Page 148 of Reckless Hearts
Every time I glance over at Marcus, my chest tightens. He looks so young and vulnerable like this, all his careful defenses stripped away by whatever he took. I want to protect him, to wrap him up and keep him safe from everything that drives him to self-medicate.
But I can’t protect someone who won’t let me in. I can’t help someone who insists they don’t need help.
Am I actually helping Marcus? Or am I simply enabling his fall?
My stomach hollows. And I can’t keep my traitorous mind from drifting back nine years ago and asking a simple question.
What would my life look like if Marcus hadn’t hit on me at Saskia’s party?
I’m sure that, by now, I would be in a relationship with someone. I’d have a normal life with lazy Sunday mornings and shared grocery shopping. We’d have inside jokes about how I always forget to buy milk or how he can never remember which bin goes out on which day. Maybe we’d even have a dog or bethinking about starting a family. Our biggest drama would be deciding whose parents to visit for Christmas.
It would be steady, reliable, and maybe a little boring—but it would be real, tangible, everyday love. Not this whirlwind roller coaster of passion and absence that leaves me breathless and aching.
Is it possible that Marcus can simultaneously be the best and the worst thing to ever happen to me?
33
Marcus
Of all the places I thought I’d find myself, sitting at the back of the Royal Society of London lecture hall listening to a speech about endangered species conservation is not one of them.
I’ve tried to dress as incognito as possible, wearing a nondescript gray hoodie pulled low over my face, faded jeans, and scuffed sneakers, but even that hasn’t stopped people from giving me second glances.
The woman next to me keeps shifting in her seat every few minutes as if torn between focusing on the lecture and stealing another look at my profile.
But I know she’s probably dismissing the idea, thinking I must just be a Marcus Johnson lookalike because why would Marcus Johnson be at an academic speech?
Photos of Seb and me at the bar together the other night made the rounds on the usual celebrity gossip websites. And some Einstein matched some long-range paparazzi shots taken in Auckland of Seb and me and realized they were of the same guy, leading social media to blow up with speculation about who Marcus Johnson’s mystery man is.
But I’m not really worried about my presence here today adding to the fire. I’m guessing most people in this audience aren’t regular watchers ofE-News.
Seb is at the lectern, speaking about the challenges of balancing conservation efforts with increasing coastal development.
He’s clicking through a slide show detailing alarming population decline graphs juxtaposed with hopeful projections based on current conservation strategies.
Watching him, I’m reminded of the albatross we saw back at Taiaroa Head all those years ago. An animal that seems slightly ridiculous until you see its element.
This is Seb in his element.
His voice is low, his pace measured, and everyone in the audience hangs on his words.
I’m used to entertaining groups of people with my looks and charm, but Seb is keeping an audience transfixed simply with the contents of his brain.
His passion for the conservation of New Zealand birds comes through in the way his eyes light up when describing successful strategies, his hands animatedly illustrating the growth of chick populations.
The world needs more people like Seb.
Seb is ridinga high after his lecture as I drive him through the London streets back to the Ritz.
“You know, if this whole conservation thing doesn’t work out, you’ve got a real future in public speaking. Though maybe lose the bird puns. They’re a bit too cheep,” I say.
Seb rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t let the fame go to my head. I’m still just winging it.”
My chest feels like a vice has been applied to it. Because this feels more like Seb and me.
“I guess you could say your lecture really took flight.”
Seb throws me a grin. “I can’t believe I’ve got Marcus Johnson making bird puns,” he says.
