No Place That Far (20 page)

A few more minutes, though, and Marcus knew damn well he'd cave in. And sooner or later, this thing would go down in flames, and Timur would hate him.

He looked Timur in the eye, forcing himself not to lose his composure. “I don't want you changing your life for me, Timur. You've got a career waiting over there. I want you to get on that plane tomorrow.”

“And if I want to stay here?”

Marcus winced. That was far too much pressure. Someone else bending the course of his life around him? No way.

He let go of Timur's hand and stood. “I need to go.”

“What? But you're…”

“I have to.” He took a deep breath. “Safe travels, Timur. I'm sorry this couldn't have ended better.”
For both of us.

Marcus didn't wait for a response. Though he felt like an ass, stopping just short of sprinting for the door, he had to get the hell out of there before he changed his mind. And with the way his resolve eroded a little more every time he looked in Timur's eyes, that was going to happen quickly.

So he left.

He didn't say good-bye to Chris or Julien. He'd apologize to Chris at work tomorrow. Apologize to Julien when he saw him next. Apologize to Timur…

He swallowed the lump rising in his throat and keyed himself into his car. There'd be time for apologies later. Tonight, all he could do was get away before he hurt Timur even more. Before he brought him home, kept him there and ruined everything Timur had in exchange for a few months of bliss before this thing flamed out.

What the hell is wrong with me?

He'd been begging the universe for a little more time with Timur, for a solution to his soldier-lover's inevitable departure. And when the opportunity fell into his lap to keep Timur here longer—forever, even—he'd run like hell.

Sweaty palms slippery on the wheel, he drove on autopilot back toward his place, all the while racking his brain for answers. Some explanation. Something that made some goddamned sense.

I want him to stay. He's willing to stay. Why the hell am I running?

And just like that, the penny dropped.

It wasn't that he'd been wishing Timur could stay here forever. He'd been wishing that things with Timur would stay
the same
forever. And they wouldn't. There was no way in hell they would. Sooner or later, Timur would find a reason to resent him. And then Marcus would find a reason to return that resentment. The sex they were enjoying now would deteriorate into occasional middle-of-the-night quickies just to take the edge off, assuming they'd each had enough to drink to find the other arousing, but not so much they couldn't do anything about it.

They'd fight more than they talked, and, eventually, wouldn't even bother to do that very often because who the fuck cared. Their fights wouldn't end in compromise, but their dreams sure would. Separate bedrooms. Separate lives. Separation.

And in the end, Timur would look at him with nothing but contempt, because Marcus would be the guy who cost him the future he'd worked for. Marcus would be the reason Timur didn't get the retirement he deserved, just like Ray was the reason Marcus had never gone to Florence. Marcus would be the reason Timur stopped believing in love, like Marcus himself had a long, long time ago.

Marcus forced back tears. It shouldn't hurt this much. And, damn it, he should go back to Chris and Julien's and explain this to Timur now that he understood it.

But he didn't. He couldn't.

Tonight, all he could do was drive.

Chapter Eighteen

Marcus barely slept that night. When he did sleep, he dreamed about that conversation with Timur. When he was awake, he was on edge, waiting for his doorbell or ringtone to announce that Timur hadn't given up so easily.

But the call never came. No one showed up at his door.

The next day, Marcus cleaned his apartment from top to bottom just to give himself a reason not to look at the clock every few minutes. That didn't help, though.

Noon. Timur was probably packed and ready to go. Probably having lunch with Chris and Julien.

Two. En route to the airport, no doubt, so he could be there three hours early because it was an international flight.

Two thirty. Saying good-bye to Chris and his wartime comrade on the curb at Sea-Tac.

With his heart in his throat, Marcus left for work at five and tried not to imagine Timur boarding his flight. Putting his carry-on in the bin. Taking his seat. Maybe hurting, maybe hating Marcus, probably both.

And damn his timing, while Marcus was prepping his station for the night, he glanced at the Grey Goose clock above the back room.

Five forty-seven.

Assuming there were no delays, the plane was wheels up. Maybe even at cruising altitude by now.

Timur was gone.

Well. Ready to move on, Marcus? Find a new piece of ass and have casual sex with no strings whatsoever?

Yeah, right.

He tore his gaze away from the clock and went back to getting garnishes and well drinks set up for the night. The front door opened, letting in the blinding daylight as one of the bartenders or bouncers or whoever showed up. Marcus didn't really care who it was. He didn't care about much of anything.

But out of habit, he glanced up.

The door closed, and…that wasn't a bartender.

Well, Chris was there. But the man striding across the room, heading straight for Marcus's station and looking like he was about to flip a table?

That would be a certain ex-legionnaire.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Julien snarled. “What the fuck are—”

“Easy, Julien,” Chris called after him.

Julien glanced back then turned to Marcus again, and when he stopped in front of the bar, he lowered his voice. “Are you insane?”

Marcus exhaled. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want to know why the fuck I put my best friend on a plane today without you there to even say good-bye to him.”

“How much did he tell you?”

Julien's lips thinned into a bleached line. “He told me he suggested staying, that he finally admitted how he felt about you, and you bolted.”

