Page 141 of Wicked Ends
I laughed and shook my head. “You can’t be asking me to marry you. You’re still in college.”
“We don’t have to get married tomorrow. I need my ring on your finger. I need you here, in this house, with me, and no more bullshit about leaving or sacrificing yourself for me. We are done with that. I get it. You care about me. I’ll never forget it. It’s time to let all that go and move the hell on. I’m looking at tomorrow.”
“And tomorrow has us together?”
Marcus shrugged. “It’s the only way to a happy ending. You and me being together is the only thing that makes sense. It’s the only thing that works. There is no alternative for either of us but each other. I know you know that, but you’re going to make me show you, aren’t you?”
I stared at him, a balloon of hope so precious blossoming up in my chest. Just like that, under his steady gaze, all the resolutions I’d made to leave, and the burden of feeling like that was the right thing to do, even if it hurt like hell, burst open, and I was crying.
Marcus pulled me into his arms, or I fell, I’m not sure. Either way, he guided me down to the floor and onto his lap. My legs sprawled awkwardly against the shining wood floor, and my body bowed into his chest as I cried, and cried, and he held me and kept on holding me. All the fear I’d felt, and bitter disappointment at how my fresh new start had turned out, all the anxiety about what would be next and where I would land, collided hard in my chest.
Most of all, the agony of feeling like I was a toxin to the person I loved, and the kindest thing I could do was leave him, bubbledup and out of me, flowing in hot, desperate tears. He didn’t hate me. He didn’t blame me.
He still wanted me.
It felt like too much to hope for, for a person who had learned that life only got harder, never easier. I cried until my breathing was ragged, a release of tension I’d been carrying for more than a week. For years, really. Marcus’ arms were strong around me the entire time. He never loosened his grip, not even an inch.
His mouth was at my temple, pressing kisses to the hot skin there, and when my breathing slowed and the tension ebbed from me, he was moving his lips against my cheeks, gently kissing my tears away.
“Let it out, Ari. Stop being so damn strong and doing the so-called right thing every goddamn second and just let go. Fall. I’m here. I’ll catch you.”
Those words flowed through me, sealing up the tattered holes in my tired heart.
Slowly, the tears stopped, and I caught my breath. Marcus’ hand was carding gently through my hair, and I wished I could stay right there forever.
“So, it’s decided. You’ll agree to be my wife, wear my ring, and live here, and teach at HHU so I can sneak by to see you during school hours for a few years, until we move wherever the NHL takes us.”
“We—we can’t just shack up together!” I protested mildly.
“Why not?”
“What will people say?” I said and was rewarded with a chuckle.
Marcus, predictably, didn’t care about that.
“Everyone will say I’m too old for you.”
“Fuck,” Marcus growled and stood, bending sharply at the waist and hoisting me over his shoulder. “I’ve told you before, woman, your moral catastrophizing turns me on.”
“Marcus! Behave,” I yelped as he started upstairs and landed a stinging slap to my ass.
“Yesss… talk teacher to me, beautiful.”
He moved down the hallway and into the main bedroom. The old bed had been replaced by a huge one, with a wrought-iron headboard and a sinfully soft mattress.
“I know it’s no waterbed, but I think we can get used to it,” Marcus teased and lowered me to the bed.
I got up on my knees and looked up at him. He was threading his fingers through my hair, tugging on the strands in a way that made me swoon. My whole body was sensitive, desperate for this man’s touch.
Then he was on me, covering my body with his and bearing me backward, tugging my clothes down my body.
“I need my skin against yours, now. Do you know how many times I had to stop myself from driving back up north, climbing in the window of your sister-in-law’s place, and fucking you until you woke up?”
“And how would you have found me?”
“You think I didn’t put a new tracker on you, birthday girl? Stalking you is my new favorite hobby, didn’t you know?”
“That’s worrying but on-brand for you,” I quipped.
