Soft Shock (18 page)

“She sure seems
to be enjoying that Nassau sun. Isn’t she a hot little thing?” Marci said in
what she hoped was a joking, light tone.

“Hm,” was all
Owen
said.

“Do you miss
her?” Marci called her heart out for the traitor it was when it sped up in
anticipation of his answer. It sure as hell wasn’t supposed to do that.

Owen deleted
the picture from his phone. “We should get in there. They’re waiting on us to
start dinner.”

#

Dinner started
off pleasantly enough, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Jeremy started
“informing” Marci of the dynamics of the Matthis family before they even
finished passing around the gravy boat. And in the picture he painted, which
was of questionable accuracy, he came off as quite the martyr and the saint.

“You see,
Marci,” Jeremy said as he twirled his fork around in his mashed potatoes. “They
kicked me out. I don’t even know why they wanted me here for dinner. Maybe to
gloat.”

Marci stuffed
her mouth with turkey and gravy so she would have an excuse not to reply to yet
another of Jeremy’s conversation-stopping retorts. She hadn’t realized she and Jeremy
were such good friends until that night’s dinner. Before that night, they’d
exchanged a grand total of maybe fifty words at one time.

“Jeremy. Stop
it.” Owen sat up straighter in his chair, and his gray eyes turned to slate.

“What?” Jeremy
asked, his green eyes wide with mock innocence. “You don’t want her to know the
truth?”

“Jeremy,” Ms.
Matthis said plaintively. “I just wanted to have a nice Thanksgiving dinner
with my sons. That’s all.” Ms. Matthis picked up a white casserole dish with
clearly shaking hands.
  

“Even the one
you kicked out?” Jeremy cocked an eyebrow.

Ms. Matthis
dropped the casserole dish back to the table with such force that a bit of
green bean casserole tumbled over the side. “I didn’t want that to be necessary.”

“What’s wrong,
Mom? Don’t want the family’s dirty laundry aired in front of company?” Jeremy
turned to Marci. “She wishes I could have died in place of the others.” He
glanced at Ms. Matthis. “That would have been a fair trade, wouldn’t it have
been, Mom?”

“Jeremy, that’s
enough.” Owen rose from his chair wearing the darkest look Marci had ever seen
him wear. He looked as if he was barely restraining himself from throwing the
massive dining room table out of the way and throttling Jeremy.

Ms. Matthis put
a hand over her mouth.

“You shouldn’t
have come if you were going to be like this,” Owen said.

“Don’t worry, golden
one. I’m gone.” Jeremy stood. “I’ll just get my coat. I’ll see myself out,
guys.”

“You can’t go
out there in this weather. There’s black ice. You can’t leave like this,” Ms.
Matthis said. She clutched her hands to her chest in a nervous-looking gesture.

“Oh, now you’re
worried about my wellbeing?” Jeremy snorted.

“Watch it,”
Owen growled.

Jeremy
chuckled. “I’ll call a friend to come get me. I do have friends you know. Good
friends. In fact, they’re the only family I have now.”

“Jeremy, you
don’t mean that,” Ms. Matthis said. Her hands remained clutched to her chest.

“The rest of my
family is dead,” Jeremy said while staring down his mother.

Ms. Matthis turned
to Marci, choked out an apology, and ran from the room.

“Get out if
you’re going,” Owen snarled. Jeremy started to say something, and Owen slammed
his fist against the tabletop. “Now!”

Jeremy left the
room, muttering something about his coat.

Owen turned to
Marci and ran his hands through his hair. Then he looked in the direction in
which his mother had run. “Marci, I’m sorry I invited you here for this
circus.”

“Don’t be.”
Marci stood.

“I should…”
Owen’s voice trailed off and again he looked down the hall where his mother had
run. He looked torn between staying there and going to wherever his mom had
gone.

Marci put a
hand on his shoulder. “I’ll load the dishwasher and put away the leftovers. You
should go check on her.”

Owen nodded and
gave her a slight smile. It was a very slight one, but there it was. And she
appreciated it. “Thanks.” He put a hand over hers.

“Of course.”

He squeezed her
hand and then left the room, following the path his mother had taken a few
minutes earlier.

