I drove straight home even though the pull to Layla’s bar had me in its grip. After our phone call two days ago, I’d emptied a bottle of scotch and fought the desire to go to her. She thought she wanted me but if she knew how deep my darkness ran, she’d run a fucking mile. I refused to let her start something that could only end in ruin.
When I pulled into my street, I was surprised to see a woman leaning against a car parked in my driveway. I took in the tight jeans, knee-high black boots, the black singlet with a skull on the front and boobs on display.
Fuck.
Sharon Cole.
This couldn’t be good.
I parked my car next to hers and got out. She watched me with trepidation. My gaze shifted to the bruise on her cheek.
Fucking Marcus.
Walking to her, I said, “Sharon.”
“Blade.”
I opened my palms in question. “We’ve never spoken. Why now?”
She jerked her head towards the house. “Can we go inside?”
I put my hand out indicating for her to lead the way. As I followed her, I couldn’t help but think about the differences between Sharon and my mother. From what I could work out, Marcus had chosen completely different women to spend his life with. Sharon appeared to be a very confident, ballsy woman who didn’t mind putting herself on display. My mother, on the other hand, struggled with self-confidence, doubted herself at all turns and hid herself away. Such extremes.
We made it into my lounge room and I asked her the question again. “What’s going on?”
A nervous energy surrounded her. “Is your mother seeing my husband again?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“I think that either has changed or will change.”
I weighed my options before settling on one. “I don’t believe it will change, but not because Marcus isn’t pushing for it.”
My words pierced her. I saw the evidence on her face, and in the way her breathing changed. Fuck, why do these women fall at his fucking feet?
Her hand went to her chest, and she grabbed at her singlet in an anxious manner. “I’ve suspected it for a while now. Thank you for confirming it.”
“Why do you stay with him?”
Her eyes widened. “I love him,” she whispered.
My anger flared, and I didn’t try to hide it. “How the fuck can you love a man who hits you, has cheated on you for years, and who lies to you repeatedly?”
The nervousness slid off her face and she put on the mask I assumed she used when defending her choice of Marcus. “My relationship with Marcus is not one I expect anyone to understand, let alone you.”
“You talk a good game, Sharon, but you don’t fool me. You need to remember one thing: we’re both intimate with the evil of Marcus Cole. If anyone can understand your relationship with him, it’s me.”
“No one can - ”
The headache I’d managed to rid myself of crashed its way back into my skull, and the anger that talking about my father caused collided with the pain in my head. I finally lost my shit. “I fucking can!” I thundered. My skin heated with crazed madness and my heart thumped in my chest. “You think you’re the only one who ever wanted to be loved by Marcus? You think you’re the only one who craved his presence in their life? Fuck! I fucking get it. But he will never love us or anyone the way we want, the way we fucking deserve, because Marcus Cole exists to please only one person. Him-fucking-self.”
She stood staring at me with wild eyes, and I watched as the mask tumbled off her face.
We faced each other, two broken and scarred people, fucked up by the same man, and I felt a shift inside me.
Something had cracked.
A realisation.