Marco (The Men of Indecent Exposure #1) (38 page)

Yeah, I’d
done those things; I
had
been that guy once upon a time, but
damn!
I wasn’t him anymore.

Brynn waved her hand before I could respond. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter. It’s not just about what happened today,” she explained.

“Then what is it?” I asked.

She took a deep breath and I watched as her eyes scanned the countertop, searching for the right words. All of a sudden, she found them. I knew the moment her thoughts aligned because she stopped fidgeting and she stared right through me.

“I don’t want to sit at home on weekends knowing full-well where you are and what you’re doing,” she began, running down a list to answer my question. “I don’t want to have to struggle with feeling insecure, struggle not to ask questions so you don’t feel like I’m nagging you about what goes on in that world. I don’t want to be the woman who has to wonder if you secretly enjoy what you do—all those eyes on you? All those
hands
on you?” She paused and I was glad. None of this was easy to hear. The things she said were things me and all the other guys had heard from various women throughout our time working at
Indecent Exposure.
They were the real, valid concerns of women who had fallen for us, but ultimately decided that loving us wasn’t worth the sacrifices.

“It’s just… It’s a lot, Marco. I don’t know about anyone else you’ve been with, I don’t know how they handled it, so all I have to go on is how it’s affecting
me
. And… regardless of how I seem to be handling it on the outside, I’m struggling on the inside,” she admitted, and I could only respect that.

Lowering my head, her words brought back a conversation I tried to forget. Elena had said so many things I wanted to block out, but never could. I couldn’t because, on some level, I suppose I knew there was at least some measure of truth in them. I knew that asking a woman to be in this with me was a lot to expect.

“Thinking about all of this,” Brynn went on, but then paused to run her finger beneath her eye, pushing away tears that fell because of me. “… Thinking about all of this is honestly why I haven’t been sleeping.”

That hit me hard because I knew how she suffered with that, knew the toll it’d taken on her. My eyes fell closed at the thought of all the tossing and turning, all the nights she’d spent staring at the ceiling, being because of how my job was affecting her.

I hadn’t realized that.

“I have this… this
huge
war going on inside me all the time, Marco, and I can’t get any peace,” she said in a softer tone than before, expressing herself with her hands when words were no longer enough. “There’s the side of me that knows and understands and even
respects
why you got into this, why you
still
do this,” she clarified. “And then there’s the side of me that…” Watery eyes leveled to mine. “There’s the side of me that just wants you all to myself,” she admitted. “And it kills me knowing that’s not possible.”

It was me who looked away this time, unable to take the hurt on her face.

“And as crazy as this may sound, I don’t even want you to quit.”

I was silent.

“I refuse to be the reason your family goes without or suffers. I refuse to have you resent me later on down the road. I refuse to make you feel like you have to choose between me and them, because that’s what it would feel like to me. I just… I guess I’m just back where I started,” she breathed, letting silence prevail for a moment before literally ending up in the same frame of mind as when our conversation first began:

“This is just too much for me.”

My head hung, hearing her words, knowing what they meant, although I couldn’t accept them.

I stared at this woman who literally held my future inside her, in every sense of the word. There was never too much she could ask of me. Not even if that
something
she asked was for me to quit. I’d do that; however, I got the impression she wouldn’t even accept that, got the impression that it still wouldn’t change things. Dark lashes fluttered down as she stared at her hands and I worked up the nerve to ask the million-dollar question:

“So, what does all of this mean?”

I held my breath waiting for an answer, but I was honestly petrified of what it might be. I didn’t want to lose her. Whether we had defined exactly what we were to one another or not, whether we had a damn title or not. I’d felt like she was meant to be mine for some time now, but I was beginning to wonder if I’d been wrong. All of a sudden, it was like I was fighting the tide, like it was just me against this big force eating away at what Brynn and I built faster than we could build it.

She took a breath and blinked back more tears and then those words came; the ones that answered my question, the ones I dreaded:

“I think maybe we… maybe we should end this.”

Brynn

The tires of Marco’s truck squealed as he took off down the street. Angry, hurt; I knew he was both of those things, but I was hurting, too. He wanted to keep talking, wanted to fix this, but there was only one way to fix it and I wouldn’t have his family struggling because of me. So, with all the tension between he and I, I just wanted to be home in my own bed, alone with my thoughts.

Despite being upset, he brought me back here. Not a single word was spoken on the ride over, but the silence was so incredibly loud. Now, as I sat on the couch in the darkness, all I could think about was the argument.

I would’ve been able to hold all of this in if it hadn’t been for my brother inquiring about the shirt. I could’ve swallowed the statement Carlos made about the women; I could’ve pretended like nothing was wrong for the sake of salvaging the rest of this special day. However, things hadn’t gone that way. My true feelings about Marco dancing were forced out at the worst possible time and I unintentionally hurt him in the process.

