Starting with the Unexpected (17 page)

“Go ahead,” I said blandly. “My boyfriend will probably show you your own tonsils if you do, though.” Because I could practically feel Marcus’s hackles rising.

“It was a long time ago,” Enzo reassured Marcus, which kind of surprised me. I didn’t think Enzo had it in him to not cause trouble. “I was too much of a player to settle down successfully, at the time.”

“He dumped me for someone else,” I translated.

“Well, at least he had the courtesy to not cheat on you,” Marcus said grudgingly before turning his attention to Enzo. “Can he sit down? He twisted his ankle or something.”

“Let’s take a look,” Enzo said with a nod, all business as he led me to a seat.

I groaned in relief when I was off my feet. Yeah, that was much better. I hadn’t realized how much the pain in my ankle had progressed until I was off it. Enzo crouched in front of me, pulled up my pant leg, and I looked down to see I hadn’t been imagining the swelling. I glanced at Marcus nervously to see that he was glaring at me. Yeah, I was in trouble.

“You feel a pop when you went down?” Enzo asked as he prodded me in several places.

I grunted an affirmative, gritting my teeth.

“You’re already bruising,” Enzo noted. “And everything else points to at least a sprain. You, Zachy, ought to go to the emergency room.”

“You, Enzo, really need to quit calling me Zachy,” I growled.

“You have a wheelchair we can borrow?” Marcus asked Enzo, completely ignoring me. “I really don’t want him walking out to his car.”

“Yeah,” Enzo told him with a nod. “Way ahead of you. I’ll walk out with you guys so I can bring it back.”

“I can walk out,” I protested.

“You can get in the fucking wheelchair and let me take you to the damn emergency room,” Marcus snarled.

Wow. Okay. I’d always wondered why someone would say someone else was hot when they were angry, but there was my answer. Boy looked delicious, though I wouldn’t want him to stay mad just so I could see him like that. “That scowl only makes me want to lick your lips and do naughty things to you,” I told him.

“I’ll supervise,” Enzo offered, earning him a glare from both of us. “What? I’m just saying….”

“Wheelchair,” Marcus reminded him. “Now.”

One trip to the emergency room later, we discovered my ankle wasn’t broken. That was the good news. The bad news was that I had a sprain that the ER doc referred to as “pretty fucking bad.” I asked him if that was a technical term, and he laughed and explained that yeah, he’d probably have to classify it as severe, and I was lucky Marcus had insisted on getting me to first aid.

Marcus looked pretty smug about that, but I let it go.

So when I left the emergency room, it was with a brace and an elastic bandage wrapped around my ankle, crutches under my pits, and instructions to go home, put my ankle up, ice it, and take some ibuprofen.

I was less than thrilled, to put it mildly.

“We were supposed to have fun today,” I grumbled again as Marcus helped me into the car.

“Things happen,” he reminded me. “At least I don’t have to listen to some former lover call you ‘Zachy’ anymore.”

“I always fucking hated that,” I growled. “But no matter how many times I told him not to, he still kept it up.”

“Kind of like me calling you Ollie?” Marcus pointed out.

“I’ve never asked you to stop that,” I reminded him. “It’s cute when you say it. Anyone else calls me that, though, and I’ll hit them with a crutch.”

“All right, then,” Marcus said, sounding more cheerful than he had since the whole thing with my ankle started. “Let’s get you home and get your ankle up. We can find new and inventive things to do with your ice packs.”

“I vote for putting them in the freezer and keeping them out of our bed when they aren’t actually on my ankle,” I said and Marcus shut the passenger door for me. Because I learned long ago that nothing says “let’s quit having sex right now” like having something ice cold unexpectedly land places it shouldn’t.

Once Marcus had pulled onto the freeway, I sighed. “I really am sorry I spoiled our fun,” I told him regretfully. “I was really looking forward to it.”

“It’s just an art fair,” he said. “It’s not like we were at Disneyland or something. And honestly, if we’d been at Disneyland and you’d sprained your ankle, I would have left your ass in the hotel room and gone by myself.”

I glared at him for a moment, then laughed. “Okay, yeah. I’d probably do the same thing. I can’t really blame you for that.”

