Tell Me When (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Amber

Marcus gathers me in his arms and kisses me on the temple, his hint to keep going. He’s here for me.

Something inside me cracks. And the secrets I’ve held back for so long, the secrets Jordan doesn’t know exist, beg to be told. I’ve kept them quiet all this time, because no one can comprehend how I feel, but listening to Marcus makes me realize that if there’s anyone who could understand what I’ve been through, it’s him.

I look at the cemetery. My body shakes at the memories rushing to the surface.

A brief wind rustles the leaves on the ground and a bird squawks from a nearby tree. Not far from us, a small dark shadow stalks low on the ground. A cat, visible in the light of the half moon. A sign.

“It’s a long story.” I don’t even know where to begin.

His arm hugs me tighter, giving me the strength I need to continue. I can tell he won’t judge me for my mistakes. We’re both broken. We’re both looking for someone who can understand.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. Even though I know what he means, that I’ve got all the time in the world to tell my story, I hear something else in those few simple words. He’s not going anywhere, no matter what I tell him.

“A year ago, my life seemed...” I was going to say perfect, but that’s far from true, what with my father leaving us when I was young, and my mom then struggling with depression and alcoholism for a while. “Everything was good. My GPA was great. My coach told me if my senior year on the team was anything like the previous years, I was bound to be recruited by Chicago, my dream university. And I had an amazing boyfriend. Trent had been my best friend forever, and my boyfriend since our sophomore year.” My eyes water at the memory of Trent, whose life was cut short because of my mistakes.

“During the summer before my senior year, I started volunteering at the local animal shelter. It was my dream position. I’ve wanted to be a vet since I was three. Volunteering at the shelter would look good on my college applications. Mom wanted me to intern at her law firm, but I wasn’t interested.” My throat closes up as a voice in my head reminds me how different things would have been if I had taken the internship instead. Trent and Michael would be alive, Emma wouldn’t be hurting, and Mom wouldn’t be so distant.

“I met a guy while working at the shelter. He was twenty-four, but I was only interested in him as a friend. I didn’t realize at the time he was twisting everything around in his head. What I considered to be friendly chats, he considered my declaration of undying love. He never said anything about this. He acted like we were just friends. He knew I had a boyfriend.” A boyfriend who visited me a number of times while I worked, and who kissed me passionately in front of Paul.

I pause. Marcus doesn’t say anything, but he’s waiting for me to continue.

“Things were going well until the fall, when I started receiving strange messages. They were never signed.”

“What kind of messages?” Marcus asks.

“Mostly quotes and poems. They weren’t about love, at first. They seemed random more than anything. But then the messages became threatening and sexual in nature. My mom reported it to the cops, but there was nothing they could do. There was no way to track down who was sending them, and since he hadn’t done anything to physically hurt me, their hands were tied.” My heart is pounding so loud at the memories, I’d be surprised if Marcus doesn’t hear it banging against my ribs, trying to escape.

“For several months, I received love letters and hate letters and letters threatening my life. I had trouble sleeping. I was afraid I’d never wake up again, because the stalker would break into my house and kill me in my sleep. When I did finally fall asleep, I wouldn’t stay asleep for long because of the nightmares.

“Then it suddenly stopped. I didn’t receive any more letters and the cops figured the stalker had moved away.” My voice catches, knowing I’ve skipped an important event in my nightmare, but for now I focus on what happened to my brother.

“Then one night I was driving home from practice when I got a flat. It was stormy and I didn’t know what to do. I called my brother and he said he’d be right there. He was supposed to be away at college, but he’d come home that weekend, ’cause he had something important to discuss with Mom. Something to do with me, but he didn’t tell me what.” Guilt at what I unwittingly cost my brother squeezes my heart so hard, I can barely get any oxygen into my lungs. If Michael hadn’t come home, he’d still be alive.

“I was waiting for my brother when
he
showed up. I didn’t recognize the car, but I recognized the driver. It was Paul, my friend from the animal shelter.” I pause, not wanting to relive the next part but at the same time knowing I need to.

I glance at Marcus. It’s like he’s stopped breathing, already having a good idea what happened next. To Michael. His hand around my waist tightens into a fist, clutching the fabric of my jacket.

“Paul offered to help me but Michael showed up.” A tear drips down my cheek followed by another. “Even then, I didn’t realize Paul was the stalker. Michael started to change my tire.” A small sob escapes at the memory of what happened next. “Michael didn’t even see it coming. Paul shot him three times. In the back.”