He brought up our initial conversation about his work, the one when he asked me to tell him how I felt about it, but I was still in such a haze at the time. The shock of finding out left me reeling for a while, especially because of how I started falling for him. How exactly was I supposed to tell him everything I said today without it going exactly like it did? Without hurting him? This argument was exactly what I wanted to avoid.

A gentle knock startled me. Keeping the lights out, I tiptoed to the door to peek out.

Mona. I should’ve guessed she’d come.

She sent a text about half an hour ago to ask if I was doing okay after the awkward moment with my brother. I let her know things had kind of spiraled and that I was on my way home, and now she’d apparently left her hotel to come see about me.

I opened the door and, laying eyes on her, my best friend, the realization of how full I was just hit me all of a sudden. I was a ball of emotion and tears.

“It’s okay,” she said, holding me as we walked back to the couch. “Whatever happened, I’m sure it’ll straighten itself out.”

Maybe she believed it, but I wasn’t sure it was that simple. I could only imagine what was going through Marco’s head. In the very least, he probably hated me for holding this all in until it became a mess neither of us could clean up. I didn’t plan for it to happen like this either.

Mona left me for a moment to grab a tissue from the half-bath off the kitchen. She returned with a wad in her hand and I accepted it, dabbing my eyes.

“Tell me what happened,” she said sweetly. I thought over all the details of the argument and shook my head.

“It was just too much,” I admitted. “I’ve been pretending like I could deal with it, but… it was too much,” I repeated.

Rubbing slow circles on my back, Mona spoke again. “Is that what you told him?”

I’d told him that and so much more, even the lie to my brother had spoken volumes. “There were a lot of things said.” So many things I couldn’t take back, but maybe I wasn’t supposed to take them back. I mean… whether this was how this should’ve been handled, these were my feelings. The things I said and felt were valid.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” Mona said softly, maybe feeling helpless in the moment as I did more crying than talking. However, the truth is there wasn’t anything she, or anyone else, could do.

I simply shook my head.

“I just think maybe you two need to cool off,” she offered up.

“Then how come this feels like more than that? How come this feels like an impasse?” And it totally did. There was no viable solution; nothing to be done that either of us would be entirely comfortable with.

“What do you want?” Mona asked, cutting into my thoughts. “His job aside. What do you want?”

I thought about that, her question; stripped away everything except me and Marco. We had so many factors to overcome throughout this entire journey. Nothing for us had been simple, nothing cut and dry. There were always hurdles and sacrifices. But this was just one we couldn’t seem to get over.

Well… this was one
I
couldn’t seem to get over.

“I want things simple,” I answered.

Mona was quiet for a moment and I wondered what she was thinking.

When she took a breath, I turned her way, wiping more tears. “When you first told me what he does for a living,” she started. “I think I judged him pretty harshly. I may not have said that out loud, but I did,” she admitted, and I wasn’t shocked by the confession. Although, no, she didn’t come right out and say she disapproved, it had been written all over her face.

“I judged him based on things I heard about that lifestyle, the way men in his position are portrayed through the media and… I judged him,” she repeated. “But listening to you talk about him, hearing how much he seems to care about you,
seeing
that firsthand today—Brynn, that man hardly left your side during the shower,” she added. “Every time I saw you, I saw him. And when he
wasn’t
there, he was somewhere close keeping a close eye on you.”

I wasn’t sure if this was all supposed to make me feel better or what, but it definitely wasn’t. Listening to Mona give her new, clearer opinion of Marco, I felt like I made a mistake today; like I should’ve turned a blind eye to what he does, but…

…that didn’t feel totally right either.

Was I supposed to sacrifice my feelings for his? Was I supposed to pretend that these things didn’t matter when they clearly did? Was I supposed to hold all of this in, regardless of how it tore me apart on the inside?

No, that wasn’t the answer, but I can admit to not knowing what the true solution might be.

“I said all that to say,” she went on, “regardless of where you two are right now, it’s so obvious you both love each other.” Her words made me turn toward her again. “I don’t know if you two have admitted that much yet, but it’s clear to me and probably everyone else around you both. And it’s been my experience that, when love is as real, when it runs as deep as I suspect it does between the two of you, things just have a way of working themselves out. Mostly because being apart simply isn’t an option.”

She spoke with such conviction, such certainty, I wanted nothing more than to believe her. Looking down at my stomach, at how much it’d grown, I knew I didn’t have a whole lot of time left. The thought of doing this on my own had all but faded over the last few months as Marco and I drew closer. Now, I was feeling that fear I had in the beginning creeping back in.