“See?” Marcus asked, reaching over to take my hand with his. “It’s no big deal. I’m sorry you got hurt, but the day isn’t ruined. We can go home, get you set up on your bed with a pillow under your ankle, and we can just chill. Or we can set you up in your recliner with your ankle up and pop one of the versions of Monopoly you own into the game console for a while.”

“You hate Monopoly,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but you don’t, and you’re the one in need of some TLC,” he said with a smile, giving my hand a squeeze.

I cleared my throat, trying to dislodge the sudden lump that had formed there. How did I get so lucky to have someone like Marcus want to keep me? “Thanks.”

Marcus squeezed my hand again and grinned as he kept his eyes on the traffic in front of us. “Any time, Ollie.”

I
THINK
it was the dead possum a week later that marked where things started to go really wrong. I wouldn’t say they’d exactly been right up until that point, not since the harassment started, but the possum was where things got really bad. Mostly because the thing had been eviscerated on the front porch of the main house, entrails draped around like some sort of fucked-up Christmas on Elm Street. The smell, when the random entrails were approached, was even worse than the sight. I can vouch for that, considering I was pretty close to the ones draped along the railing when I bent over it to heave my guts out onto the lawn.

I hobbled back into the living room from the bathroom, where I’d brushed my teeth about five times. I was going to have to replace the mouthwash too. The bottle that had been half-full when I got in there was now empty and sitting in the garbage can.

“I called the cops,” Jordan said.

“Yeah,” I grunted. “This is kind of….”

“Terrifying?” Marcus suggested.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Actually, that’s the perfect word for it. If I didn’t know Jordan sleeps like the dead, I’d worry about the fact that he didn’t actually hear any of the exterior redecorating going on.”

“Sorry, man,” Jordan said with a sigh. “I’ve only been awake for an hour.”

“That gives us some sort of time frame, at least,” Marcus noted. “We left at nine to go catch that movie Ollie wanted to see.”

Jordan nodded. “Two-hour window, then. Maybe that’ll help.”

“It won’t,” I said. Yeah. I was sulking, but I really don’t think I can be blamed for that. “It’s not like anything’s helped before. No. Instead I get my tires slashed, bricks thrown at me, pushed off a curb so I wreck my ankle, and possum entrails draped lovingly outside of my home.”

“Wait,” Marcus interrupted, narrowing his eyes at me. Uh oh. “What do you mean you got pushed off of a curb? I thought you stumbled.”

I repeat: Uh oh. “Pretty sure I got pushed,” I admitted, wincing as I did. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be pretty. “Hands definitely shoved me from behind. I just didn’t think it was worth mentioning and worrying you any more than you already were. Besides, that was over a week ago and nothing else had happened, so I just let it go.”

“You let it go,” Marcus said, glowering at me. I was kind of glad we didn’t share a bedroom on a permanent basis, because I’d probably be sleeping on the couch when bedtime rolled around.

Actually considering how comfortable the couch was, I’d probably have been sleeping in bed alone while Marcus took over the couch.

“I’m sorry?” I apologized, the statement coming out more like a question.

“You’re sorry,” Marcus repeated, his arms crossed at his chest. I was beginning to wonder if I’d broken him, since he only seemed capable of parroting back at me. “Are you a fucking moron, Ollie?”

Oh look, we’ve reached another milestone in our relationship. Our first fight.

“Yep,” I said. “I’m a fucking moron because I give a shit about the stress all this bullshit is putting you through. I’m a fucking moron because I didn’t want you to deal with that while you were studying for finals. I am officially the world’s biggest fucking moron.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Marcus shouted. “You’re a giant fucking moron because I’m your fucking boyfriend, and you should tell me these fucking things.”

The doorbell rang, and Jordan cut in. “That’s the end of round one,” he said. “Go to your separate corners while I let the cops in, boys.”

I snarled something that would have blistered the ears of a sailor and stomped across the room. Well, okay. I couldn’t really stomp, not with the crutches, but I did thump them awfully hard as I made my way to the recliner. The recliner that Marcus couldn’t sit on with me, because my new middle name was “Petulance.”

Marcus took a seat on the couch as far from me as possible, and I scowled even harder. The look was still on my face when Jordan and the police joined us. I didn’t have much to say, just sat there and let Jordan and Marcus fill in the details. I could have done without Marcus telling them about me getting pushed and about how I didn’t report it because I didn’t think it was a big deal. Because, really, I just loved being made to look like an idiot in front of law enforcement.

