Page 52 of Marcus: Sins of the Father

Cars line both sides of the road as we get closer to my family's home.

“It’s this one up here on the right. Just pull into the driveway.” I glance over and see Marcus taking it all in, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.

***

Marcus—

Brandy’s home looms like a giant symbol of the different lives we’ve had.

I pull in and park next to a row of cars as she instructed and climb from the cab. I hurry to the other side to open her door, offering my hand.

My truck looks a joke next to the BMWs, Audis, and Mercedes that line the drive. It sticks out like a sore thumb, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ll do the same as someone who doesn’t belong.

We climb the steps that lead to a large porch with tall columns wrapped in garland and lights. White double doors stand in the middle, each carrying a large wreath. I breathe in, and the fresh scent of pine fills my lungs. Reaching for the large bronze handle, I open the door for Brandy and step inside, ready to tackle this night.

A giant ice sculpture of a reindeer sits on a table, and a man handing out crystal champagne flutes greets us as we enter. Taking mine, I chug it in one gulp and take another.

Brandy glances my way. “You’ll do fine.”

“I know.”

“Brandy, dear, I’m so happy you’re home,” a female voice rings out.

“Hello, Mother.” She takes a tall woman into her arms, giving a warm hug.

“You look fetching, darling.” She holds Brandy at arm’s length, taking in her gown. Then her eyes slide to me. “And who is this you brought?”

“Mother, this is Marcus. Marcus, this is my mother, Patricia.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” I take her hand in mine and dip my head.

“Welcome, Marcus. Come along, you two. You must see the garden. It looks absolutely lovely. Oh, and Holt is here, dear, and I know he’d just love to see you.”

Brandy tugs back, stopping us all. “Mom, Holt and I have been separated for a year now. I’m here with Marcus, and—”

“Yes, of course,” her mother cuts her off. “But you can still be friends. After all, he asks about you all the time.”

I’m sure he does. My mind is already thinking of ways to show this guy exactly where he belongs in Brandy’s life—the rearview mirror.

We follow Mrs. Arrington through a den and living room out to the backyard where a tent has been set-up with twinkling lighting draping from the center in a kind of pinwheel design. A string quartet plays in one corner. The melody to White Christmas rings through the air.

A man with an Ivy League crewcut makes his way toward us. His tux and preppy hairstyle make him look like he belongs in an old-time movie.

“Brandy, good to see you. You always look divine.” He winks. I clear my throat, and he glances my way, quirking a brow. “And who is this?”

“Marcus.” I grab his hand, exerting pressure so he knows I could break him if need be.

“Not your usual type, Brandy.” He takes in the tattoos peeking out from under my jacket sleeve. “Sowing some wild oats, are we?”

“Just dating a man who treats me as a partner and not a prize,” she retorts.

“But shouldn’t you be prized?” he asks, tilting his head, as if genuinely confused.

What a fucking act. “I’ll worry about taking care of her from here on. Now if you’ll excuse us.” I lead her away to the dance floor.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

I dip my head, pressing a kiss to the hair just above her temple. “For what, beautiful?”

---