Losing You (Stars On Fire Book 4) (31 page)

He and Tom talked regularly, though Marc let Tom do the calling, not wanting to interrupt him and Lizzie. Well . . . more like be reminded of the fact that she was Tom’s girlfriend, and not his.

The conversations had focused on safer topics—the Cubs and all their damn injuries, the Inferno’s preseason games, Tom’s work, and Marc’s foray into the published world.

Lots was happening with that—at a really fast pace. His agent had shopped his manuscript around and he had a few offers for it, but it was the one that tossed the movie deal at him as well that intrigued him. He let his agent know that and off she went to do her thing. He’d hear from her when she had something to say.

Marc told his best friend all of this and Tom shared his excitement and offered his encouragement. Tom had been his friend, and Marc hadn’t realized the extent to which he’d missed it.

“Tomorrow. Ollie’s. Be there,” Tom carried on.

Chuckling, Marc gave in. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

“Shit. Really?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

The door opened and Ollie stood there, a big smile on his pretty boy mug. “You came?”

“Looks like it. Brought some beer too,” Marc replied.

Ollie one-arm hugged him. “Thank you . . . for the beer,” he added with a wink.

“Fucker. Help me carry it in,” Marc said, walking in and leaving Ollie to carry in all the cases.

“Gwennie!” Ollie called out and Marc heard her curse in response. Some things don’t change. “Marc’s here!”

“He is?”

Marc heard something drop and then her hurried footsteps as she ran into the room and into his arms.

“I heard you were back but . . .”

“I’ve been keeping a low profile.”

She leaned back and all he saw in her eyes was understanding. “Well, I’m glad you decided to come today. It’s good to see you well.”

“Let me tell you, it feels good.”

The three friends laughed and headed into the kitchen where Ollie tossed him a beer before putting the cases in the fridge.

“Action is happening outside,” Ollie advised and went through the already opened screen door.

“You coming, Gwen?” Marc asked, putting the beer back in the fridge and grabbing a pop.

“In a minute. I want to get this food set up. Go on out.”

He kissed her cheek and then headed outside. Ollie was right. Action was out of the house. Music filled the air. Marc appreciated it even if it was country. Glancing around the yard, Marc searched for someone he knew, but paused when he saw Tom pull Lizzie in his arms and dance to a song about falling in love with your best friend.

Marc frowned. This was why he’d stayed away so he wouldn’t have to see that. He’d have to get used to it, but for now Marc was going to take his drink over to the group playing cornhole.

After a few pops and coming out victorious on a few games of cornhole, Marc headed inside to use the bathroom. As he entered the hall, he saw Lizzie coming from the other direction, both headed for the same end point. When she looked up at him, Marc could see she was a little drunk.

“Go ahead,” he offered, nodding his head towards the door.

Without a word, she went in and closed the door, and when she came out, she didn’t look too good. Her eyes met his and then she left. After relieving himself, Marc went to the sink to wash his hands. The insistent knock on the door gave him pause, but he turned on the water because he was almost done.

“Please let me in, Marc,” came Lizzie’s miserable voice from the other side. He turned off the water to open the door for her and she burst through, straight to the toilet where she proceeded to throw up. He closed the door and quickly washed his hands. Walking over to the linen closet, he pulled out a washcloth, wet it and then handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she said, sitting on the now closed toilet.

“No problem. Need anything else?” he asked, leaning against the wall opposite her. Marc took in her pale face, concerned because he’d never seen her get sick before.

“Yeah . . .” she replied, her voice very quiet. She cleared her throat then continued. “A glass of water?”

Marc filled a small paper bathroom cup and handed it to her. “Here you go.”

Lizzie slowly sipped the water, then closed her eyes again.

“You feeling any better?” he asked.

She shook her head. He frowned, not liking that answer. “Do you want me to get Tom?”

Lizzie thought a bit then shook her head again. “No, I’ll be okay . . . eventually.”

“Okay then,” he said, putting his hand around the cool doorknob.

“Marc, wait!”

He paused and without looking at her asked why.

“Please stay with me.”

“Why do you want me here? After what I did . . .” he pointed out.

“I should hate you for what you did. You left me!”

“I did and you should,” he agreed with a sad nod of his head, feeling so ashamed of what he’d put her through. Not talking to her, not telling her about his drug history, why he did them, about his dad . . . all of it.

He should have talked to her . . . in person, not in a note. But he’d been in a bad place. Part of him wondered if the drugs in his system affected him even that next day. The day of, he had no doubt.

