Mollify (2 page)

Chapter 2

Megan

“I’m serious Marcus,” I meekly say to him from where I’m sitting on the edge of his bed.

I hate this bed. It’s cold. Like him. Even when we occasionally share it, I don’t typically sleep.

“You’re not.” He strolls out of his bathroom tightening his tie.

“I am. I don’t...” my voice trails off losing courage with each passing second.

I can do this. I have too.

“I don’t wanna do this anymore Marcus.”

“Yes you do,” he states pulling at the sleeves of his business jacket. “Now if this is about Courtney, I told you. I let her go.”

“This isn’t about you cheating on me with Courtney, or Miranda, or Holly,” the list rattles off my tongue.

I’m not really sure who looks worse right now. And I don’t mean because of the brightly striped color tie he’s wearing.

“Then what is it?” He starts putting on his diamond encrusted watch. My mouth opens to confess, but shuts quickly as he strolls over to me, each foot step a little more terrifying than the last. When he’s close enough he grabs my face roughly for my eyes to meet his. “What is it?”

“You’re hurting me,” I whimper softly. “Please let go. You’re hurting me.”

He squeezes harder. “I don’t like having to hurt you Kitten.”

If you look at the various bruises he’s left I beg to differ.

“But you don’t seem to wanna learn.” Marcus lets go of my face and smirks. “Now, this thing between us isn’t over. I’ll be gone for a few weeks. Work with my father, then a small vacation in Thailand. Try to be a good girl while I’m away.”

Bravely I state, “No. It’s really over Marcus. I’m done. I’m leaving—” His hand flies across my face cutting off the end of the sentence.

Fuck. I’m gonna need someone to realign my jaw.

There’s a sharp jerk as he pulls my body up and states harshly, “We’re not done until I say we’re done.” His lips kiss the middle of my forehead. “See you in a few weeks.”

I hold back my tears. With my hand still cupping the pain, I watch him pull down his sunglasses and casually walk out of his bedroom. When the front door shuts, I let the tears stream down my face.

God, I knew he wouldn’t let me go easy, but not at all? Can you imagine what’s gonna happen when he comes home and I’m not here?

A few more tears leak out of me before I drag my body up and head towards my bathroom on the other side of our apartment.

I say ours, but it’s never felt that way. It feels like a storage unit that holds the few items I managed to escape my Aunt’s house with and an over abundant amount of expensive junk Marcus bought because he thought it would make me happy. In Marcus’ world, money can buy you happiness. And forgiveness. And anything else he fucking wants. Is it bad that I’ve been here over a year and I still feel like a stranger when I walk in the front door? Is it so bad to want to walk into a place and just feel like you’re at home?

In my bathroom I slide open the drawer and grab my concealer to try to hide the latest mark on my face.

Sometimes I’m glad it’s my face and not lower because it’s not nearly as comfortable putting make up on other parts of me. Huh. That sounds fucked up huh?

As soon as the forming bruise is covered, I relocate to the bedroom I sleep in when Marcus is away for business or at one of his other girlfriend’s places, that he denies having.

According to him, I’m his girlfriend. The one he’s gonna marry some day and they’re nothing more than indiscretions that will never matter. I know what you’re wondering. Who says indiscretions besides lawyers, politicians, and business men? I have no fucking idea. But considering he’s the son being groomed to take over his father’s multimillion dollar company, you can imagine why he says it. And before you tell me I should pack my shit and leave, let me remind you he just hit me 10 minutes ago. That was a warning hit. I plan to leave, believe me, but it’s gonna take some time.

Once I’m dressed in my jeans and polo for work, I climb into the Mercedes I hate driving.

One more reminder that Marcus owns me. I might as well be wearing a fucking sandwich board that says property of Marcus Delaney. Maybe on the back we could write free sandwiches just to fuck with him? He doesn’t believe in giving anything away.

The drive to work is light on traffic and filled with overly sappy songs on the radio.

I could use the IPOD thing that Marcus bought, but the less things I can use from him the better. It’ll make the break I’ve been working on easier. You know, it’s moments like today that make me regret ever thinking he was the answer to all my problems.

Thankful to be somewhere safe and peaceful, I park in the back of the bakery that mainly does catering, but also sticks to the roots of the two owners, which is baked goods.

All the cookies a girl could dream of is so one of the perks of this job. Nothing better than a chocolate chip cookie to solve all your problems. Oh! Try having a bite of cookies and then a handful of chips. Best sweet to salty ratio. What? Why are you looking at me like that? What do you mean I remind you of someone?

