Fall From India Place

CHAPTER 13

Unmarked essays were piled on my coffee table while I sat on the floor beside my stack of marked ones. Every now and then I’d reach for my cooling mug of coffee and glance over at Marco, who was stretched out on my couch, dozing.

Dark and cold outside, it was warm inside my flat as the fire crackled in my grate. I couldn’t believe it was almost December. It had been a crazy few weeks. A crazy few weeks of hanging around Marco. A lot.

After thinking over Nate’s advice I decided that holding out on Marco longer was the only way I’d know for certain if he was genuinely interested in me and not just in sleeping with me again. My gut told me that wasn’t the type of person he was. Not with me anyway, but that nagging doubt, that memory of him leaving me alone on India Place that fateful night, held me back from believing in him all the way.

Only time would tell.

The weekend after our movie night together, Marco had had plans. However, the following Monday he turned up at my door after work, carrying a bag of groceries and film rentals. He quickly set himself up in my kitchen and I watched in bemusement as he threw together homemade meatballs and spaghetti. I don’t know why I was surprised that he could cook. His uncle owned and ran a restaurant.

We had fun that night, keeping it friendly, although Marco couldn’t help himself – he tried to flirt a little despite my lack of any outward response. He called me on his lunch break that week, he texted me a lot, and tried to tempt me to meet him for drinks on the Friday. It was a busy week, so I told him I had too much work to do. Not to be rebuffed, he asked me what I was doing that weekend and I explained I was going Christmas shopping in Glasgow. I liked to be organized about the whole Christmas presents thing.

To my utter surprise, Marco invited himself along.

That Saturday we met at Edinburgh’s Waverley Station and boarded the train to Glasgow together. For fifty minutes we sat across from each other and barely said a word. Although Marco was definitely more loquacious than he used to be and he wasn’t exactly broody anymore, he was still that guy who was comfortable and happy to sit in silence with me.

He caught me studying him as we passed through Falkirk and he smiled at my scrutiny. “What?”

“You’ve changed, but you haven’t.”

There was recognition, an understanding, in his eyes that told me he knew what I meant. “You too.”

Although I wasn’t willing to admit to my attraction to him, I wanted him to know I still remembered how good our friendship had been and that so far it had been good again. “We always had this, though. Being able to just be quiet and not have it feel awkward. Not needing to feel like we had to fill the silence. I have that with Cole, but… I mean, he’s like a brother, so… but other guys, we’ve never had…” I trailed off, realizing I was perhaps giving him more than I’d meant to.

I looked over at him when he didn’t reply, and tensed at the sudden stillness around him.

He leaned toward me. “I know I asked if there had been anyone special in your life but, honestly, Hannah, I don’t want to hear about other guys.” His jaw hardened and he looked out of the window.

That pissed me off. I was definitely not impressed with his display of alpha man possessiveness. But not wanting to have a fight in public, I stayed quiet, slowly allowing the burn of anger to dissipate. After ten minutes of now awkward silence, I replied quietly, “You and I are just friends.” And if he continued to be a possessive idiot, that’s the way we’d remain.

Marco looked at me sharply. “But you know I want more,” he answered. “So you also must understand why I don’t want to hear shit about other guys you’ve been with. Guys that got all that I’ve wanted since I fucked it all up.”

The weight of our history, of our feelings and confusion, wrapped around me with a sense of longing then, and I felt fearful. Of us. Of our future. Or lack thereof. Without thinking, I whispered, “Maybe we shouldn’t hang out anymore.”

“You can handle it,” he said stonily, his tone brooking no argument.

I forced myself to meet his hard gaze. “But can you?”

“As long as you don’t talk about the guys you’ve fucked, or Cole too much, then, yeah, I can handle it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Cole’s my best friend.”

He ducked his head, bringing us closer. “I’m your best friend,” he answered roughly. “You’ve just forgotten. My fault, I know. I can help you remember.”

Honestly, I didn’t know how to reply to that. It made me ache so much for what we had been and for what I was terrified to have again with him.

So I remained quiet. It wasn’t until we were pulling into Glasgow Queen Street that Marco broke the silence, saying casually, “Gabby wants something called a Jo Malone for Christmas. Please tell me you know what that is?”

I stared at him and his proverbial olive branch.

And then I made a decision. I laughed. “It’s a store. Did she say what she wanted from Jo Malone?”

Marco stared at me blankly.

“Okay.” I patted his shoulder as we moved to get off the train. “We’ll go with a general gift box.”

Somehow, despite the hairy moment on the train, we had a great time together that day. After shopping for a bit, we stopped for lunch at a pub. There, I impulsively offered, “You know, if we don’t get everything this weekend, I’d be happy to help you shop next weekend.”

