Page 113 of Reckless Hearts
I get it. I get that any emotion besides fear is a welcome distraction from the terror of potentially losing Dad. That lashing out at me gives her a sense of control in an uncontrollable situation. She’s using it as a distraction from her fear.
But arguing with her is stretching my nerves past what I can stand.
Any moment now, I’m going to snap out the truth at her. And that won’t help anyone.
“I can’t believe I have to deal with this on top of everything else,” she continues. “Why can’t you just be normal for once? It’s no wonder you’re always single and alone.”
“Saskia,” my mother says reprovingly.
My response wells up inside me, so I get to my feet, the chair scraping back harshly against the floor.
“I’m going to the restroom,” I mutter.
I stumble out of the room, my vision blurring. The fluorescent lights overhead pulse, matching the throbbing inmy temples. I bump into a nurse, mumbling an apology as I continue down the corridor.
The men’s restroom sign swims into focus. I push through the door and stand by the sink, gripping the edge. My reflection stares back at me, a stranger with bloodshot eyes and a day’s worth of stubble. Turning on the tap, I splash cold water on my face. Unfortunately, the magical properties of water don’t manage to wash away the ache in my chest or the bitter taste of unspoken words in my mouth.
Taking a deep breath, I push open the restroom door.
The corridor stretches before me, but my eyes immediately lock onto a familiar figure approaching from the other end.
Marcus is navigating through the busy hallway, a cardboard tray of drinks in his hands. He hasn’t noticed me yet, and I just stare at him—the way his shirt pulls across his shoulders, the furrow between his brows as he concentrates on not spilling. Nurses and patients in the hallway do double-takes when they walk past him.
Then he glances up, and our gazes lock.
Wordlessly he veers to a door that leads to the stairwell, pushing through it.
My feet move of their own accord, following Marcus as if pulled by an invisible thread.
As I step through the door, the sterile hospital smell is replaced by the musty scent of the rarely used stairwell.
Marcus carefully puts the tray containing the drinks on the floor and pulls me to him, and finally, finally, I get what I need. His arms are around me, his familiar scent enveloping me. I bury my face in his neck, letting out the sob I’ve been holding back for hours.
25
Marcus
Seeing Seb upset and hurting is more than I can bear. I’m used to him being quirky and upbeat, the guy who makes me smile with his random animal facts and nerdy science jokes, the guy who I have an inexplicably intense sexual connection with.
He’s the counterpoint to my life in Hollywood, the reality check I desperately need.
But now, seeing him in pain, I realize how deep my feelings for him run. All those text messages, phone calls, the stolen rendezvous have added up to much more than I thought was possible for someone like me.
Because I want nothing more than to take the burden of his pain, to make everything right in his world, no matter the cost.
I would prefer to be in pain myself than to see Seb hurting like this.
And that thought stuns me. Terrifies me.
I push it away now because I need to focus on Seb. On doing everything I can to comfort him.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” I croon softly to him, cupping the back of his head.
My words are token, and we both know it.
My other hand moves in slow circles on his back, trying to soothe some of the tension I feel there.
Seb pulls back to look up at me with those big blue eyes.
