I trudge down to the packed sand and walk south toward Haystack Rock, sipping my coffee. With no marine fog this morning, the view of the famous rock is clear, marked by brown ridges and green algae. Clusters of seagulls circle the top, squawking raucously as they skim along the ocean breeze.
Even though the beach is mostly deserted, there are a few people flying kites, walking dogs, and taking morning runs. They all seem so at ease, so I try to channel their energy as I reconsider what Marion told me.
I didn’t plan on this. None of this was planned.
Marcus wasn’t supposed to be at the pub yesterday morning.
He wasn’t supposed to come with me.
He wasn’t supposed to stay with me—alone—at the beach house.
And he certainly wasn’t supposed to follow me out onto the beach in the middle of the night looking all cute and worried but also rugged and sexy.
Seriously. How does he accomplish both looks simultaneously?
But whether I intended for all this to happen or not, it did, and now I have to decide what to do from here: Do I act like an adult and keep it professional like I know I should? Or do I see where it goes and risk getting my heart broken? The odds of the latter are pretty high, considering that Marcus is still in the closet and also the most stubborn man on the planet.
I walk up the steps to the house, toe off my runners, and open the sliding-glass door as quietly as possible in case Marcus is still sleeping, but I don’t see him when I enter.
I walk quickly down the hall into the bedroom, pausing when I hear the shower. I sit on the bed with shaking hands. “Get a grip, Jeremy. You haven’t even talked to him yet.”
I hate the way my emotions clog my throat, threatening to escape. Disappointment, sadness,rejection.
He’s going to leave me too.
I press my hands to my mouth, trying to physically stop the sob that’s crawling up my throat as hot, heavy tears burn my eyes. “Why are you crying? Why do you always have to cry?”
My feelings are turbulent and heavy. They’re filling up my chest and overtaking my lungs, and I just need to relieve the pressure. I stand and stomp over the bed, reaching for the nightstand drawer. I find the little black box and open it, staring at the small silver razor blade inside.
My brain knows that I’m overreacting—logically, I shouldn’t feel like this—but sometimes everything just feels so big, and I’m so small. It’s why I haven’t had many relationships. Why I’m always alone.
I’m a lot.
You’re too much.
I run my finger over the cool metal.
Just one quick cut might make it feel better.
My heart thuds as I stare at it, still caressing it like some sort of psycho.
“No.”
I close the box and put it back in the drawer. I take a shaky breath and slide my finger below my waistband, pressing the raised skin firmly. The pressure in my lungs lessens.
“I can do this,” I mutter. “I’m okay.”
I repeat the words, and once I actually believe them, I walk to the closet to get dressed. My meeting with Flash is in thirty minutes, and I can’t fuck it up.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MARCUS
I’m sitting on the porch,trying to relaxas I listen to the gulls and watch the rhythmic movement of the ocean.
Yet, I can’t bring myself to just chill out, my knee bouncing.
Jeremy was headed out the door to his interview by the time I finished my shower and got dressed this morning, so we haven’t really talked, which is unfortunate because I’m feeling itchy and out of control.