I press my hands against my eyes, trying to drive out the image, and take a shaky breath, doing my best not to break down into inconsolable sobs. “I didn’t know Michael was dead at first. I begged Paul to let me call for help. I’d do anything he wanted, but we had to help my brother first. He knocked me unconscious with the gun and left Michael bleeding. He wasn’t found till the next day.” He spent the night alone, on the side of the road, with no one realizing he was missing or dead. “My mom was working late to defend a serial bank robber. She stayed at the office all night, and didn’t know Michael was dead and I had been kidnapped.”

I wrap my arms around me, trying to keep the chill out. With each word I utter, each memory I share, an icy numbness works its way in.

Marcus kisses me again, reminding me I’m safe. It helps a little, but not enough. “Where were you?”

“At Paul’s house. Except, he had a prison in the basement. I don’t know why he had it, but it was there and I couldn’t escape. There were no windows and the door was impossible to break down.” I tried, before Paul gave me Smoky. Then I stopped trying.

Marcus brushes his finger lightly against my scarred wrist, his hand shaking. “Did he do this?”

I nod. “While I was unconscious, he handcuffed me to a metal ring embedded in the concrete wall above my head. He kept me like that for several days, till he figured out another way to pacify me. By then, my wrists were a mess from me frantically trying to pull free.”

“How long were you his prisoner?”

“Almost three weeks.”

Marcus inhales sharply. “You were with that asshole for three fucking weeks! No wonder you have nightmares, and no wonder you freaked out, thinking I was stalking you.”

“No one knew where I was or who had kidnapped me. No one suspected Paul.” I hate how it sounds like I’m defending the cops. I’m not. They let me down. By the time the firefighter found me, the damage both inside and out was done, leaving me with scars that will never go away.

Marcus drags his hand through his hair. “Shit. How did you escape?”

“Paul planned to kill us both. He set the building on fire. Someone driving past saw the flames and called it in. If it hadn’t been for that man, I would have died.”

“Did the stalker die?”

I shake my head. “He’s in a psych ward.”

“That’s it?” Marcus says almost yelling, his body tense. “He should be in jail!”

“It’s a prison psych ward. But there’s a chance he could get off. The case hasn’t gone to trial yet.”

Marcus is thoughtful for a moment, though there’s no missing the anger still wrapped in his muscles. “The flashback you had today. Was it because of the roses?”

I nod. “I didn’t know they would affect me. I guess, until today, I had avoided red roses. They reminded me of one of the times Paul drugged me. While I was passed out, he covered the bed with red rose petals. He thought he was being romantic. It was before...before....” I can’t say the rest.

Marcus hooks his fingers on my chin and turns my face to his, forcing me to look at him. “Did he hurt— Did he rape you?”

I expect to see disgust in his eyes but it’s not there. Tenderness is the only emotion staring back at me.

“Yes.” My voice wavers at the word.

Marcus brushes my cheek with his thumb. “Is that why you stiffened when I tried to kiss you at Nightshade? Was he the last guy who kissed you?”

I avert my head and nod.

“Look at me, Kitten.” His tone is a gentle caress.

I sigh and my eyes flick up to his warm hazel ones. A cascade of emotions—hope, desire, fear—sweeps through me at their intensity.

“I’m not that asshole, Amber. I’ll never hurt you.”

I smile, the movement a slight flicker at the corners of my lips. “I know.” And I do. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt safe. It’s hard to feel normal when you never feel safe, not even in your dreams.... All I want is to forget what happened and feel normal again.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted. To feel normal.”

That’s when I get it. All those girls he sleeps with. “You use sex to numb the pain, don’t you?” I keep my voice soft, free of accusation.

Marcus drops his hand from my face. His gaze drifts back to the cemetery. “I started having sex when I was fourteen with a girl two years older than me. I meant nothing to her even though I really liked her. But when I had sex with her, it was the only time I felt anything.” Something in his voice makes me think he hasn’t told me everything, but I don’t push it. I’ve also kept details from him that I’m not ready to admit yet.

“What happened to her?”

He shrugs. “Our relationship only lasted the summer, but I quickly discovered that plenty of girls wanted to have sex with me. I was fine with that.” He looks back at me. “I was fine with that till I met you. You’re the only girl who makes me feel something.”

“Me? I haven’t had sex with you.”

Pain flickers on his face for a brief second. I can tell he’s thinking back to the night he almost tried to take things that far. “No, but just holding you makes me feel alive. This makes me feel alive.” He lowers his lips to mine and lightly kisses my mouth.

