Page 118 of Reckless Hearts
Having to act like polite acquaintances in front of my family while we’re at the hospital has meant that when we’re alone, the sex is even more explosive than normal. It’s up there with a hydrogen bomb detonation in the explosiveness scale.
Marcus’s hand snakes out from under the covers, fumbling on the nightstand. His fingers close around the familiar orange bottle, and he pops the cap one-handed. He tosses back a small white pill, swallowing dry, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
Spending so much time with Marcus has been amazing. But it’s also been concerning.
When I only see him in small snippets, it’s easy to ignore how many pills he’s taking.
But now I’m spending so much time with him, I can’t help noticing the pattern. The morning stimulants, the afternoon mood stabilizers, and the evening sleeping pills. It’s like watching a chemical tightrope act, and I can’t help worrying about what will happen if he loses his balance.
“Does it worry you, being dependent on those to sleep?” I ask softly.
“It’s prescription stuff,” Marcus says. “It’s perfectly safe.”
“Do you actually have a prescription for it?”
“Jake takes care of all of that.”
I have no doubt Jake does. But I don’t really trust Jake to act in Marcus’s best interests. I think he’ll do whatever is best to ensure Marcus continues making him money.
The relationship between Jake and Marcus reminds me of how mistletoe slowly drains nutrients from its host tree. I don’t say this to Marcus though.
Marcus’s breathing evens out as the sleeping pill kicks in. When he’s fully asleep, I turn to face him. As always, I can’t help marveling at his beauty, the perfect symmetry of his chiseled features softened by sleep.
But now, having spent so much time with Marcus, I know there’s a brittleness under his charming surface.
The perfection that once seemed effortless now feels like a carefully constructed façade. And I get the feeling I will never fully understand the cost to Marcus to maintain it.
I watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, torn between the comfort of his presence and the growing knot of worry in my chest.
The next day,my car adds a whine to its rattling that makes me wonder if I’ve accidentally activated some sort of distress beacon for alien abduction. If aliens do show up, I really hope they bring advanced automotive technology with them.
On the way home from the hospital, my car decides to die completely. Right in the middle of rush-hour traffic. After I’ve gone through the humiliation of waiting for a tow truck and discovering my roadside assistance membership expired last month, I catch an uber to the Langham.
The hotel’s doormen are used to me now and immediately buzz me up to Marcus’s suite.
I trudge into the room, only to stop dead when I see Marcus on the couch. Jake lined up a photo shoot with Cartier this afternoon because he seems determined to keep Marcus working even from the other side of the Pacific Ocean.
Marcus is still dressed in a tailored navy suit that accentuates his broad shoulders, his hair artfully tousled. His perfectlystraight nose and high cheekbones give him a classical profile that wouldn’t look out of place on an ancient Greek coin. The stubble darkening his jaw adds a rugged edge to his polished appearance.
Meanwhile, I smell like a particularly pungent blend of car exhaust and desperation, and I’m fairly sure my hair is staging a rebellion against the laws of gravity.
There’s nothing quite like being smacked over the head with the contrast between Marcus’s life and mine.
He looks up from where he’s scrolling through his phone, then immediately puts it down.
He crosses the room and wraps his arms around me. His lips brush my temple.
“It looks like you had a rough day.” He smells divine, like expensive cologne and the faintest hint of coffee.
I sent him a brief message from the motorway that my car had died and I would be late.
“Definitely not the best day I’ve ever had,” I say.
Marcus steers me toward the couch, his hand warm on my back. “All right, Dr. Kleggs, time for a full debrief on Operation Car Disaster,” he says.
“I think it was more Operation Car Extinction Event,” I reply.
“Does the mechanic think it can’t be resurrected?” he asks.
