20. Brooke
Chapter twenty
Brooke
“You trust me, right?” My smile is mischievous as I hold my hand against the sliding cover for the laundry chute and look over my shoulder at Marcus.
He quirks a brow. The old wood panel sticks only a little when I slide it to the right and reveal a wood platform held up by a pulley system. “Uhhhh.”
“Come on,” I say, stepping on the ledge two feet from the ground and reaching my hand for his as if he actually needs my help.
“There is no sign this has worked in a decade.”
The rope does have a cobweb. “Where is your sense of adventure? I promise it’ll hold. This thing can carry a two-thousand-pound commercial laundry bag.”
He hesitates but then takes my hand even though he jumps up and doesn’t give me any body weight. I reluctantly let him drop my hand so he can get settled. I love the feel of his hands on me, like at lunch earlier. Slipping his hand over my knee was such an innocent gesture–especially considering he was just playing his role of fake boyfriend. The thing is, no man has ever done that with me, even when the relationship was real. Especially not Beau–at least not once he became a lawyer. I can’t even remember a time he held my hand in public. He’d always claim that since I worked for him, it was unprofessional to bring what we did behind closed doors into public. But by the end of our relationship, even at home, he’d never reach for me unless he wanted sex. After a couple of years of living that way, it would have been such a strange reaction. Yet, when Marcus did it, it felt so familiar and comfortable. I shake the memories from my head.
“Turn on your phone flashlight.” He does as I ask while I reach behind him to close the door to the chute, my hand barely grazing his bicep. Pausing, I take him in as he watches me. He’s sitting on his ass, his legs bent and a hand linked around his wrist as his arms rest across his knees. His arms bulge where they are being perfectly constrained by the sleeves of his black button-up and a strand of his dark hair has fallen from its tie as he dipped his head to not hit it on the ceiling. I still fit reasonably well, but it’s comical how crowded his frame is.
He holds my stare and when my eyes flick to his lips for only a split second, the only indication that he notices is a slight furrow of his brows. I fall back on my butt, sitting criss-cross before reaching for the thick rope on the side of the cart and giving it a strong pull.
Marcus chuckles, bringing my attention back to him. “Of course it’s manual.”
I shrug, wrapping my hands around the rough nylon for another pull, nostalgia hitting me hard at the feel of the rope against my palms. Grinning, I talk over my shoulder. “This was my favorite place as a kid. One of the maids would load me into the chute with the bag of dirty sheets. Then she would walk down to the room and work the pulley from there. It was the closest thing I ever got to a theme park ride as a kid. Plus, it was the perfect hiding spot.”
With another two pulls, we’re at the bottom, and I slide the door to the chute open, this one sticking a little more than the first and sending a poof of dust into the air. We both cough a little as Marcus steps first into the empty cement room and offers me his hand. Once I’m out, he holds up his phone, scanning the room with the light. It’s smaller than I remember. It would probably only fit one commercial washer and dryer.
I take a step to see if the light by the door works when Marcus’ phone buzzes. It echos off the walls, startling me enough to freeze in place. Through the shadows, I see him glance at the screen and follow his gaze. It’s Emma.
“Were you expecting a call from her?”
“No. I should take it.”
I nod and he taps the green circle and brings the phone to his ear, the flashlight on the back of his phone still the only light in the room. “Hey, Emma.”
What sounds like a cry comes through, but I can’t hear what she’s saying.
“Whoa, slow down. What happened?” he asks, and then Emma says something else I can’t understand. “Yeah, she’s right here. Hold on.”
Marcus moves the phone between us and hits the speakerphone button.
“Emma? What’s wrong?”
Her voice cracks on a sob. “I don’t think I can do this.” Her words come out rushed like if they come out fast enough she could deny she even said them. “I'm scared to talk to Charlotte. She’s so hyped, so positive, so confident all the time. But what if we fail? What if we don’t help anyone? What if . . . I don’t know. They’re just going to make a new drug that our strips won’t detect, and then we won’t even have a business anymore, and then we won’t have any money, and I’ll have to sell my car and my house, and I’ll starve, and then I definitely won’t be able to save anyone, and it’ll all be for nothing. Who am I to even think I could make a difference? It’s too insane. It’s too big.” She takes a deep breath and then chokes on a cry. I glance at Marcus and instantly know by his wide eyes he has no idea how to comfort her. It’s the look he gave me last night too.
“What you’re doing for the world, it matters so much, Emma. Did you know in Thailand Rohypnol isn’t even illegal? You can’t buy it over the counter, but it's still prescribed and it’s not that hard to get a prescription for it as a ‘sleep aid.’ There’s such a lack of awareness, I promise you every single person you inform makes a difference. Especially because with every person who learns more, it’s not only one person who is safe from its dangers, but also starts a new butterfly effect.”
“Yeah . . . you’re right.”