#

Later, when
Owen walked into the kitchen, he found that Marci had put away all the food and
stacked the dishes in the sink that presumably hadn’t fit into the dishwasher
with the first load.

“Whoa. You’re
amazing. Thanks,” he said.

She grinned. “I
know. And you’re welcome.”

He laughed
because he knew she was teasing, and it felt nice to have the mood lightened a
little. “Mom wants you to stay here tonight. She gets nervous about car
accidents ever since. Dad.” Owen cleared his throat and avoided Marci’s eyes
just in case pity was in them. He scratched the back of his neck. “Earlier
today was different, but now there’s black ice, and it’s dark. She’s already
worried enough with Jeremy out there, and she doesn’t want us to leave. She
said I should set you up in the guest room.”

“Okay.”

He looked up at
her and saw that she seemed completely fine with it. She stood there in a black
sweater with her hair pulled back and her arms crossed over her chest. Cheeks
still flush against otherwise cinnamon brown skin from the activity of clearing
the table and cleaning up the kitchen. Looking so beautiful. Confident. Self-assured.
Looking like the Marci he’d first fallen for on that day he’d accidentally
knocked her over with his bike.

“What is it?”
she asked.

“Huh?”

“Why are you
staring at me like that?”

“Do you believe
in fate, Marci?”

She narrowed
her eyes at him. “What in the world are you talking about, Owen Matthis?” Maybe
she did, and maybe she didn’t, but he had an idea that she knew exactly what he
was talking about and she didn’t want him to be talking about it.

“Nothing,” he
said. “I’m going to go get the guestroom ready for you.”

She continued
to watch him carefully as she nodded. “Okay.”

As he took the
stairs two at a time on his way to the guest bedroom, he thought about all the
girls who’d fallen for him that he hadn’t had any interest in. He’d always felt
a little bad, but it wasn’t like he’d done anything to them. He hadn’t
encouraged them. He’d been nice to them but that was it. He was nice to
everybody. He’d like to think he was anyway. He’d never believed in unrequited
love, though. Those girls had a fascination, sure, but how could they love
someone they didn’t know?

No, he’d never
believed in unrequited love before.
But now.
Now he
had an idea of what those girls had gone through. Maybe his was just a
fascination as well. He couldn’t help but wonder, though. Was this what
unrequited love felt like?

Still, with the
way she’d responded to him Tuesday night, after what they’d shared…it was hard
to believe that whatever he felt was completely unrequited.

#

Marci had just
gotten ready for bed and slid between the sheets and under a worn, gray quilt
that was quite warm and cozy when she heard a soft knock at the door. She
called out for the knocker to come in. Owen stood there in sweatpants and a
navy blue T-shirt that was just tight enough across his broad chest to be
interesting. And for some reason, she found something about his bare feet
incredibly sexy. Well, what about Owen wasn’t sexy?

He tossed his wavy
hair off his forehead and said, “Mom’s in bed. She took a sleeping pill, so she
should be out by now.”

“Oh,” Marci
said, not quite sure what to expect. “Okay.”

He cocked his
head to the side. “Your hair’s different.”

She patted her
braids. “I braid it at night so it’s easier to deal with in the mornings. Well,
I do when I’m not too exhausted from wild trysts to do so.”

“Wild trysts?
And who might you be having these wild trysts that exhaust you with?”

She laughed.
“Stop fishing for compliments. I don’t think it’s any secret how much I enjoy
what we do.”

“Speaking of
which,” Owen said. “I’ve always felt skeevy about having sex in this house, but
could we sleep together? Just sleep?” He grinned that thousand-watt smile of
his. Who could deny him anything with that smile on his face? Why oh why did he
put up with her? He surely didn’t have to. What the heck was his game?

She patted the
space in front of her on the bed. Owen walked across the room, pulled the quilt
back, and slid into bed behind her. She felt the warm, solid wall of his chest
behind her, but he was careful to keep the lower half of his body away from her.

“No. I like
that part. You don’t have to do that,” she said. He settled the fronts of his
thighs against the backs of hers, and his hard-on came to rest against her bum.