Marcus opened his mouth to speak, but Liam appeared beside him, eyeing Julien. “Is, uh, everything okay here?”

“Yeah.” Marcus glanced at Julien. To his boss, he said, “You mind if I step out for a few minutes?”

Liam's eyebrows rose, but he nodded. “Just be ready when the doors open.” He clapped Marcus's shoulder and added a gentle squeeze, as if to reassure him he was there.

“Thanks, boss.”

Marcus and Julien went out the back door into the alley behind the club, since customers would be lining up fairly soon and didn't need to see any of this.

Outside, with no one else around, Julien faced him, arms folded loosely across his chest and eyebrows raised. “You were saying?”

Marcus gulped. “Look, Timur and I talked last night, and he was talking about wanting to stay here. To be with me. And I… We barely know each other.”

“So what?” Julien inclined his head. “You're just going to let him go?”

“What do you want me to do?”

Julien pinched the bridge of his nose. “You do realize…” He blew out a breath, dropped his hand and met Marcus's gaze. Teeth clenched, he said, “Listen, it's not like Timur is just going to another state or to some first-world foreign country. He's going back to the Legion, Marcus. He's going back to places you can't even imagine. Do you know what kinds of diseases we picked up in some of those places? Or how close we came to getting shot or blown up?” He threw up his hands. “Do you want him to be—”

“What do you want me to say?” Marcus glared at him. “Timur likes what he does. You liked it. You've told me the stories.”

“I joined the Legion because I needed to escape the life I had before,” Julien growled. “And even though it saved my life, and I met a lot of men whom I consider my brothers now, don't think for a minute it wasn't hell.”

“Of course it was.” Marcus swallowed. “It's war.”

“Exactly. Going back to that, Timur could easily…”

“I know. But does that mean I'm obligated to—”

“You're not obligated to do anything.” Julien's shoulders sagged a bit, some of the anger deflating. “I just… I can't imagine why you'd let him go. You guys seemed…” He shook his head. “Whatever was going on between you two, it was so—”

“I had to let him go, because I've done almost exactly what Timur wanted to do for me,” Marcus snapped. “And I don't want him to resent me for that in a few years.”

Julien drew back, eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Marcus cleared his throat to keep his composure. He raked a hand through his hair and started pacing, because he couldn't stand still with all this nervous energy. “My ex-husband. He… I had an offer from one of the top restaurateurs in the world. Executive chef in a restaurant in Florence.”

“As in, Italy?”

Marcus nodded. “The money was amazing. The location?” He laughed bitterly. “I was going to live in
Florence
, for God's sake. Plus, unlimited creativity. This guy, he wanted a chef who came up with new and unique dishes. He was extremely hands-off—the executive chef who was retiring, the guy I'd be replacing,
raved
about how amazing it was to work for this guy.”

“But you didn't go?”

Shaking his head, Marcus sighed, the weight of that regret still pressing down hard on his shoulders, even after all these years. “Ray and I were already engaged at that point, but he wanted to open the place here in Seattle. He didn't like the idea of moving over there. I thought…” he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, “…I thought it was just because he wanted to stay close to his family.” Lowering his hand, he stopped pacing and faced Julien. “But I realized he wanted a place of his
own
. He didn't want to work for anyone else, and he wanted me working for him. Going to Florence, that wouldn't have happened. But staying here…”

“Wow,” Julien said, “I'm sorry to hear how that worked out.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Honestly, the very fact that we're having this conversation means you wouldn't do that to Timur.”

Marcus eyed him. “What do you mean?”

Julien chewed his lip. “Look, I came here tonight to flip out at you because I thought you'd just tossed him to the wind. But, listening to you now, you do care about him. And you want him to be happy. Right?”

“Absolutely.” The word almost broke Marcus's composure. He cleared his throat twice. “I love him, Julien. I do.”

“I know.” Julien stepped closer and put his hands on Marcus's shoulders. “I know you think that asking him to stay means asking him to let go of his dreams and his future, but I know him. Quite possibly better than he knows himself.” He paused, looking straight into Marcus's eyes. “Timur joined the Legion because he needed to get away from a shithole town and a fucked-up family. There was no future for him there. The one thing he always talked about, the only thing he ever dreamed about, was eventually finding someone to go home to.”

Marcus swallowed.

Julien went on. “The Legion is not Timur's dream, Marcus. You are.”

So much for composure.

Julien wrapped his arms around Marcus and stroked his hair. “He loves you, Marcus. He told me the day Chris and I got home.”

“But what do I do?” Marcus pulled back and wiped his eyes. “He's already gone.”

“Not quite.”

Marcus searched Julien's eyes. “What do you mean?”

“He'll be in Paris tomorrow. For a few days. No more than a week.”

“You know for sure he'll be there?”

Julien nodded. “The jet lag is pretty brutal going over there. He's planning to spend a few days just relaxing.” He held Marcus's gaze. “If you can reach him, you can still stop him from reenlisting.”

“
If.
A last-minute plane ticket to Paris isn't cheap.”

“No, but neither is five years of regret.”