“When was the last time you took a day off?”
“Umm . . .”
“Are you at home?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you remember the box I gave you last week? The one I told you to only open in case of emergency?”
“Yeah,” she says again.
“Go get it.” The soft shuffle of feet against the hardwood floors takes up the next twenty seconds, and I keep my eyes focused on the phone screen, worried Marcus will think I overstepped.
“Alright. ”
I swallow. “Okay, open it.” There’s a rip of packing tape from cardboard on the other side of the phone. I direct her toward one of the two things she’ll find inside. “There’s a yellow shoebox covered with daisies with your name on the top.”
With the sound of the cardboard scraping on the box as she pulls it out, I imagine it sitting next to a blue one that I covered with waves and starfish and Charlotte’s name.
“What is this?”
“It’s your Thai Emma box. It’s supposed to be things that make you happy, feel confident in being you–because you deserve both of those things.”
The other end of the line is silent besides the soft shuffle through the items.
A new ribbon headband covered with evenly spaced silk daisies.
A box of chamomile tea.
A mug that says The rain helps you grow in cursive surrounded by wildflowers.
And a copy of The Little Book of Big Dreams . A book full of short stories of people who followed their spark in life despite every obstacle and doubt.
“You made this for me?”
“I thought you might need it one day.”
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I’ll let you go.”
“Are you sure? We’re not busy.” I know the deal with Emma and Charlotte is important to Marcus. I know they are important to him too, just like they’ve already become to me.
“I’m sure. I probably freaked Marcus out.”
“I don’t think so. I have a feeling he’s a big softy, and we just have to prod it out of him. If it takes tears, it takes tears. ”
Emma laughs, and the glow of the phone reveals the smirk Marcus is trying to hide. “Still. You helped enough. Thank you.”
“Anytime, Em. Feel free to call me whenever. And I do mean whenever. Especially if you have a gut feeling my mom is peeling the last of my sanity off like a scab.”
“I’ll let Marcus handle that part.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “Talk to you soon.”
We both say goodbye and the call ends, disconnected from Emma’s end.
Marcus’ large hand grips around the sides of his phone as he drops it to his side, leaving the flashlight on and illuminating the wall space behind him and casting a shadow across his face.
“Thank you,” he tells me.
“For what?”
“For comforting Emma.”
“It’s nothing. You could have easily done it just as well.”
“I doubt it.”
“With all those mindset books on your shelves at home, I’d bet you’re full of pep talks.”
“Quieting inner voices is not my strong suit.”
“I imagine you’d succeed at anything you set your mind to,” I whisper, not knowing how I mean my words–although I know they are true in any sense.
The light from his phone screen blacks out, the decrease in a sense heightening the others. His slow, steady breath pushes the air around us. His nearness makes my skin tingle, a wave of heat rushing through me.
Silence.
A controlled breath from Marcus.
A held breath from me .
“I hope that’s true,” he murmurs and all of a sudden he feels closer. I can see him–the light from his phone flashlight still dully echoing around the room. But I can’t see him–not well enough to know what he’s thinking anyway. I think his eyes dart to my mouth. I think his tongue barely peeks out to wet his lips. Does he want to kiss me too? I think he grips his phone tighter because a shadow crosses the edge of the light like his finger slipped in front of it.
We’re in near darkness, but he doesn’t seem to notice. The lack of light makes me feel like I should be cold, but I’m not. A fire flickers through my veins, and while it seems to be burning inside me, it’s doing nothing to shed light on what’s happening outside. Nothing moves but his chest rising and falling, still in steady breaths. He’s hardly affected by this, by me.
In confirmation of my thought, he clears his throat. “Since we don’t have anything else to do today, do you mind if I go back to the hotel and get some work done?”
I breathe out a sigh of resignation. I don’t know what I was hoping for when I brought him down here. I don’t know what I expected from him on this trip outside of his “boyfriend” duties. “Yeah, of course.” Marcus makes a move to climb back into the dumbwaiter. “I want to make plans with Cam anyway.”
His body shifts along with his phone light as he twists from where he has one foot on the platform back to me. “Who is Cam?”
Did he mean for that to come out with a hint of jealousy? Doubtful. I’m reading into things. “My best friend.” I grin at the thought of seeing him. He came to visit me twice in Thailand, but it’s been over a year since I’ve seen him. “Come on.” I hop onto the platform, not waiting for him to hold his hand out for mine. “You can meet him.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re back in the lobby of our hotel. I don’t see Dad anywhere but spot my oldest friend immediately. Cam styled himself after the Backstreet Boys when we were thirteen, and he never strayed too far from the look. Somehow, it still works for him, even at twenty-four. The man always has a date lined up.
“Babe! Where have you been my entire life?!” he screeches.
“Waiting for you.” I fling my arms around his neck, and he squeezes me tight around the waist.