“I meant what I
said earlier. We’re not going to do anything tonight,” he said.

“Fine.” She
snuggled against him. He stroked a lock of hair that’d strayed from one of her
braids away from the side of her face.

“This is nice.
I know we haven’t been doing what we do for that long, but I miss being in bed
with you when I’m not,” he said.

“I miss being
in bed with you, too.”

“I’ll bet you
do.”

She wiggled
against him in response.

His breath
hitched. “Please don’t.”

“You liked it.”

“A little too
much.” His fingers moved from her hair down to her arm. “I’m sorry I got you
stuck here for that miserable dinner and now for the night.”

“I’m not,” she
said. “I ended up having a decent time.”

“Good.”

She heard the
smile in his voice even though her back was to him, and that made her smile for
some inane reason. She
was liking
this way too much.
They would have to work on boundaries again, but that could wait until
tomorrow.

His hand slid
from her hair to her necklace. He held her dad’s class ring between his thumb
and index finger. “Whose ring is this?”

She put her
hand over his. “My dad’s.”

“Is that all I
get?”

She twisted her
head around on her neck so that she could look up at him. “Tell me more about
Kristin.”

He grinned.
“Always shoving the spotlight onto someone else when things get too personal.”

She moved his
hand away from the class ring and her necklace and turned in his arms so that
she was facing him. She hadn’t meant to be brusque about it, especially after
the evening he’d had, but she didn’t like talking about her father. Opening
yourself up to people left you vulnerable to attack. Her life so far had taught
her to carefully guard her soft side. But still, she’d promised herself she was
going to be nice to Owen tonight. Taking one of his hands into both of hers,
she kissed his knuckles gently.

“All you need
to know about Kristin is she wouldn’t have done what you did for me at dinner,”
Owen said. He skimmed his knuckles along her lower lip.

But I didn’t do
anything.”

Owen smiled
with his lips closed, hiding those perfect teeth from view. “She would’ve made
tonight all about her.”

“But that isn’t
possible. How could she have
?...
” Marci couldn’t see a
way that the events of that night’s dinner could’ve been about anybody but
Owen, his mother, and his brother.

“Kristin is a
special person.” He linked their fingers together.

“I take it you
don’t mean special in a good way.”

Owen’s laugh was
sudden and short—as if what he found meriting a laugh caught him by
surprise. “No, not Kristin. You, however, Marci King, are special in a good
way.

Marci pulled
her fingers away from his and created what little space she could between them
in the twin-sized bed.

“It’s too bad
you don’t date. You’d make a good girlfriend. For someone.”

“Someone like
you?”

“I’ve made no
secret of the fact that I want more. But I have to be near you. And if this is
as close as you’ll let me get, it’ll have to be enough.”

“I’m nothing
special. Like I said before, you’d be better off with someone more like you.”

“I think we’re
more alike than you think.”

“How do you
figure that?” Marci asked.

“You’re the
type who tries to take everything in stride, right? If anything stresses you
out, it’s high-strung people. But when there’s a job to be done, you don’t play
about getting it done. You work hard and efficiently when there’s work to be
done. You’re loyal as hell to the people you love, and everyone else can go to
hell.”

“I think that
last part applies to me more than you. I can’t imagine you telling anyone to go
to hell.”
Except for maybe your brother
,
she added silently.

“Maybe.” He put
his leg over hers. “But what about the rest? How accurate was it?”

“You barely
even know me.”

“But was I
wrong?”

“Those traits
could apply to a lot of people.”

“They
could
, but I’m not talking about a lot
of people right now. I’m talking about you.”

“There’s still
so much we don’t know about each other.” She didn’t want him to think he had
her pegged even if maybe he did.

“I know you’re
kind and loyal to your friends. I know that I admire your strong mindedness.”

“Glenda King
calls it stubbornness,” Marci said with a laugh. “And she hates it.”

“Glenda King?”

“My mom,” Marci
said. Oh no. Why had she extended an open invitation to Owen to pry?

Owen nodded
against his pillow. She wondered if he was going to try and dig into her family
life again, but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “You don’t care what others think.
You go your own away and forge your own path.”