Tidal Patterns (Golden Shores Book 1) (19 page)

“So instead you’re going to burn yourself out?” Patrick asked. “If not this job, then what? Another events job?”

Lizzie sighed. “I don’t know Patrick. Look I’m going to apply for a degree to get the lawyers off our backs and get this estate settled. But I don’t know that I’ll pursue a museum job when this is all done.”

Frowning, Patrick took a drink from his beer.

“You know what sucks about this whole thing?” Lizzie asked, feeling her lips twitch into a smile.
Probably more of a grimace.

Patrick shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t think Mark
wanted
the job I didn’t get. I don’t think he even likes it. And I would have given it my all. No, more than that. I’d give more than I had to it. I would love that job and it would solve all my problems. But…”

“Life isn’t fair?” Patrick offered.

“It really isn’t.”

“So…does that mean you’ll really consider grad school?” he asked. “I know you. I know it’s easy to say to my face that you’ll apply. You could stay here even without your inheritance. But I’d really be worried about you.”

How can I explain to him about tap class and Rose and the little life I’ve started for myself here?
Lizzie wanted to talk to him about finally finding a home, her home. But she didn’t. She didn’t know if Patrick would approve of any of her choices and she didn’t feel up to being judged. He’d taken on the role of parents to her in a way their parents never had. Mom and Dad trusted her choices, even when they differed from their own. She knew that if they had lived, she’d have talked them around to seeing how good she was at her job. But Patrick second-guessed everything in his life, he’d pick over hers with a fine toothcomb.

The pizza arrived, saving her from a response.

* * * * *

Mark wandered into Phil’s bar at eleven that night. He’d had a long Monday. Without Lizzie around, he had to go to the convention center to meet with Sam and make sure that everything had been returned, as promised. Sam hadn’t wasted time with pleasantries. The minute he saw Mark he berated him for running out during the first course and not overseeing the rest of the event. Mark didn’t offer any defense. He had none. What else could he say? Any excuse would just be that, an excuse and Mark hated excuses.

Calling vendors and sponsors to thank them for their help, praise had been heaped on him in return. Mark could barely listen to the words and he only did because his mind was otherwise occupied. He couldn’t stop thinking, about Lizzie. What did telling her his history mean for them? She’d been a sympathetic listener, but did his confession change their dynamic? Or had their relationship, work or personal, been changed forever after the event?

Letting himself in through the back, Mark sat at the end of the bar. He caught Phil’s eye and the bartender wandered over to him.

“Scotch?” Phil asked.

“No just a beer tonight. I have to work tomorrow.”

“Oh that’s right, I’m guessing she doesn’t then,” Phil replied, tilting his head to the side to indicate a couple seated together further down the bar.

Mark turned to look and froze. Lizzie sat next to a hulking guy. She was laughing so hard, she had begun to snort. Mark stared at them and could feel his face contort into a scowl. His hands balled into fists as he watched Lizzie punch the guy on the arm.

“Something wrong?” Phil asked.

“That’s her, Lizzie,” Mark whispered.

Phil’s eyes grew wide and he did a double take. “She’s cute.”

“Who’s that guy?” Mark growled.

“No clue. Why don’t you go find out?” Phil asked, challenging him.

“Why would I do that?” Mark asked, his jaw clenched as he waited for his friend to answer.

“Because you’re practically glowing emerald right now,” Phil replied, smirking.

“I am not,” Mark snapped, raising his voice.

“This is ridiculous,” Mark muttered more to himself than his friend.

“Then go talk to her,” Phil hissed.

“Fine, bring my beer over.”

Pushing back from his stool, Mark sauntered over to the spot on the other side of Lizzie. Phil put his beer down on a coaster next to Lizzie’s. She paid no attention, too rapt in her conversation to notice. Mark sank onto the barstool next to her and breathed in the laundry basket smell that hung around her.

Forcing his left arm to remain in place on the bar next to her, he clenched and unclenched his fist.
Relax. Act normal.
But he had a hard time remembering how to act normal around Lizzie.
Was dancing with a co-worker normal? What about holding her hand as you confessed your romantic past?
His arm burned at her nearness and his throat dried out.

His presence went unnoticed by her. She didn’t turn to look at him, but the man did. He eyed Mark in a fierce, protective sort of way.

Is this her boyfriend? Where has this guy been?
Mark’s upper lip trembled as a low growl snuck out of his throat.

“MARK,” Lizzie shrieked, jumping off her stool when she turned to her drink and saw him in the corner of her eye. “What are you doing here?”

Is she happy to see me? Or shocked?
Her mouth agape, her hazel eyes darted left and right.

“Having a drink. And you?” Mark replied. Smiling, he easily turned the question back to her, hoping to calm her.

“We’re just out. Taking a break from…” Lizzie didn’t finish the sentence.

“Hi, I’m Patrick by the way,” the man on the other side introduced.

Extending his hand in front of Lizzie, Patrick had forced her back. Mark shook the man’s hand. “Mark Edwards.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Patrick this is Mark Edwards, from work.
He’s
the Manager of Special Events now,” she dragged out the word, slurring the s ever so slightly.

Had she been over served? Mark quirked an eyebrow, but couldn’t tell. She seemed fine, her eyes looked clear and coherent. But her gestures were larger, grander, more effusive.

“Mark this is my brother, Patrick Shaw.”

The grip tightened and for a second, Mark thought Patrick intended to crush the bones in his hand. Lizzie broke their contact, pushing their arms out of the way to retrieve her drink. Patrick appraised Mark.
I guess realization just dawned.

“Nice to meet you,” Mark said, smiling although his eyes remained focused and wary.