Marco’s gaze softened at my suggestion. However, his quiet answer was a rebuff. “I can’t next weekend.”

I tried not to feel stupid for putting myself out there. I’d never have felt stupid about something like that when we were kids.

His eyebrows drew together at my silence. “It’s complicated, but, uh… I’ll explain it to you soon,” he promised. “When the time is right.”

My stomach flipped unpleasantly and I did my best to ignore the feeling. “That’s cryptic.”

“It’s just a long story. One I intend to tell, like I said, when the time is right.”

Hypocritically, I didn’t like that Marco was keeping something from me, even though I was keeping something from him. To cover that feeling of possessiveness I’d been pissed at him for only hours before, I shrugged casually. “It’s not like we’re… You don’t owe me anything.”

“Yes, I fucking do,” he said abruptly. “Whatever this is” – he gestured between us – “it’s important. And I will tell you when the time is right.”

How did I respond to that? Pulse racing, I tried for honesty again. “I don’t want you to think I’m leading you on, Marco. I’m trying to give you my friendship, but I don’t know if it’ll ever be more than that. I need you to acknowledge that you understand that.”

“I do. More than friendship or not… I’m not going anywhere.”

And just like that, the ache was back, but this time the burn of it was almost sweet. After a moment of charged silence, I ventured into small talk, asking after his aunt and uncle and the restaurant.

“Good.” He shrugged, going with the subject change. “Like I mentioned before, Gabby kind of softened Gio up a little. Somewhere along the line he decided I wasn’t a waste of space.”

Remembering that night in the gardens, the swelling bruise under his eye, I still couldn’t help but feel a deep anger in my gut toward Gio. “Does that make up for how much of a dick he was to you?”

He sensed my emotion, and his expression grew tender. “No, Hannah. But he’s not that man any longer. He was carrying around his own shit from Nonno. Their relationship wasn’t an easy one and it spilled into ours. Gio apologized for the way he treated me.” He smirked. “He was drunk when he apologized, but it still helped.”

I guessed if Marco was willing to forgive, I should be, too. “I’m glad.”

We had lunch, the air lightening between us. We joked and talked and then wandered back out into the crowds for more shopping. That night Marco finagled his way into my flat. I fell asleep watching a movie and when I stirred it was because Marco was carrying me into my bedroom. He gently eased me into bed and I fell asleep with the touch of his lips on my forehead.

The next morning I woke up to find him asleep on my couch and when I asked him why he had stayed instead of going home to his bed, he said he slept easier knowing I was safe. That morning I made him breakfast. I made him breakfast with a tiny fraction of my resolve much weaker than it had been the day before. I thought when he left that day that he wasn’t coming back, but he did; he returned with materials he’d ordered for me. I canceled Sunday lunch at my mum’s to watch Marco build bookshelves in my sitting room. My resolve weakened even more.

That following week we were both exceptionally busy with work, but Marco found time to call me every other night. As promised, I didn’t see him that weekend, as he had made other plans.

While he was gone, I realized something slightly terrifying.

I missed him.

Missed him deep-in-my-bones-missed-him.

It was a relief to see him at my door that Monday night after his disappearance. He broke his silent vow to give me as much physical space as possible by stepping into my flat and enveloping me in a hug I felt in every inch of my body. He kissed my cheek, reluctantly pulling away from me. I was glad for the thick sweater I wore because the combination of his cologne, his heat, his strong arms around me and his hard chest brushing against my soft one, all mixing in with the fact that I was giddy to see him, made my body physically react to his hug.

Attempting to shrug off my sexual attraction to him, I made dinner for us as if everything was perfectly normal.

Three times that week Marco turned up at my flat for dinner.

I asked him why we never hung out at his flat, not because it bothered me, but because I was curious. His answer was that my place was nicer. Although he’d once lived in that shithole on India Place, I couldn’t imagine him living somewhere like that now, so I presumed his flat was acceptable for hosting guests despite his denials that it wasn’t.

Still, I shrugged off my questions, my curiosity, and my doubt, intent on enjoying the present with him.

Deciding to leave the flat for once, we went out to the movies that Friday night. That clearly wasn’t enough time spent together, and Marco insisted on crashing my babysitting duties the next evening. We went to Joss and Braden’s and babysat Beth and Luke for them while they had date night. This meant Marco met Joss. He’d already met Braden while working construction on a few of Braden’s builds. To my complete and utter shock, Braden was congenial with Marco. There was no intimidating older brother in sight. He appeared relaxed with the whole idea of Marco’s presence in my life. Perhaps the macho alpha in him recognized it in Marco and respected it in some weird male psyche thing I would never understand. As for Joss, she made it clear when both Braden’s and Marco’s backs were turned that she thought he seemed great.