I glared at him until he joined Jordan and the cops outside to do whatever the hell they were going to do—scoop possum guts into baggies, maybe. I had no idea.

As I sat in silence, guilt started to replace the anger. I mean, yeah, I’d be furious if Marcus had done the same thing I did. We were a partnership, weren’t we? Of course I should have told him I didn’t think it had been an accident.

Dammit. I needed to apologize.

I’d just started to get up when Marcus and Jordan came back in. “I have to go to work,” Jordan said. “You two, play nice. Seriously. You’re going to feel like shit about this later.”

Yeah too late for that. I watched him head to the garage and then turned to Marcus. “Marcus, I’m really—”

I was cut off by the ringing of his phone.

He pulled it out, looked at the display, and squinted at it for a minute. “Hold that thought,” he told me, still sounding less than thrilled but less angry than he had. “It’s Delilah.”

Well, of course it was. It was only appropriate that I be interrupted by Her Majesty, Queen Psycho Bitch.

I listened to Marcus’s side of the conversation, and didn’t like where it was going as he said things like “What did he do?” and “Are you all right?” I especially didn’t like “I’ll be right there.”

As he hung up, I watched in silence, not wanting to start a new fight.

“I have to go,” he said as he pocketed his phone. “Davis kicked her out of his car at the diner, and she’s terrified. She needs me to give her a ride home.”

And with that, I completely forgot I was trying not to start another fight. “For fuck’s sake,” I muttered. “Tell her to catch a cab. You’ve done enough for the bitch.”

If I believed for one second that Marcus was a violent man, the look that crossed his face would have had me waiting to get punched. He didn’t raise a hand, but the words he spat at me hurt worse than any physical blow would have. “I know treating each other like shit works for you and Brandon, but that’s not how I want my relationship with her to be if I can help it.”

I could hear my mental referee calling a KO as I felt the blood drain from my face. I could see Marcus’s expression too, as the knowledge that he’d gone one step too far dawned on him. “Ollie, I—”

I held up my hand, silencing him. I didn’t want to hear it, not right then. He tried to move closer to me, but I lurched back to avoid his touch. “You go do what you need to do,” I said, my voice calm.
Look at me, being all mature and shit.
“We’ll discuss this later.”

Without waiting for an answer, I thumped my crutches down the hall to my bedroom, closed it behind me, and locked it. I listened and hoped he wouldn’t try to talk to me some more, and breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the front door open and then shut.

And then, when I knew I was totally alone, I let myself fall apart.

I let myself bawl for a while, but I tried not to let it go on for too long. Partially because it wouldn’t solve anything, but mostly because I put the “ugh” in “ugly cry.” I didn’t need my face all swollen and gross for the next twelve hours. It would just throw more guilt at Marcus, and while the petty part of me thought that sounded really fucking good, I knew it wasn’t a healthy thing to do to a relationship.

So instead, I dragged myself to my computer and loaded Sims 3. Nothing like replacing a currently crappy reality for one I got to play God with, right? Besides, I had this hot little Sim who was in the singer profession, and I was
this close
to getting him at the top level. Plus, he didn’t have a romantic relationship, so that was one less relationship for me to have to deal with. And I’d just gotten him a kitten, and kittens were always fun to play with, even ones that were only part of a simulation.

Huh. A kitten. I picked up my phone and texted Jordan a note that we should get a cat, then went back to waiting for my game to load.

And I promptly closed out of it when I saw my character had somehow ended up in a relationship with the character Marcus had made. He must have been playing while I was at work, but it was kind of irritating, since I’d wanted to clear my brain of all thoughts, not be reminded of the fact that my boyfriend and I had been hurling barbs at each other.

I shuffled into the kitchen and looked in the fridge. We had a tube of cookie dough waiting to be baked, but that just reminded me of Marcus’s insane sweet tooth.

“This is stupid,” I grumbled to the empty room. “Everything in this fucking house is going to remind me of him.” Hell, I couldn’t even escape to my favorite diner, considering he worked there. And he’d left to go pick up his psycho sister from there, after giving me a verbal smack-down.