Patrick grunted in response and narrowed his eyes again. Mark turned to the bar and took a drink. He hadn’t been thinking when he’d invited himself over. If he had, he’d have acknowledged that ruining a date because of his jealousy wouldn’t go over so well. But somehow this was even worse, because he’d interrupted a brother and sister and the brother apparently didn’t like him.

“You in town long?” Mark asked, trying to break the ice.

“Just a couple of days. I was helping Lizzie with some family things and trying to talk sense into her,” Patrick replied.

As Mark watched, Lizzie’s shoulders tensed in between the two of them. Without thinking, he’d raised his hand to massage out the knot. Patrick’s stern glare stopped him cold. His hand hovered over her back for a long second as Mark wracked his brain for a reasonable explanation for his actions.
I like your sister
. Yeah, that wouldn’t work. He lowered his hand back to his thigh and held it there.

“But he has to leave to get back to his very pregnant wife, so this is a quick trip,” Lizzie offered.

Mark nodded.

“Are you from here?” Patrick asked after a moment.

“Not originally. But I’ve been here for a long time now. And I convinced a buddy to move down here and open this bar, so I guess maybe I am.”

“How’s your new job going?” Patrick asked, leaning forward ever so slightly.

Taking a sip of his beer, Mark considered. This guy didn’t miss a beat, did he? Mark opened his mouth to speak, but Lizzie interrupted him, putting a finger to his lips to stop him.

“You know I don’t want to talk about work. I have two days off, I want to enjoy them,” she said, winking at him.

Patrick grunted but relented, turning to take a sip of his beer. Mark didn’t move and neither did Lizzie. Her eyes widened as she slowly lowered her hand. The gesture had been surprisingly intimate. Mark wanted to grab her by the wrist, to pull her fingers off his face and remind her not to bait a man. Something long buried and primal threatened to unleash from within and make her his. Only the presence of her brother and the sudden shadow of doubt that had colored her eyes restrained him. A phone rang and in the nearly empty room, it’s tone vibrated off every surface, breaking the moment. Mark turned to look around for the owner when Patrick pulled a phone out of his back pocket.

“Yeah, I’m here. What? WHAT? Okay, okay, okay, bye,” Patrick said, raising his voice and barely pausing to let the caller speak.

“Lizzie, I’m so sorry. I’ve got to go. Right now. She’s in labor!” Patrick exclaimed, jumping from the barstool.

“Already? I thought you still had a couple weeks. I wanted to come visit. I wanted to help out with Marcy. I wanted…”

Mark watched as the brother pulled his sister off the barstool to embrace her in a hug and stop her further rambles. Joy and excitement emanated from Patrick. His smile half hidden in his sister’s hair as he squeezed her, his happiness remained visible in the wrinkles at his eyes.

Should I give them a moment?
Glimpsing such a personal moment, Mark felt like an intruder. But he couldn’t turn away either. He’d never had a chance to observe close siblings.
I wish I had that.
Patrick kissed Lizzie’s on her forehead and stepped back, his arms still on her shoulders. 

“It’s okay. We’ve got it covered. Jen’s parents are already there. I’ll call you and tell you more,” Patrick replied, his words rushing out. “Lizzie, she’s going to have the baby. I got to get back.” He raced across the bar, opened the door and then slammed it shut. Turning back, he ran over to them.

“Oh wait. You. You need a ride,” Patrick said.

“I can take her home,” Mark replied.

“Are you sure? Thanks man, I’d appreciate it,” Patrick said.

“I’m right here. I’m a grown adult. I can figure out how to get myself home,” Lizzie piped up.

Patrick kissed her on the forehead. “Bye. I love you.”

“I love you too. Please drive safe, don’t speed, okay?”

“Yes, okay,” Patrick agreed.

He raced back across the room.

“You’re not off the hook.” Lizzie called out after his retreating figure.

The door slammed shut and Lizzie turned her attention back to her beer, practically ignoring him. Mark held his pint glass in both of his hands and stared deep into the amber deaths. Now that he’d put everything on the table, he felt awkward with her. She knew everything now but so much of her remained a mystery to him.

“What’s he on the hook for?” Mark asked, trying to strike up a conversation.

“Ha, you’d like to know?”

Mark shrugged.

“He has to help me paint the house,” Lizzie told him.

“I can do that.”

“Why?” she asked, turning to him square in the eye.

Her knees brushed against him and he put his feet on the ground, his legs on either side of her. He wanted to protect her. Using his body to physically shield her from the rest of the bar felt comfortable and natural.
But I can’t protect her from jerks like Frank
. 

“Why are you nice to me and then not? Why take my job from me and then help me and build me up so I think you appreciate me and then tear my work all down again? Why come to my dance recital and tell me about yourself? Why do you get close to me and then pull away?” she asked, her words tumbling one after another.

Her monologue highlighted the slurs in her speech. He knew for a fact that she’d had too much to drink. But that didn’t negate any of what she said. Maybe liquid courage had finally given her the push to be brave and bold. As Mark considered his response, he watched her finish the rest of her beer, slam the pint glass on the bar, and order another.

“You want to know what family stuff my brother is helping me with?” she asked as Phil slid another beer over to her and Mark. She took a long sip from her fresh pint.

“Sure,” Mark said, but he didn’t know if he did.

He watched her take in a steadying breath and pull back her shoulders.

“We were packing up my house.”

“Are you moving?”

Shrugging, she turned away to take a long sip from her drink, practically draining the glass. Lizzie turned away from him and Mark took advantage of the moment. Mark motioned for Phil to come over.

“Another?” Phil asked.

“No, I want to cut her off. How many has she had?” Mark whispered, turning his head away from her.

“This is her third. Why?” Phil asked.

“She’s drunk,” Mark whispered. “I don’t think she drinks that much.”

“Sorry, she seemed fine or I wouldn’t have served her,” Phil rushed to add.