Walking in through the back, I see Haven Walker, the owner adding the finishing touches to a wedding cake. “You’re here! Thank you!”

“Of course.” I softly try to smile and ignore the throbbing pain in my jaw.

“I know it was real last minute, but Mindy’s daughter is going on her first date tonight and all the men in our family are at their wits end about it.”

“Husband included?”

“Um...Khloe is like a little sister to him, so yes. He’s less than pleasant and not taking this well.”

A giggle comes from me before I sigh, “I would love a family like that....”

Like the one that I had before they died.

“That doesn’t take news well?” She jokes licking the frosting off her thumb.

“That cares that much.”

That cares at all frankly.

Haven slowly approaches, her curvy frame reminding me of my own.

Doubt her husband refuses to let her eat because he thinks her thighs are too close together.

Using two fingers she lifts my chip up. “I didn’t always have that in my life, but if you want it, you might wanna start by leaving that jerk you call a boyfriend.” In shame, I open my mouth to deny, when she touches the area where the fresh bruise is. Instinctually I wince. “And if you’re gonna hide spots like that you need to do it better hon. Rub the concealer in completely then lightly smudge over the spot with your thumb.” Immediately, my face flushes in disgrace painting my usual toffee colored skin a completely different tone. Curious I lift my eyebrows. “No. Clint would never hit me. He’d rather die first.” My shoulders slump. “And that’s how it should be Megan....”

“If you’re lucky...”

Which I am not. Luck is not a lady. Ever. She’s a tramp and apparently not taking any more clients.

“Has nothing to do with luck,” Haven replies sweetly. “More like destiny. Or fate. Now go to the bathroom and fix that mark. I can watch the front until then.”

Nodding I quickly move to the employee bathroom to fix the blemish.

Why didn’t you tell me that trick? Honestly, you’re right. As many times as I’ve had to do this you would think I would do it better...it’s just...I don’t usually leave the house after he hits me. I hide in my room because he’s stormed out. Then hours later he returns to apologize. Swears he won’t do it again and orders us a romantic dine in dinner. It’s a sick pattern that I won’t live in any more. I can’t. Ugh. I don’t wanna talk about Marcus right now. Though one more fun fact before we stop. He won’t let me leave the house without make up on. Did I mention I hate make up?

As soon as it’s fixed, I come out of the bathroom, and head to the front where I plop down on the stool behind the counter. The smell of fresh baked desserts like a little slice of heaven.

Funny since the name of the place is ‘A Slice of Haven’.

Behind the counter I make sure to keep myself busy by cleaning the glass cases. Spot fixing the desserts on display.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to not eat the product?

The door chimes and my eyes shoot up to see a tall, extremely good looking, extremely built guy holding his young daughter.

Good ones are always taken. Sucks. But true.

His jaw drops after one glance at me. Immediately, I wonder if the mark on my face is so hideous he finds it repulsive. In what I hope is a casual sense, I angle my face so the mark isn’t what he is staring at. I watch the guy’s mouth move, but nothing comes out. Doing my best I try not to get lost in deep blue eyes that feel so familiar to me.

Weird. That’s weird right?

“Bubba!” Shouts the little girl in his arms. “Bubba!”

“One sec Little Bit,” he says to her and approaches me quickly. In a very slow speech out comes, “Megan?”

“How...how do you know my name?” I cautiously question gripping the glass cleaner bottle tighter.

I will use this as a weapon if I have too. No it’s not a shot gun, but I bet I could blind someone if necessary. And I swear if this is the route Marcus is taking to keep an eye on me, I won’t hesitate to squirt this shit first and ask questions later.

His voice croaks, “You don’t remember me?”

The sadness in his tone, has me tilting my head to study him further. After looking past his gym shorts that are hanging low on his slightly wide hips and his muscles that are trying to tear his shirt apart like some sort of male stripper, I let my eyes fall deep into his again. They are a deep shade of blue that seems to only get deeper the longer you stare.

There’s only one set I’ve ever met like that in my life. But I know they can’t possibly belong to him. I gave up hope on ever seeing him again when I moved away at the age of 10. You never forget the eyes of the first boy...okay really the only boy you’ve ever loved. Those are definitely his eyes, but there’s no way in hell this is him. We talked about me being unlucky already right?

“Sorry.” I nervously toy with the spray bottle. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“I—”

“Bubba!” the little girl whines again squirming in his arm. “You’re being a bad Bubba!”

“You’re being a bad little sister.”