His smell, a combination of safety and spice, wraps me in a comforting cocoon. He makes
me
feel alive.

My lips part and I feel brave enough to run the tip of my tongue against his lower lip. He moans softly, echoing how I feel.

His tongue dances against mine as we deepen the kiss. Exploring. Conquering. Becoming one. My fingers slide along his arm, his shoulder, his neck, and wrap around the silky strands of his hair. I can’t get enough of him, and I want this feeling to never end.

His hand traces a path up my back, teasing me, driving me to want more. It settles on the nape of my neck, keeping me close as our kisses intensify. If it weren’t for the table we’re sitting on, my knees would have buckled and I’d have collapsed to the ground.

All too soon, Marcus pulls away and rests his forehead against mine as we fight to regain our breath.

“What do you say?” he asks, voice low and rough. “You wanna try normal? With me? With none of that fake boyfriend crap?”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Amber

I wait for Marcus in my car, outside his apartment building. It’s midmorning, and the crisp blue sky promises another beautiful day. That should make up for where I have to go.

Marcus exits the building, looking as gorgeous as usual, with his messy black hair, jeans and leather jacket. My heart skips happily along at the sight of him.

He opens the passenger door and climbs in, then leans over and lightly presses his lips against mine. So far, I’m enjoying trying to do normal, with him.

Last night, we spent a long time kissing, working on feeling whole. He wanted to spend today with me, but I already had plans to stop by my house, then visit Grandma.

“If you want company, let me know,” he said after I told him last night where I was going today. After he told me he wanted to try being normal, just him and me.

I’d gaped at him. “You wanna meet my mom?” Marcus doesn’t come off as the parent-meeting type.

“Not really. But I do wanna spend the day with you. So I can do this.” He lowered his mouth to mine and teased my lips with his tongue, until I gave in and opened my mouth, welcoming him inside. He didn’t drop me off at my dorm until one in the morning.

If only I could go back to what we were doing last night. But since we don’t have enough time, I move away from Marcus, smiling, and shift the car out of Park.

“Never thought of you as the type to get a tattoo,” he says, a smile in his voice, as I drive away from the building. Usually I’m wearing Trent’s hoodie, or a long-sleeved T-shirt, but it didn’t seem right to wear it now that I’m with Marcus. That’s not to say I’ve gotten rid of the hoodie. I can’t. It’s a part of me.

“I’m full of surprises.” I glance at the small blue flowers and cursive writing. I don’t even want to think what Mom’s reaction will be when she sees it. That’s if she even notices it. She stopped noticing a lot about me after Michael died. I was nothing more than a painful reminder of how his life ended.

“So how many tattoos do you have?” I ask. All I’ve seen is the one on his arm that looks like a tribal pattern, peeking from under the sleeve of his T-shirt.

“Just the one.”

At the red light, I push up the soft fabric to reveal the entire design. “It’s a bird.”

“Falcon,” Marcus corrects. “I got it after Ryan died. The falcon represents the protector. Ryan did what he could to protect me from our stepfather.” His voice holds a note of sadness but also pride. The same way I feel about my brother.

“I got mine to honor my brother’s memory, too. His and Trent’s. I don’t want to ever forget them or what they meant to me.” I can feel Marcus’s gaze on my tattoo, and I brace myself for the question I know is coming.

“Can I ask you how Trent died?”

I nod and will myself to make it through the story, will the tears away. “We had a fight one night, ’cause I hadn’t envisioned our life together like he had. My father left our family when I was six, without ever contacting us again. As much as I trusted Trent not to hurt me like that, I was living day-to-day, afraid to plan far in advance when it came to a future with him. He thought that meant I didn’t love him. He was hurt and he was angry. He drove away to blow off some steam.

“At first, the police thought the accident was exactly that—an accident. But it wasn’t. Paul knew how much I loved Trent. When he kidnapped me, he kept telling me how he had tampered with Trent’s brakes and forced him off the road. Paul believed Trent was the one obstacle standing between his and my happiness.”

Marcus mutters “Shit” under his breath. “So that’s what his sister meant when she told me your boyfriends have a habit of being murdered.”

I whip around to face him. Good thing the light’s still red. “You know Emma?”

“Not really. She’s talked to me a few times but that’s it.”

The light turns green and I push down on the accelerator, wishing he hadn’t brought her up. But since we’re being honest with each other, I decide to keep nothing from him. “She used to be my best friend. Until Trent died.”