“But I don’t hate you. You see? God!” she screamed in frustration, standing and throwing the towel in the hamper. Glancing up, her gaze met his in the mirror. “I don’t hate you. I don’t understand . . .”

And in that moment he saw exactly how his leaving had affected Lizzie.

“If I didn’t understand what I did, how would you? I was in a bad place, Lizzie. I was there for many years. Hell, most of my life.”

“Why did I never know that?” she said, turning to face him, her moss-colored eyes on fire. “You never shared that with me. Nearly two years, and I knew nothing. And then after, I still didn’t know . . . not where you were or what you were going through, just that you were safe in rehab. That’s all you allowed them to tell me. You kept so much from me . . . I mean, you said you loved me, Marc. Was that even true?”

“Of course it is, Lizzie.”

Lizzie

“Of course it is, Lizzie.”

She didn’t miss his use of the present tense.
It is.
She didn’t want to think about what that meant. But it was there—he still loved her. Did she still love him? The answer to that was complicated . . . that’s what she told herself anyway. She was with Tom now. What she had with that baseball cap-wearing furniture maker was more than she ever thought she’d have with him. Her best friend was now her lover, her boyfriend. She didn’t want to ruin that. She didn’t want to, nor would she, hurt Tom.

So yes, the answer to whether she loved Marc was complicated. She’d admit that she cared for him. She carried no hate for him, but she would not entertain whether she loved him still. She couldn’t.

Marc moved closer, his all-too-familiar scent invading her fragile senses, weakening her walls. Her eyes fluttered closed at his onslaught of her personal space, her hands clenched into fists. This man in front of her could bring her to her knees with minimal effort and if she just let go of herself, she’d throw herself into his arms. That’s the effect he had.

Her eyes opened to find Marc’s heated blue eyes inches from her. There was this part of her that wanted to give in to what she knew would be there—another chance with Marc, the first man she’d loved. But another set of blue eyes showed themselves in her mind—the man who’d always been there for her—even when her first love broke her heart. The one who pulled her through Marc leaving her.

She had to remember that man.

Lizzie dodged Marc, but he caught her arm before she got to the door. She couldn’t look at him and stared at the wood grain on the door.

“Lizzie . . . I still do.”

She shook her head repeatedly, wanting the words gone, and when that didn’t work, she bolted out the door.

Tom

November 12, 2009

Watching the fire, Tom sat in Lizzie’s backyard while he waited for her to arrive from the airport. Foxy sat guard at the gate where she could see the driveway. He wondered if his dog missed Lizzie more than he did. She’d given him the death glare when they arrived and Lizzie wasn’t home.

Soon, pup. Soon.

A few minutes later, Foxy barked excitedly, letting him know their girl had arrived.

“
Woof! Woof!
” Foxy barked to Lizzie.

“Give me two seconds, pretty girl,” Lizzie called out.

He stood back and watched as the driver pulled her suitcase out of the trunk. Hauling the bag behind her, Lizzie hurried to the very impatient Foxy.

“
Arf arf arf!
”

“I missed you too,” Lizzie said, kneeling down and petting the dog. After Foxy got some much needed loving, she bounded over to him to let him know Lizzie was home.

“
Woof!
”

“Got it, girl,” he said, patting her head, then she was off to explore. Tom lifted his eyes and smiled at the beautiful woman in front of him. “Welcome home,” he said, opening his arms to her.

“God, I missed you,” she said, burying her nose into his shirt.

“Same here, Bits.”

“I like the fire.”

“Yeah,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the chair he’d set up by the pit. “I figured it was a perfect night to sit under the stars and relax. Sit,” he directed.

She kicked off her heels and leaned back in the lounger. Lizzie knew the drill and parted those legs so he could lie between them. When her fingers ran through his hair, it did something to him. Calmed him. Centered him. He felt at peace.

He reached down for the blanket and covered their legs with it. When he leaned back, his head resting on the pillow her breasts created, she kissed his hair while her arms slid down his torso.

“This was a good idea,” she said.

He looked back and smiled devilishly at her. Turning under the blanket, he hovered above her. “I have another idea,” he said, his hand at her waist, unfastening her pants.

“Go on,” she encouraged, her breathing hitching when his fingers skimmed her skin.

“Well,” he continued as he maneuvered her pants from her hips. “I was thinking that we could enjoy the night a little more.”

Once her pants were off, he headed under the blanket. “Oh my, Tom,” she moaned as his tongue touched her. She gripped and kneaded his shoulders as he worked her into a frenzy, her noises the only sound in the backyard.