He pulls back, taking a moment to take in Marcus. He scrubs one hand over his mouth, eyes widening. “Shit, girl. Who is this sweet and spicy apple turnover?” I let out a laugh but don’t manage another word before he continues. “He gives you that vibe, right? Like dark and a little mysterious but in a warm and cozy way like drinking hot apple cider on a porch and looking into a dark shadowy forest. I’d go into his forest.”
“CAM!” I slap him, hard. He shrugs.
“Can’t say I’ve ever been described quite so poetically,” Marcus muses, stepping forward and stretching out his hand with a smirk. “Marcus.”
“My boyfriend,” I add.
Cam squints his eyes, shifting his gaze back and forth between the two of us. “No. He’s not. A tactic to ward off the Mosqueda?”
A momentary panic flashes over Marcus’ face, but I laugh it off. “That obvious?”
“I would try a little harder.” He looks at Marcus. “She won’t bite unless you ask. You could at least stay close enough to touch her. Not sure how you resist this beauty anyway. ”
I bump my shoulder into Cam’s as I roll my eyes. “Stop,” I mutter as Marcus says, “I’m not sure either.”
Both mine and Cam’s eyes shoot to Marcus, a glint of satisfaction on his face for getting our attention. It’s all for show. “Alright, well I’ll let you two catch up. It was nice to meet you, Cam.”
“The pleasure is all mine. I’ll take good care of your girl.” He winks before wrapping an arm around my shoulder, pulling me to the hotel bar as Marcus diverts to the elevator without looking back.
“Okay, spill,” Cam demands as we reach the black marble bartop, simultaneously leaning over it and waiting for the bartender.
“Spill what? You already called it. It’s an act for my mom. I needed to get her off my back so she doesn’t try to force me back with Beau every chance she gets.”
“Oh, she is still going to do that.”
“Ugh.” I sigh, sliding my elbow across the counter with my chin in my palm. “I know. That’s why Marcus is here, though. Hopefully he’ll be a good buffer.”
“Hmmm.” He studies my face looking for who knows what. “You like him.”
“No.” The bartender greets us and I order two shots of vodka before turning back to Cam. “Not like that, anyway.”
He waves his hand an inch from my face, and I flinch back on instinct. “Oh good. Just checking to make sure you didn’t go blind.”
“Shut up.”
“Seriously, why don’t you like him?”
“I don’t think we’d fit. I don’t know how long I’ll be in Oregon. He’s so organized and professional and all about work. Total opposite of me.”
“Opposites attract.”
“No. Complementary opposites attract.”
“Sounds like you could complement each other. He could help you focus long enough to find a passion. You could help him relax a little. I mean, the man is working on a Thursday night instead of hanging out with me.” He picks up one of the shots set in front of us, clinking it to mine, then tapping in on the bartop before throwing it back. “And you . . .” We both cough a little at the burn of a first shot, but he raises his hand toward the bartender for another round. “Maybe he meant what he said. That it’s hard to resist you. So he’s hiding from temptation.”
“Doubtful. It’s all an act.”
Cam picks up the new shot. “Things always get exciting in Act Two.”
I roll my eyes and toss back the liquor. Slamming the glass down on the bar top, I turn to my friend. “Question.”
“Answer,” he states, nodding to the bartender for another.
“Have you ever, you know, been tied up?”
He turns to fully face me, a grin splitting across his face as his hands land on my shoulder. “Please swear on our love for tracksuits in high school that this is not a hypothetical question.”
“I mean . . . I’m asking you if you’ve ever been tied up. Seems like a yes or no to me.” I laugh, avoiding his implication.
“Nuh-uh. Stop that shit. Of course I have been. Have you ?”
I shake my head, reaching for the shot placed in front of me and downing it before his follow-up question.
“But you want to try?” He takes his shot too, shaking his head at the bartender when they make eye contact again. He focuses back on me .
“I guess I’ve never really thought about it before. Beau might have liked to control me, but he was as vanilla as they come in the bedroom–in and out, get the job done.”
My best friend makes a face. “I hate him.”
“You and me both.”
“So, anyway.” He waves his hand like he could flick away the memory of Beau. “You want Marcus to tie you up?”
I slap his shoulder. “HEY! That is not what I was saying.”
“Wasn’t it, though?” He smirks.
“I just . . . I have a feeling maybe he’s into that kind of thing, but he’s my boss. So I shouldn’t even be thinking about it at all.”
“Or you could keep thinking about it until it manifests. That sounds like a way better plan to me.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m being serious, Cam.”
“Yeah, I am too. Do you think you could handle it? Being restrained and having no control.”
“That’s the part that freaks me out. The thrill sounds fun. The having no control part . . . well you know how much that scares me.”
“That I do. There’s only one way to find out, I guess.”
“Yeah, yeah. Enough about me. Tell me about your date last week.”