I didn’t agree to coffee or lunch—not out loud—but I wasn’t about to argue when Marcus returned, balancing a tray of food and drinks. He’dbrought two steaming cups of coffee, a bottle of water, and a pile of sandwiches and pastries as if he wasn’t sure what I’d eat. I wasn’t going to turn that down.
Marcus set the tray down on the table between us, then grabbed one of the sandwiches—PB&J—and grinned. “Love PB&J,” he said between bites. “It’s all I could think about.”
I almost smiled at the memory of the best PB&J, the one my mom used to make, but stopped. After that, we ate in companionable silence; the only sounds were the occasional rustle of paper or the soft hum of distant voices outside Guardian Hall.
Somewhere between finishing my sandwich and taking another sip of coffee, I felt the sudden urge to talk. “You seemed upset on the phone,” I said, glancing at him. My gaze lingered—lost in his expression, tracking me staring up to the pink in his hair, then drifting down to the familiar tattoos peeking out from under his Guardian Hall shirt. He’d said that most had been mistakes, but I was intrigued by the ones that curled like vines, intricate lines teasing enough detail that I wanted to know more about. I reached out as though I was going to touch and yanked my hand back. I swallowed hard,suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry,” I muttered, forcing myself not to stare.
“That? Oh, Cole’s a donor, Cole Braxton.” He waited as if I should know the name. I didn’t. “Anyway, it’s all good,” Marcus reassured. His cheeks were full of chips, like a hamster’s. It was way too cute.
Cute? For fuck’s sake. My stomach twisted, and I tried to push the thought aside. This was Marcus. I couldn’t go there. I shouldn’t. Also, his compassion did nothing but make my frustration worse. Fuck him and his understanding!
No, I don’t mean that.
He’s kind. He’s funny. I like him.
“I wasn’t angry, just passionate,” he added.
I changed the subject.
“Should you be getting passionate with a donor?” I asked.
Marcus grinned. “Well, Cole’s been with us from the start. Straight-talker, but sometimes he needs a reminder that the world down here isn’t the same as the one in his big glass tower.” He shook his head and gave a small chuckle. “He was going on about how he doesn’t understand why we fund music therapy. He said he couldn’t see the point in it. So, I asked him if he’d never had a song thatmade him cry or if he’d found a track that lifted him when he was low.” Marcus shook his head again, more serious now. “Music’s powerful. I’ve seen people who won’t say a word in therapy cry just hearing the right song at the right time. It brings back memories, good and bad, but sometimes that’s the point.”
A sudden memory flashed. We’d had this radio in the mess hall, one of those old, battered things with the dial that always seemed slightly off. They seemed to play this one song on repeat, and every time it came on, we’d all join in, shouting along like idiots. Pax was the best, though. He knew every word and hit every beat, his voice carrying louder than the rest. It didn’t matter how tired we were, how heavy the day had been—when that song came on, the whole mess hall lit up. For a few minutes, everything felt normal. Safe.
I clenched my fists under the table, breathing through the sudden pain surging up like a tidal wave, swallowing hard past the tightness in my throat.
Steady. One breath at a time.
For all she lost when Pax died, no wonder Jessica hated me.
Thank god Marcus was still talking and hadn’t seen me freeze.
“… he was all, I’m never low, blah, blah. Idiot.” The last thing Marcus added fondly.
“So, did you convince him?” I said into the sudden silence.
Marcus grinned. “Cole? Yeah, he’ll come around in the end. He’s a good guy, and for a head-up-his-ass business guy in a suit, he gets me, even if he doesn’t always get the things I fight for.”
Something twisted inside me—sharp, unexpected. Jealousy. And it caught me off guard. I wasn’t supposed to feel that—not about Marcus. Not about anyone, really. But the idea that someone out there knew him better than I did… that someone got to see the Marcus who laughed easily, cared so fiercely, and fought for things that mattered—stuck with me. Worse, it stung. It was as though I’d missed out on something vital, something I wanted but hadn’t realized until now. Why did it bother me so much? Why did it hurt as if I was losing something I’d never had in the first place?
It was only lunchtime, but I was already done with today.
EIGHT
Marcus
I satat the back of the AA meeting, my knee bouncing under the table. The meeting was wrapping up, applause following a young man who had shared his story of two years sober. I clapped as well, finding the story of his journey uplifting, but I kept my eye on the exit.
I wanted to leave as soon as I could.
Because Terri was here, and I hadn’t spoken to my sponsor all week. If she managed to catch me now, she’d see right through me and to the reason I’d felt compelled to attend a meeting on my morning off. I waited for the usual signals that the meeting was ending. Then, I moved fast, heading for the side door. If I timed it right, I could be outside before?—
“Marcus!” Terri’s voice rang out behind me.
I froze, hand on the door handle, and then, turning slowly, plastered on a smile that I knew she wouldn’t buy. “Hey, Terri,” I said, “I was just?—”
“Trying to sneak off without saying hi?”