The biggest surprise of the evening, though, wasn’t Braden’s laid-back attitude – it was Marco’s way with the kids. Beth and Luke loved him and he had a never-ending well of patience with them. Although thrown a little by these surprises, I felt like the night had gone well… until things escalated out of my control. Joss and Braden returned late that evening when the kids were already in bed, and Joss did the unbelievable – she invited Marco to Sunday lunch the next day.

My expression must have been one of horror because both Marco and Braden burst out laughing.

Of course Marco said yes to lunch.

To my increasing dismay my whole family took to him. I didn’t know whether to be happy or devastated. I knew my mum and the girls thought he was fantastic – they pulled me into the kitchen to go on and on about his sense of humor, his easy, quiet way with the kids, the way he listened to everything I said as if it was the most important thing he’d ever heard… and of course they teased me mercilessly about how great-looking he was.

As if I didn’t know that already!

The guys’ reaction to Marco was possibly worse, because they were always so hard to please when it came to the boyfriends of their female relatives. They seemed to like Marco’s quiet confidence, respected his careful answers, and enjoyed his dry humor.

I was fucked.

Even Cole liked him, and Marco was definitely much more reserved with Cole than with the others.

The only person who was somewhat aloof was my dad. He was generally a lot more laid-back than the other men in my life, and his reaction would have taken me aback if it weren’t for the fact that Dad was the only one who knew the truth. I watched as Dad studied Marco, and I knew him well enough to know that he was trying to gauge whether Marco was worthy of that second chance he’d advised I should give him. If anyone else noticed Dad’s unusual behavior, I was certain they put it down to overprotectiveness.

The only really awkward moment during the visit was after lunch when Beth came to stand beside Marco’s armchair. She tilted her head to the side, inspecting him curiously as Marco smiled back at her in amusement. And then everyone heard her ask loudly, “Are you Hannah’s boyfriend?”

Hannah wanted a black hole to suddenly open up in the middle of the sitting room and swallow her whole.

Worse, Marco’s reply was, “Nope. She won’t let me be.”

Beth had immediately turned her cute look of consternation on me. “That’s really rude, Hannah.”

And that was so adorably funny even I laughed through the blazing heat in my cheeks.

A little while later Joss and Ellie got up to make coffee and tea and I ignored Marco’s gaze, as I shot out of the sitting room after them into the kitchen. “What the hell are you all playing at?” I asked quietly. “What happened to Braden’s and Adam’s overprotectiveness? What happened to all of your overprotectiveness?”

Joss shrugged. “We like Marco. He seems like a solid guy.”

I didn’t even know what to say to that.

I looked at my sister. Ellie frowned at my expression of disbelief. “Hannah, we all just appreciate how much effort he’s putting in with you. We want you to be happy. It’s obvious to everyone you two are more than friends. I mean, we’ve hardly seen you for three weeks and when we do all you talk about is what you and Marco have been up to.”

“Friends, my ass,” Joss grunted, stirring sugar into someone’s coffee. “The sexual tension between you two is off the charts.” Her grin turned smug. “Reminds me of me and Mr. Carmichael.”

“No details.” Ellie held up a hand, her eyes pleading.

“I wasn’t going to,” Joss assured her, but we knew where her mind had wandered by the still smug smile curling her mouth and by the heat in her eyes.

I sighed, leaning back against my mother’s kitchen counter. “I thought I could at least rely on my family to help keep things platonic between me and Marco. But you’re practically spoon-feeding me to him.”

Ellie snorted, a long, drawn-out, sarcastic snort. “Be serious, Hannah. You spend nearly every waking moment with him. If anyone is helping him with you, sweetheart, it’s you.”

Gazing at him sleeping on my couch, I was overwhelmed with my feelings for him. Feelings deep in my gut, throbbing in my chest, and tingling at the ends of my fingertips. The past week, after Sunday lunch, I’d seen Marco once for dinner, but work had kept us busy and at the weekend he once again had a mysterious family commitment. I came to the not-very-hard-to-deduce conclusion that this family thing occurred on alternate weekends.

It was difficult not to push him on that subject.

But I didn’t. Mostly because of the aforementioned hypocrisy.

So… we hadn’t seen each other for a few days. The whole missing-him thing had gotten worse. That’s why when I opened my door that night and saw him there I was flooded by my emotions. Whatever the mysterious disappearance was about at the weekend, Marco proved to me that he missed me as much as I missed him, because there he was on my doorstep the night after. He couldn’t even wait a day to see me.