You heard that too right? He said sister, not daughter? Ugh. Never mind. Not my business. Not even my place to consider thinking about him that way. But look at him! He’s fucking beautiful. I swear he walked right out of a wet dream. Maybe my wet dream. Wait. Is that too personal?

“No Dean!” She scolds.

“No Faith!” He fights back.

At the sound of his name my mouth flops. The bottle drops. My vocal cords become paralyzed from the gnawing of disbelief.

No. Fucking. Way.

I stutter, “D-D-Dean? Like my Dean?”

With a bright smile he nods quickly. “Yeah.
Your
Dean.”

Shit. That probably sounds weird and creepy. Ugh. I’m so awkward. Give me a little credit. Besides my one best friend, the rest of them are book characters. Okay seriously, you’re doing it again. Why are you looking at me like that?

“Oh shit I—”

The little girl points to me. “Mouf.”

Caught off guard by her comment, I cover my face giggling.

“Still as beautiful as I remember,” he mumbles under his breath.

Did he really say that or am I now imagining shit?

“Sorry,” he speaks up louder. “She does that. We’re not supposed to cuss around her. It’s our word we use when putting each other in check.”

“No, I’m sorry.” Looking at the beautiful little girl who clearly has a mixed background, but still looks slightly like Dean I sigh, “I shouldn’t have used that word.”

“It’s okay.” She shrugs happily. “Bubba gets in trouble all the time!”

“Thank you,” he mumbles at her, embarrassment taking hold again. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” the mimicking makes me hide a snicker.

“See what I have to put up with.” He bounces her in his grip.

“She’s adorable.”

“And you’re pretty.” The little girl points at me. “Even with your ouchie.”

Immediately my hand flies to the mark at the same time Dean moves his face to get a better look at it.

Part of me thinks he would understand. After all his father used to beat him black and blue when we were younger. The marks on his body no person, definitely no child, should ever have to encounter. All I ever wanted was to rescue him from that nightmare. To keep him. Sure we were just kids then, but I knew I never wanted anything to ever harm him, or anyone besides me to ever have him.
My
Dean.

He swallows harshly, pain now painted in those ocean blues. “You okay?”

“It was just a little accident. I’m still clumsy after all these years, can you believe it?” I switch the conversation. “But you...you look....like...”

Don’t say an underwear model! I can’t say it, so you can’t say it either!

My tongue wets my lips and he smiles seductively, “Please tell me the end of that sentence is as good as I’m hoping.”

Shit! Who says things like that! Oh my god! No. This is ridiculous. Marcus. Remind me, Marcus. You saw what he did to my face for leaving him, whether he accepts it or not, imagine if he found out I was drooling over Tall, Dark, and Please Fuck Me right after we broke up. Is it still a break up if one person refuses to accept it?

Clearing my throat, I shake away the heat in my face. “Um...Were you here to pick up an order or make one?”

“Pick up,” he softly sighs like the change in subject saddens him.

My fingers begin to log into the system. “Just give me one second to see if it’s ready.”

“It’ll be under Kellar.”

“But your last name is Cofax—”

“Was,” he cuts me off. “It
was
. A lot has changed since you gave me that firetruck that sits in my dresser drawer...”

He didn’t forget? He fucking kept it? Almost ten years later and he kept it? Does that mean it’s less crazy I kept the memento he gave me?

“I used to keep it on display with the picture of us until this one started to walk. She decided everything she could touch was hers.” The description makes me giggle again.

In a whisper pout she states, “It is.”

“See,” he playfully says. “Maybe we catch up tonight and I’ll tell you all about it?”

The way the words come out of his mouth I swear I mishear him say something that sounds dirty that pushes my knees together.

Did he say tell me or feel me? What do you mean feel wouldn’t make any sense in that sentence? Wait. Hold your runaway mind! I’m not wishing he’d say things like that to me...maybe a little? Wow. He didn’t used to have this effect on me. Seriously! Fine! Yes I’m lying! You can stop with the eyebrows. He totally did! But we were ten! I just figured it was because he reminded me of the princes from the cartoons we would watch. And before you even ask, yes. I felt like a princess the day he kissed me.

“At Mimi’s birthday party!” Faith squeals joyfully. “You come to Mimi’s party!”

“Your girlfriend?” I hum typing in his new last name.

“My grandmother,” the correction stops my typing again.

“But—”

“Long story,” he informs me quickly. “One, I will gladly tell you over hot dogs and hamburgers—”

“And cake!” Faith giggles loudly. “Have to have cake!”

“I don’t know,” I mutter under my breath, pulling up his order. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am dying to know what happened to you, to catch up, but I don’t think that would be a good idea...”