“Oh no, you are getting out. Open those pretty blue eyes and get out.” I hear her door slam, then she walks around to my side, opening the door and reaching in for me.
“I don’t want to.”
“No, you’ve been avoiding any sort of feeling. I can tell. Now get out and feel again.”
I pull my hand back. “I like not feeling, it’s easier.”
“No, it’s not. Now. Get. Out.” Kat pulls me again until I’m out of the car, then she doesn’t let go as we start walking. It’s not long before the headstone registers in my brain, and I know whose it is straight away.
My grandparents.
I collapse to the ground, and tears start almost straight away. I haven’t cried in so long because holding it in feels safer. Kat leaves me there until I can manage to calm my breathing, then she pulls me back up to her. We go to the wall of names. Tanika was cremated, so her plaque is on a wall with a few others, but I spot her name straight away, my fingers roaming over it as the tears blur my vision.
“You did nothing wrong. Tan had demons she thought she couldn’t live with. She loved you, Rochelle.”
I nod. I know Tanika loved me. I loved her too. No, love. Still do.
“I need to do something before I talk myself out of it,” I say, standing and wiping my face.
“I’ll take you to your car.”
My hand grips the glass tightly, my breathing picks up as I watch Marcus Stone in action. I can see his skin glistening under the cold night as each stroke grows more powerful, one after the next. My eyes are glued to his body as he comes up for air. His strong jawline opening then closing with each powerful breath.
How can watching someone swim turn you on?
I’m not sure, but it can. Somehow it turns me on.
Bringing the glass to my lips, I take one more drink, finishing the contents and feeling the burn as it goes down. I need the liquid courage. I need it to face him.
Marcus turns, his strokes finally stop when he looks at me. The light from the kitchen is not helping to obscure me while I sit in the dark, stalking.
My breathing stops as his two powerful eyes lock on mine, his strong hand lifts and strokes his fingers through his hair. I’m helpless and can’t help but watch as the muscles in his arm flex during the simple action. His hazel eyes narrow in on me.
“Rochelle…” Marcus says my name as easily as the water drips from his body.
It makes me even madder.
The drink in my hand feels like it could smash any second with the pressure I’m applying to the glass. He pushes himself out of the water, his body glistening as he comes to a stand not too far away from me. Reaching for a towel, he wipes his body. His hazel eyes, now darkening, lock on me when I don’t answer him.
“I’m leaving you,” I say with a smile when my breath doesn’t hitch at those words.
“This is what you want?” Marcus asks.
No fight.
No argument.
Nothing.
“Yes. I’m leaving you,” I say it more to myself this time. Perhaps to help me believe it.
He chuckles.
The asshole chuckles.
“Off you go, then.”
With as much strength as I can muster, I throw my glass at him, just missing his head when he ducks out of the way. When he stands taller, I know that was a mistake. But I honestly don’t care. I can’t care anymore.
Pushing myself up from the lounger where I was reclining while working up the courage to tell him I am leaving, I step forward and come just under his chin.
Marcus is tall.
I hate that about him.
I hate a lot about him.
But then again, I also don’t.
“Is that all you’ve got to say?” I arch an eyebrow.
Marcus arches one back. “Yes.” Then he pushes past me, not caring that he almost knocks me over as he heads inside.
I follow. I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself.
“You sleep with her… when I’m not here… in this house,” I yell.
He halts, turns, and smirks. “I do,” Marcus says, the towel now dropping. His swimwear is sitting low on his hips. “And I fuck her hard… all the ways you hate and I love.” His lips turn up, waiting for me to say something in return.
“I hate you,” I spit at him.
“I know you do.”
“I hate you sooo much.”
“That’s okay. You can leave now.”
“Is she coming over?” I yell.
Marcus turns, his hand touching the railing that leads up to his room.
I’ve never really lived here—I was simply a visitor. No one important. Just a person in this man’s life. No one can penetrate him. I feel sorry for the person who finally does get through his impervious walls. They will either be very stupid or love him more than anyone else ever has.