“Used to be? What happened?”

“I couldn’t talk to her after I found out it was my fault Trent was murdered. I wanted to so badly, but I knew how much she was hurting. Trent meant the world to her. I knew she deserved better than having me as a friend. I was nothing more than a constant reminder of how much she lost because me.”

Marcus frowns. “You didn’t kill him. The psychopath did.”

“Yes, but if it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t have had the need to kill Trent.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Amber. It wasn’t your fault.”

I shift in my seat. “How come you only have one tattoo?”

He doesn’t answer at first, but I can sense him watching me. “’Cause I only believe in getting tats that mean something. The falcon is the only one that means anything to me.”

I glance over in time to see his frown fade into a one-sided grin.

“Any other tattoos you wanna tell me about?” he asks.

I smile. “Nope. This is it.”

* * *

In Crossfields, I drive down the main road in the direction of the cemetery. Before I head home, I want to visit Trent and Michael first. Marcus has been quiet since we entered the town, since I announced where I want to go. I’m not sure how he feels about me visiting Trent’s grave, but that doesn’t matter. It’s important to me.

I glance over to see if Marcus is okay. We spent most of the trip talking and learning more about each other, now that our walls are down. Those little details that neither of us were interested in revealing before, those details that made us feel more vulnerable, come out as we joke and laugh, and talk about our brothers. It’s like the floodgates have opened, now that we’ve shared our tragedies with each other. We discover that we both love chocolate ice cream, hate it when people talk during movies, and don’t drink much alcohol because family members have struggled with it. And we both love the Chicago Bulls, but that’s a given.

Marcus’s hands are clenched in his lap. “You need to stop punishing yourself for what happened.” His tone is filled with an unexpected tightness. “I’ve watched you in the gym. Fuck, Amber. You’ve got to stop doing that to yourself.”

I frown. “What exactly am I doing?” And where the hell did this suddenly come from?

“You know what the fuck you’re doing.”

“No, I don’t. Maybe you’d care to enlighten me.”

“You’re not working out to get fitter or to train for a sport. You’re punishing yourself.”

I take my eyes off the road long enough to quickly glance at him again. “No, I’m not. Working out hard helps me forget.” It’s hard to remember when you’re gasping for air.

“That’s not true,” he snaps. “It’s obvious you’re punishing yourself, and I want you to stop.”

“Excuse me. You don’t get to tell me what I can do. I got enough of that from Paul, thank you very much.” I flip my indicator on and steer into the cemetery parking lot.

Even without looking, I can tell Marcus is glaring at me. “I’m not that asshole, Amber. And don’t make me out as if I am.”

“That’s right, Marcus. Telling me what I can and can’t do doesn’t make you an asshole at all.” I park the car, and before he has a chance to say anything, storm off toward Trent’s final resting spot.

With each step I take, it feels like claws are slashing away at my insides. What the hell just happened back there? Marcus has never acted like this before now. At least not to me.

I find Trent’s grave and sit on the damp grass next to it. A bouquet of fresh flowers in a ceramic vase sits against the impressive black marble gravestone. I don’t say anything at first. I just try not to break down in tears, for Trent, and for whatever just happened with Marcus.

In my head, a voice taunts me, telling me that maybe, just maybe, Marcus is right. I have been punishing myself for what happened by pushing myself too hard at the gym. But it’s so hard not to. I’m been doing it for so long. I wouldn’t know how to stop.

It takes me a few minutes, but I eventually start talking to Trent, like I used to do when we were growing up. With me lying down on my back, pretending we’re in his backyard, staring up at the stars. Except it’s daytime. There are no stars.

I tell him everything about school, about my friends, about my classes. The only things I don’t mention are Emma and Marcus. One is too painful to talk about. Though I’m sure if Trent were alive, he would tell me to get over myself and talk to Emma. The other one just doesn’t seem right to discuss with my former boyfriend, even if he is no longer with me.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been here when I finally push myself up. Marcus is sitting on the ground several yards away. He’s not looking at me. He’s staring at the ground, lost in thought. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. It could be anything. Our argument. His brother. Life.

I tell Trent that I love him and that I miss him, and that I always will. Then I walk over to join Marcus. “Have you been here long?” My voice sounds worn, tired. Wary.

He shrugs. “Long enough.” He unfolds himself from the ground. The uncertain vulnerability from the other day is back, covering him like a heavy winter coat during summer. He looks away, his gaze going to a nearby gravestone. “I’m not used to having a girlfriend. I’m not used to caring about someone the way I care about you, Kitten. I’m scared of losing you and it’s making me fucking crazy.”

