Page 69 of Liberating Bells
I give a gruff sigh under my breath and tap on Josie’s number and lift the phone to my ear as it starts to ring. She picks up right away with a simple greeting.
“Are you busy?” I ask her. “’Cause Jack Daniel’s is screaming my name, and I just cannot handle another blow this weekend.”
“No, I’m not busy. I’ll be over in a bit. Don’t do anything stupid,” Josie replies. I hang up with a groan, leaning my head back against my seat.
It is too fucking late for that. I’ve already done all the stupid things I could possibly do this weekend.
24
IZABEL
I pressmy hand against the door of my apartment as it closes. The space is mostly dark, aside from the daylight streaming through my curtains. A few boxes are stacked in the other room, ready for moving day in a little over a week. It smells like home—just how I left it.
I hear my guest shift against the couch, and I finally turn around to face him. I noticed Mark’s car sitting in the parking lot, so I’m not surprised. It was part of why I bolted out on Ryan without saying a proper goodbye after our memorable weekend. Mark is reclined on my couch. A blue Gatorade sits on the side table, half drank. I gave Mark a key to my apartment last year. Thankfully, he usually respects my space, so I don’t have to worry about random drop-ins. But the possibility is always there.
Such as right now.
He observes me as I step into my home, then he stands up, putting his hands into his pockets. My eyes dart over his face, gauging his demeanor. He seems to be in an okay mood.
“You’re back early,” I speculate, still staring at him. “I didn’t think you were coming back until tomorrow.”
Mark’s hands flex in his pockets, but he doesn’t move. “We decided to cut the trip a little short. I was anxious to see you. To talk.”
I nod as my hand grips the strap of my duffle bag. We both still stand there, neither of us brave enough to make the first move.
After a beat, Mark says, “I suppose I should say welcome back to you too. Where have you been?”
I bite my lip as I stare at him. “I was in Nashville. Visiting Sage. We went and watched the fireworks downtown.”
“Did you go with someone? Your car was still here.” I know the real question hidden beneath the formalities.
“I took a rental. I didn’t want to put the miles on my car,” I lie.
It appeases him, though. His warm brown eyes soften at my words, and he nods at my supposed smart decision. “Good, that’s good. I guess we both needed some time away.”
“What are you doing here, Mark?” I ask him.
“I was hoping we could talk,” he says. “Things didn’t exactly end well between us last time and?—”
“They didn’t end well?” I fire at him. “Mark, you choked me.”
His face hardens again, and he looks down at the ground. “I know. I’m sorry, Izabel. You don’t know how much I hate myself for what I did to you.” Then he glances up, his eyes studying me. “It looks like it’s all healed up. The bruise, I mean.”
I stare at him for a minute, and then breeze past him to my bedroom to put away my things. “That’s because I have it covered with makeup.”
No, the bruise is definitely still there. Not as angry or vibrant. But still there. The memory of Mark’s hand holding me against the wall is still very apparent too.
Though it’s less consuming than it was before.
I think back to this morning when Ryan’s fingers grazed the tender spot. So gentle, so careful. The gut-wrenching pain and anger that flashed across his face will forever be etched in my mind. I know it wasn’t directed at me, but rather at the man standing in the doorway of my bedroom, hands still in his pockets. That one simple action eased the emotional hurt enough.
“Izabel, what can I do to make you forget this?” he asks, watching me throw my duffle bag onto my bed and zip it open. I dump the contents out and start sorting through the clothes to determine what needs to be washed. “Please, baby, talk to me.”
The tone in his voice is finally what breaks me. I can hear the dejection and the hurt, and I can tell he’s really sorry. Memories of the past years of Mark opening up to me and showing me the side of him that no one else gets to see ricochets through my mind. It softens the part of me that has been defiant toward him these last few days. That doesn’t excuse his actions, by any means, but I know he is sorry. I turn back to look at him and let my shoulders drop a little from my defensive position.
He sees the visible change in me and comes forward, extending his arms. I let him wrap me up in a hug. His hands rest on my waist as he pulls me against his body. Involuntarily, my hands circle around him. Burying his nose in my hair, he breathes me in, pressing his lips against my scalp.
“I missed you. I’m so sorry.”
