22 Marley
Marley
Marley had gotten Hazel into the shower and then checked on the kids.
Tini had settled with them in the one first-floor guest room, which was just across the hall from Hazel and Lincoln’s primary suite, and Juliet, Sean, and Grant went back to salvage what they could of the kids’ toys and clothes.
Marley headed back down the hall to the great room.
She still hadn’t eaten anything, and she really did feel faint now.
Alone in the wide-open space, she went straight to the table and buttered the crap out of a bagel.
“How are you holding up?” asked Magdelena, walking in with a fresh pot of coffee. Her bun was now perfect again, but she hadn’t put on any makeup, and her skin was a bit pale. She looked like she’d aged ten years in one night.
“God, I’ll take some of that please,” she said around a mouthful of carbs.
Magdelena nodded, poured out a cup, then added cream and handed it across the table. She always remembered how everyone took their coffee, how everyone liked their eggs, who was allergic to what. The woman was amazing.
Marley sipped the coffee and closed her eyes as the flavor and warmth soothed her. She took it back—Magdelena was a saint.
“Have you seen Marshall?” she asked.
Magdelena looked toward the front door and shook her head. “I don’t think he has come back yet. He was going to look for Mr. Jacoby’s car.”
“He hasn’t come back?” Marley asked.
She pushed back from the table and went to the sliders to see what it was like out there, bringing her coffee cup with her.
Someone had activated the floor-to-ceiling shades, and she had to peel one back a touch to look out.
She could see nothing but rain and the potted trees around the pool bent nearly sideways.
One of them had given up and fallen over, the terra-cotta pot smashed into bits.
She let the shade snap back into place and went back to the table.
“How long has he been out there, do you think?” she asked.
“I’m sure he is fine,” Magdelena said. “The valets put all the guest cars in the small parking lot by the garage to make the party run smoothly. He will have to walk.”
“Oh. Right,” Marley said, her voice tight. She took a slug of coffee, then went back to the table for another bite of bagel. She took a smaller one this time and chewed slowly, not wanting to make herself sick again.
“Were you able to get in touch with Miss Lily?” Magdelena asked, looking wistfully toward the front of the house again. “Sometimes I think she’s just going to walk through the door, and it will be like nothing happened.”
Marley felt that comment in her gut and suddenly wanted to cry. “I know what you mean. And no. Not yet.” In all the drama of the search and then finding the blood, she’d almost forgotten about calling Lily.
Magdelena sighed and picked up the plate at the end of the table to clear it. “Well, if you need anything . . .” She gave a wan smile.
“Of course. Thanks, Magdelena.”
As the chef retreated to the kitchen, Marley went back to pacing.
If something happened to Marshall, she didn’t know what she would do.
Yes, she was still pissed off about the adoption thing, so pissed off that even now her fist—the one not holding a hot cup of coffee—clenched just thinking about it.
The earnest, sad, pitying look on his face when he’d told her he was done.
The way he’d treated her like a rabid animal who needed to be tamed when she’d freaked out.
But then, if Lincoln had been the one to talk him out of continuing .
. . that changed things a bit. Marley knew how much power Lincoln had over her husband.
Even as Marshall railed against Lincoln’s values and morals and business practices, he still worshipped his brother at his core.
Lincoln had a way about him. Something that made everyone automatically seek his approval.
Marshall more than anyone, having grown up in his brother’s magnetic orbit.
She knew that if Lincoln had made a good argument, Marshall would be powerless to ignore it.
A strong, wall-shaking gust of wind hit the side of the house, and she flinched.
Marley made a quick vow to herself and any higher being that might be listening that if Marshall walked back through that door safe and sound, she would not let their lack of a child and his unwillingness to keep trying for one come between them.
He was her husband. Her family. Her person.
She wasn’t going to let a dream that might never have been meant to come true come between them.
No matter how heartbreaking that was.
She had promised herself so many times that she’d never give up.
That she would keep trying until they found their child.
He or she was out there somewhere. Marley had always believed it to be true.
But maybe they could foster. Find some other way to make their family complete.
Maybe she should think of it as pivoting. As finding a new path forward.
It was so hard to think of it that way. She wasn’t sure she could do it.
But she was sure they would work it out. They would. If he would just. Come. Through. That. Door.
And then he did.
The door flew open, and Marshall stumbled inside, looking like he’d just walked himself through a car wash. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and his clothes were like a second skin. He shook his hair out like a puppy dog, scattering water everywhere.
“Josh’s car is still here,” Marshall said, gasping for breath.
“So where the hell is he?” Marley asked. “He has to be somewhere in the house.”
They both automatically glanced at the end of the table where Cole had been sitting. There was nothing there. Magdelena had just cleared his place, and there was no sign of their interloper. Marley hadn’t even noticed. In all the upheaval, she hadn’t even noticed he was gone.
“Where the hell is Cole?” Marshall said.
From the corner of her eye, Marley saw something so horrible her brain refused to process it. By the time she did, her coffee mug had already shattered on the floor.
“Candice? What happened to you?” Marshall said, rushing toward her but stopping at the wild look in her eyes. “Why are you covered in blood?”
“It’s . . . not . . . mine.” Candice’s hands reached in front of her, smeared with dark-red stains. Her once-pristine shirt was soaked through, and there were finger swipes of blood on her face. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she stumbled toward Marshall, then fell into his arms. “Trevor’s dead.”