I nod, unable to find the right words to tell him that I’m scared of losing him too. I might not be new to having a boyfriend, but I’m new to feeling this way. And it terrifies me.

Marcus looks back at me. “I wish I could tell you I won’t fuck up again, but I can’t. I still have no idea what I’m doing. I only know how to make girls happy in bed. I don’t know how to do this.” He points between us.

“I need to visit my brother before we leave,” is all I’m capable of saying. I know I should say something more, but I can’t. Not yet.

I do, though, thread my fingers with his and lead him over to where Michael is located. As hard as it was to visit Trent, it’s even harder visiting Michael. I didn’t see Trent die. I did see Michael’s life stolen from him. Tears well up in my throat, threatening to choke away my own life.

As if sensing my turmoil, Marcus pulls me to him and holds me, his arms strong and sure around me. He doesn’t say anything. This can’t be any easier for him. Michael might not be his brother, but the situation is the same for both of us. We both witnessed our brothers being murdered. Their lives were cut short because of us.

I shift in his arms and kiss him gently on the mouth. “Thank you. Thank you for being here with me. And I promise I’ll do better.” I don’t elaborate on what I’m promising. But it’s implied in my words. It goes beyond what I’m doing in the gym.

“Me, too.” Marcus kisses me back, the kiss slow and filled with hope and a deep-rooted understanding between us.

It’s noon by the time we arrive at my house. I drive up to the metal entrance gate, which is rarely closed. Tall skinny trees skirt the perimeter, separating the property from the road and the neighbors.

I continue along the driveway and park in front of the large Tudor-style house. Emma used to say it looked like a home straight out of a fairy tale. If that were true, my fairy godmother needs to review her job description. She failed me when it came to my happily-ever-after, something I no longer believe exists. At least not for me.

I can’t tell if Mom’s home or not. Usually she’s at the office, even on a Saturday, more so since Michael’s death.

“You wanna come inside with me or stay in the car?” I unclick my seat belt.

Marcus’s mouth slides into a mischievous grin. “And miss the chance to check out your room?”

“You do realize my mom might be home?”

“Don’t worry, Kitten. Moms love me.” There’s no missing the sarcasm. He’s thinking about his mom. Just the thought of the life he endured before he started college makes me want to take away his pain.

I cup his cheek with my hand. My gaze drops to his lips. I’m tempted to turn the car around and go back to his apartment, to spend the rest of the day with him there.

Instead, I give him a quick kiss, wanting to get away from here as soon as possible. The memories of Michael and Trent sit heavy in the air, ready to suffocate me. As it is, when we drove here, I took the longer route so I could avoid the place where I had the flat tire. I haven’t been there since that night. I don’t ever want to go there again.

Marcus and I walk up the path to the house, holding hands. Even though it’s fall, and the flowers have long since died, the garden still looks great. A bounty of autumn colors.

“My mom can’t even keep a houseplant alive,” Marcus says, checking out the meticulous garden. A leaf wouldn’t dare be out of place here.

“My mom can’t either. The housekeeper and gardener take care of ours.”

“You have a housekeeper and gardener?” he says, stunned.

I unlock the door and disarm the alarm. The house is silent. Mom’s not home. If she were, the stereo or TV would be on.

The familiar zesty smell of lemons greets me. The housekeeper must have been here this morning. The house always smells this way on cleaning day. It’s one of the things I miss most. The dorm bathroom never smells like this.

Marcus’s gaze sweeps over the grand foyer and the polished floor, which resemble a black-and-white chessboard. When we were kids, Trent, Michael, Emma and I used to love pretending we were chess pieces.

“My room’s upstairs.” I point to the spiral stairs in case it’s not obvious enough where we need to go. Marcus follows me, his hands resting on my hips.

As we walk up the stairs, his fingers slip under my T-shirt and brush against my stomach. A familiar warmth ignites in my lower body, and I have to focus on each step or else risk stumbling. By the time we make it to my room, I almost forget why I’m here.

“Nice,” Marcus says, taking everything in: the basketball trophies from when I was a kid; pictures of me, Trent and Emma; my black-and-fuchsia bedding that I’ve had since I was twelve. Trent and I spent many hours curled up on it together, talking when we were younger. Making out when we were a couple. Naturally, Mom knew none of this. She never would have approved of Trent being on my bed.