well, half-brother. He’s eleven years older than me. His name is Aaron. He’s still in prison.”
Eleven years older. That explains why he seems like an only child. It’s a big enough age gap that—depending on their upbringing—he may as well have been. “What for?”
“Killing my dad. When I was twelve.” He pauses to take a bite of pizza, chewing slowly before saying, “It was in the news for a while,” repeating my words from last week back to me. “They still talk about it when they talk about me sometimes.”
“Huh. Your dad abused your mom, and your older brother finally put a stop to it?” I ask. The fact that we both had traumatic events involving our fathers happen when we were twelve isn’t lost on me, though I don’t comment on it.
He nods. “Yup.”
“That sucks.” I don’t say it, but I bet he still feels guilty for not doing anything about it even though he was a kid.
He probably believes it would’ve been better if he’d killed his dad himself rather than letting his older brother do it, because he likely would’ve gotten out of juvie at eighteen.
“Yup. So where’s your mom? You’ve never mentioned her.”
“God. You weren’t kidding about this ‘get to know you’ shit,” I grumble.
“Nope. I wasn’t.”
“I don’t know where my mom is. She split when I was four, and I haven’t seen her since.”
“What happened to you after your dad was arrested? Who did you live with if your mom wasn’t around?” Mark asks.
“My aunt. His sister. That’s how I ended up living in Portland and not Seattle.”
“Ah. Are you guys close?”
“I guess. We usually have dinner together every weekend,” I say, remembering that I told him I was doing some family stuff last weekend.
He nods. “I like jalapenos, by the way.”
“Good. Let me know when you want to see the couch in my office,” I tell him, hoping to move the conversation away from our families. I was right, though. When Mark falls for someone, he falls hard. This is going to end up being the messiest breakup of my entire life.
“You should spend the night at my house tonight,” Mark says, apropos of nothing.
“Should I?”
“Yeah. I’m going to be gone with the team for the next week and a half. So you should spend the night tonight. When we leave here, we can swing by your place, and you can grab whatever clothes you need, but you should come home with me.”
“I thought you wanted to find out what color the couch in my office is.”
“I do. But I also want you to come home with me.”