I told him I had essays to mark but that didn’t deter him. We ate dinner and then Marco camped out on my couch and let me get on with my work.

My resolve had weakened.

I could feel it.

He just had to push me and…

I dropped my gaze from his handsome, sleeping face and resolutely attempted to concentrate on my work. The next essay I picked up was Jarrod’s, which made ignoring Marco even harder. But I did it, because Jarrod deserved my focus.

His revised personal essay moved me. For all Jarrod’s seeming laziness with the other teachers and obvious issues with the father who had abandoned him, he had found strength that not many boys his age had by looking after his little brother, Harvey, and helping to raise him. For Jarrod, the aim of his essay was to show his growth in getting over childish fears and becoming a young adult. But the reader easily discerned from the multitude of situations he posed to us that Jarrod overcame his own fears in order to make Harvey feel safe, in order to help Harvey not be afraid.

It wasn’t easy for someone with Jarrod’s pride to put all that on paper, and he’d made me promise that only I and the examiner would read the essay.

It was a shame that I’d made that promise. I wanted to shove the paper in Rutherford’s face and demand that he see that the boy he thought so little of wasn’t a boy at all. He was a boy in age, but he’d been forced to become a man in spirit in order to give his brother the emotional support he himself had never had.

I sighed heavily, wishing there was more I could do to help Jarrod see his self-worth.

“What’s wrong?”

I lifted my head from my work at Marco’s rough voice and question. His eyes were open, his low-lidded gaze affecting me emotionally as well as physically.

That rush of tenderness I felt clearly translated in my returning gaze because Marco suddenly grew more alert.

Resolve weakened further. Just one push…

My heart was pounding hard, but I tried for nonchalance, tapping my pen casually against the papers in my hand. “I’ve got this kid in my fourth-year class. Jarrod.” I set the essay aside with the others. “He reminds me of you.”

“Yeah?” Marco slowly sat up, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned toward me. “You must have a soft spot for him then.”

I laughed. “So sure of yourself these days.”

Marco didn’t answer; instead, his eyes darkened, glittering in the low light as he lowered himself onto the floor. The thundering heart banging away in my chest sped up even more and I unconsciously licked my lips as he moved toward me.

My breathing grew shallow, my mind screaming Stop him! while my body happily gave in as he nudged my legs apart, putting himself between them, and moving his torso into mine so I was forced to lean back on my hands to create space between us. Marco wasn’t having any of that. Instead he leaned farther into me as my head tilted back, one hand flat on the ground at my hip, the other sending the hair on the back of my neck up as he cupped my face.

“I know you still care.” His words whispered across my lips, his mouth almost touching mine. I shivered, my breath stuttering. “And, babe,” he continued, “I don’t think I can pretend any longer that I don’t think about being inside you nearly every hour of every day.”

His words were almost the equivalent of his mouth between my legs.

I wanted him. I wanted him so much I was struck mute with the fear that if I spoke I’d deny myself.

Marco took my silence as acquiescence.

His thumb stroked my cheek in tenderness, his eyes dropping to my mouth.

Breathless, I waited.

His head dipped, crossing the minute distance between our lips, and my eyes fluttered closed at the brush of his mouth over mine. My lips tingled, and I sighed, excited for more.

His kiss continued in gentle seduction, a touch of lips against lips, the pressure increasing in increments as my skin grew hotter and hotter.

I’d never been kissed like this. No guy had ever taken such sweet time with me, as if needing to sample every last inch of my mouth. Every time I thought he was going to deepen the kiss, he pulled back, dusting butterfly touches against the corner of my mouth or nibbling on my lower lip.

The tingling was delicious. “Only yours,” I pulled back a little to say softly, sounding almost desolate and wondering if in amongst the lust there wasn’t some truth to that tone.

Marco watched me as if he were trying to read me. Tenderly, he tucked my hair behind my ear. “Only mine what, Hannah?”

“Your kiss. My lips tingle when you kiss me.” I smiled sadly. “Real, honest-to-God tingling. No one else has ever made me feel that.”

A dark triumph entered Marco’s eyes. “Good,” he answered gruffly, before lowering his mouth to recapture mine.

My breathing grew steadily more and more out of control as he returned to torturing me with slow, seductive kisses. I longed for him to touch his tongue to mine so I could taste him. I remembered the taste of him. There was nothing quite like it. I needed that back.

Pushing up off the floor, I reached for him, my hands gripping his shoulders when the sudden movement pressed our mouths harder against each other. I moaned in need and Marco crushed me to him, his other hand in my hair holding me to him as I opened my mouth against his. My lower belly dipped as his tongue moved against mine, as his heat and taste filled me.

Yes.

This is what I’ve been missing.