“What about Sebastian and your sister? You don’t spend Thanksgiving with them?”
“We celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving in October,” he replies with a shrug. “And before you ask, my siblings are estranged from our dad.”
“Jesus,” I murmur. “Well, whatever, I’m not here to get caught up in your family drama.” I walk past him to the stairs and up to his office, where I grab my design portfolio off his desk. When I return to the dining room, Marcus emerges from the hallway, zipping up his duffel bag.
“How are you getting to Oregon?” Marcus asks, dropping it onto the floor at his feet.
“Bus.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “That will take hours. And tons of transfers.”
“Only one transfer from Portland, actually. But, yeah, it takes about eight to ten hours.”
“Jeremy, that’s crazy. Why don’t you just drive?”
I frown. “I don’t like driving by myself. At least on the bus I can read or work on design stuff.”
He stares at me for a long moment, and his eyes soften. “Do you have plans with your aunt? Is she meeting you down there?”
“My—how do you know I have an aunt?” I ask pointedly.
Something flashes across his features before he waves hishand dismissively. “You mentioned her in one of the articles attached to your résumé.”
I nod. “Right. No, I’m not meeting her. We don’t really celebrate this holiday.” I really hope he doesn’t ask why because I’d rather not go into detail about my parents’ accident.
“Well, since I want to get out of town for a bit, and you’re leaving town, I can drive you.”
Marcus rolls up his flannel sleeves, and I’m momentarily distracted by the veins spiraling up his tanned forearms.
Then his words register.
“What? You can’t drive me to the Oregon coast. It’s, like, four hours!”
“So?”
“So? You’ll be stuck there with me. Where will you stay? Though I think the beach house has a big enough couch . . .” I shake my head vehemently. “What am I even saying? You can’t go with me. That’s—that’s crazy.”
Marcus gives me an annoyed look. “Do you hate me that much?”
The question halts my spiraling thoughts. “What? Why would I hate you?”
“I mean, I know our last interaction wasn’t great,” Marcus says with a grimace, “but I’m doing you a favor so you don’t have to take the bus.”
“I don’t actually mind taking the bus, Marcus.”
“Isn’t it kind of dangerous?”
I stare at him incredulously. “How out of touch are you? It’s a Greyhound, not a city bus to Third Avenue. It literally has Wi-Fi and a bathroom.” I take a step closer until we’re inches apart and feel a hint of satisfaction when he steps back. “I’m not a helpless child, Marcus Conner,” I say with a scowl. “I don’t need a big man to save me.”
His eyes lose some of their heat. “Fine. You don’t need me,”he says quietly. “But I need you. Give me a place to go. I can’t stay here right now. I need to lie low for a few days.”
My mouth drops open at his admission because he looks more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen him, even when he came apart for me in that dirty hallway. His voice is low and throaty, like he’s holding back emotion. Maybe fear? Uncertainty? And from what I’ve learned about Marcus Conner is that he’s hardly ever uncertain about anything. Even when he’s wrong, he’scertainhe’s right.
“Please,” Marcus begs, and my chest gives a weird ache when I stare into his whisky eyes.
“Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER TEN
