Page 140 of Reckless Hearts
Shit. Yet another set of guys on the team that I’ve got to watch fall in love, knowing I can never have the same thing.
The thought catches me.
When did I turn so bitter, so jaded? I’ve always been an optimist, the one who sees the glass as half-full. When did I start seeing it as half-empty and probably contaminated?
The conversation about healthy relationships has unsettled me.
Is Marcus and my relationship healthy? It doesn’t particularly feel that way at the moment.
This leads into an extension question—are Marcus and I actually good for each other?
We support each other, and we have an undeniable connection. But is that connection positive, or am I just another unhealthy addiction for Marcus?
My stomach hollows as another question pops up in my mind.
Am I part of what is driving Marcus to self-destruct?
I made him keep a secret from his best friend for so long. I want more than he is prepared to give me, which makes him feel guilty. I know all this, yet I keep hoping my love for him will change things. That he can heal if I love him enough.
But that’s an absolute fantasy.
No matter how much I love Marcus, I can’t help him unless he wants to help himself.
31
Marcus
“I love you, Marcus!”
The declaration rings out above the noise of the crowd, and I turn, flashing a grin and a wink at the fan. She promptly bursts into tears, clutching her friend’s arm.
A sea of faces, phones held high, stretch as far as I can see down the red carpet. The flashes are blinding, a constant strobe threatening to short-circuit my brain.
The Critics’ Choice Awards kicks off the awards season, where Hollywood congratulates itself on its achievements. This awards season, I’m really hoping for a metaphorical pat on the back. The reception toWinter of the Hearthas been good, and I can’t help feeling that playing opposite Peter Beauford in a serious period drama is my best chance of getting some recognition for my acting.
But as I make my way down the carpet, stopping for photos and autographs, a part of my mind is elsewhere.
I’m thinking about Seb.
For the last month, Seb has seemed quieter when I talk to him. Which in turn makes me quieter.
I can’t shake the feeling that I’m losing him.
And that makes me panic.
When I’m around Seb, I can breathe. There’s no other way to describe it. It’s like I’m breathing toxic air with a giant weight strapped to my chest most of the time, and then around Seth, I’m suddenly breathing one hundred percent fresh oxygen.
And it turns out I’m not prepared to give up my oxygen supply.
“Marcus! Over here!” A petite blonde fromE-Newswaves frantically, nearly dropping her microphone in her haste to get my attention.
I saunter over, grinning. “Careful there, Cassie. I’d hate to see you pull a muscle.”
She laughs, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “I appreciate your concern, Marcus.” She scans me up and down. “Now, I think the most pressing answer our viewers want after seeing you in that tux—did you leave any handsome for the rest of Hollywood?”
I give my best nonchalant shrug. “I tried to share, but they insisted I take it all. It’s a burden, really.”
Cassie giggles, then composes herself. “All right, Mr. Funny Man. This film’s been described as a roller coaster of emotions. Any scenes that particularly challenged you?”