“What if you’re wrong, though?” I asked. “Aside from me telling Marco what I feel tonight, I think I cut him pretty deep by lying to Ced like I did.” I brought my hand to my forehead.
How could I have been so stupid? Such a coward?
If I’d been strong enough I would’ve just told the truth. Then, Marco and I could’ve had the exact same conversation after everyone cleared out, but it would have gone a whole lot smoother. For one, Marco wouldn’t have been defensive because he wouldn’t have had to defend his character.

I can admit that I messed up there. The tone of the conversation being one set in negativity was totally my fault regardless of how valid my concerns.

“If I’m wrong,” Mona said next, preparing to answer my question, “then you’re still going to be okay. If it’s not meant for you two to work this out, you’ll make it through because you’re strong, Brynn.”

Strong
… I certainly hadn’t looked at myself that way lately.

As much as they could, Mona’s words settled me enough that I could rest and find some inkling of peace after she’d gone. I still wasn’t convinced that all would turn out exactly the way I wanted it to, but it seemed silly to lie here worrying about a future I couldn’t see, nor could I control. The only thing there was left for me to do was hope Marco and I found a way through this new phase we entered into.

It seemed as though we reached a stalemate.

*****

Marco

He’d put so much into this. The clean, smooth lines and even finish made that clear. It was my hope that this labor of love would, from this day forward, be an heirloom that could be passed down from one generation to the next.

My father stood back, admiring his handiwork as we secured the last screw that assembled the crib he’d built with his own two hands. The pride in his expression was clear and he had every reason to feel that way.

“Looks good, Pop,” I said with a smile, placing my hand in the center of his back as we stood there eyeing the piece together. We’d been at this all day. Not just assembling the crib, but painting and setting up the nursery in general. We brushed on the first coat of pale yellow paint first thing this morning—around six—giving it a chance to dry some before doing the second layer. Standing in the middle of the room, visions of a small girl playing here, growing here, filled my mind and I smiled. She’d be beautiful—equal parts me and her mother.

My father nodded at my statement as he surveyed all the work we’d done, too. It’d been my intention to have it done before the shower, but I was so busy I hadn’t gotten the chance. Now, here we were three weeks after the celebration, putting it all together.

Three weeks. That’s how long it’d been since things felt normal. That conversation with Brynn downstairs in my kitchen was the first piece to fall, triggering a domino effect. I took her home that night, immediately after our talk because she insisted. While she packed, there were a lot of tears on her part; a lot of me trying to convince her I’m nothing more than an entertainer and that
that
side of my life rarely creeps into the other. If ever. I did a lot of explaining how I’d changed over the last several months, but all my effort was in vain. Everything I said fell on deaf ears. The subtle hints I picked up on since telling her what I do were all leading up to that moment.

The moment I lost her.

I must’ve zoned out because my father said my name loudly, as if he’d said it a few times before without getting my attention.

“
Marco
.”

I turned toward him and blinked away the memory of that night that’d just stolen my focus for a moment.

“Is everything okay, son?” he asked. “You’ve been kind of drifting in and out all day.”

Hearing him say that, I suppose I had, but I honestly didn’t think he noticed. Before now, I assumed that keeping myself busy with all the work we’d just put in would mask how distracted I was, but he was too perceptive for that.

“Everything’s good,” I lied, nodding to hopefully make my response more believable. Again, his intuition was too keen for me to pull the wool over his eyes.

A heavy breath beside me brought my eyes to my father’s. His expression was stern, which was a rarity for him, but as a general rule, that look seemed to precede a lecture.

He gestured toward the brand new glider/recliner we positioned in the corner of the room. “Have a seat,” he instructed.

Another general rule when he had this expression: do as you’re told.

My back sank into the cushion and I waited for him to begin. There was a half-empty paint can sitting on top of the drop cloth and he rested there. I stared at the old jeans he wore. There were plenty of oil stains and a collage of paint colors splattered all over the material. The sight of them brought back memories of the many jobs he’d done wearing them—working on my sisters’ cars, painting the shutters on he and my mother’s home, and now today, helping me set up for the newest addition.

A warm look passed my way, softening the hard look he had a moment ago.

“I’ve noticed Brynn’s stopped coming to Sunday dinner,” he started, stating a fact I knew he and the rest of my family had already picked up on. For that reason, it didn’t surprise me to hear him bring it up now. “And I’m assuming it’s not because her schedule has suddenly filled up.”

I didn’t say anything. Just listened.

“She’ll be going in to deliver any day now,” he added, stating this as if I wasn’t already aware.

I nodded, agreeing with him. She was thirty-seven weeks now and at her last appointment a week ago, Dr. Rubino let us know that Brynn’s body was already preparing itself for labor, so we were both well aware of our timeline.

“So,” my father went on, “keep in mind that doesn’t leave you two a whole lot of time to make things right.”