Marcus flinched. “Do you have any way to reach him?”

Julien shook his head. “I've always had to contact him through the Legion. He's…electronically, impossible to reach.”

“Fuck.” Marcus rubbed a hand over his face.

Then he paused.

He looked at Julien. “Do you really think if I got to him, he'd change his mind?”

“If you flew halfway around the world for him? Absolutely.”

Marcus took a deep breath. “I have an idea.”

Chapter Nineteen

When Marcus asked Liam if he could leave, and quite possibly take the next few days off, Liam took one look at him and practically shoved him out the door.

“Whatever it is, I know it's important.
Go.
” Then he'd turned to Julien. “How'd you like to learn to tend bar for a night?”

Julien's eyes got huge.

Marcus didn't stay to find out if he took Liam up on the offer—he headed out the front door and jogged across the parking lot to his car.

I could just call,
he told himself as he turned onto Broadway.

But he drove anyway, heading from Capitol Hill toward the skyscrapers of downtown Seattle. Something like this needed to be done face-to-face, no matter how much pride he'd have to swallow to do it.

He parked in the parking garage at the base of the building. It was expensive, but hopefully worth it. With his stomach roiling and his heart pounding in his ears, he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button to go to the penthouse.

All the way up, floor after floor, he prayed this would work. Every step of it, from this point to begging Timur's forgiveness. It was a long shot, that was for sure.

The elevator stopped.

Marcus gulped.

The doors slid open, and the scent of garlic, shallots and celeriac met his nose. He didn't let himself look at the glowing blue sign above the entryway, and walked inside.

He didn't recognize the hostess. She smiled at him over the podium. “Good evening, sir. Welcome to Le Chien Bleu. How many?”

“Actually…” he cleared his throat, “…I need to speak to Ray.”

The smile didn't falter. “What name should I give him?”

“Marcus.”

She nodded. “I'll be right back. Excuse me for one second.”

“Take your time.”
Please hurry.

It was probably less than two minutes, but felt like an eternity, before the hostess returned with Marcus's ex-husband on her heels.

He stopped, staring wide-eyed at Marcus, the overhead lights picking out sparks of gray hair along the sides of Ray's head. His eyes flicked toward the hostess, and he gestured for Marcus to come with him.

Without a word, Marcus followed. They'd had more than a few fights here but were always careful to keep it behind closed doors. Amazing how much a man could rein in his temper when business was on the line.

A few of the servers and all the cooks noticed Marcus's presence. He didn't make eye contact, but he could feel their double takes and hear the falter in their wine presentations and food preparation. It had been a few months since he'd been here, and even though the arguments had been kept hidden, it had been impossible
not
to feel the tension.

Ray closed the office door, cutting off the familiar sounds of a busy restaurant, and studied Marcus. “This is…unexpected.” His tone was guarded. “What, uh, brings you in?”

Pulse still thundering, Marcus swallowed hard. “I need your help.”

Ray's eyes widened. “Oh. Um. Okay. What do you need?”

“It's a long story.” Marcus folded his arms and shifted his weight, but then realized how defensive he looked, so he lowered his arms. And didn't know what to do with them. Shit, when had it become so difficult to just stand in the same room as Ray?

“Marcus?” Ray stepped closer, his gaze softening. “What's wrong? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“No, nothing like that.” Marcus could
not
look him in the eye, no matter how hard he tried. “I need to get to France. As soon as possible.”

Ray straightened. “France?”

“Yeah. It's…” Marcus waved a hand. “It's really complicated and hard to explain. But I need to get there. Fast. And I…” He took a deep breath.
Here goes
. “I can't afford it on my own.”

“I see.” Ray stepped around behind his desk and opened his laptop. “How soon?”

“As soon as I can.”

“Okay.” Ray's brow furrowed as he punched in his login password. Then he brought up his browser and went to a travel website. “France, you said? As in, Paris?”

Marcus shifted. “Charles de Gaulle Airport.”

Ray glanced at him, the question written all over the creases in his forehead, but he didn't ask. “Okay, let's see…” He started typing again. Clicked a button. Then he whistled. “Wow. A flight out tomorrow night is twenty-eight hundred.”

Marcus's heart dropped. “Shit.”

“That'll get you there on Sunday, though. Late evening.”

“But it's…” Marcus pushed out a breath. “Shit, that's a lot of money.”

“Money's not the issue.” Ray met his eyes. “You really need to get there, don't you?”

There was no way in hell Marcus was falling apart again. Not here, not in front of Ray. Without speaking, he nodded.

Fingers clattered across keys. “There is a flight out early tomorrow morning.”

“How much?”

“Do you want to be on it?”

More than you can imagine.
“How much is it?”

“Marcus.” Ray shook his head. “I can tell this is important to you.” He paused. “I can tell
he's
important to you.”

Marcus jumped. “Who said anything about ‘he'?”

Ray smiled, a combination of sadness, nostalgia and genuine affection in his eyes. “I was married to you for a long time. I know you.” He gestured at the computer. “Do you want to be on the flight tomorrow morning or not?”

Avoiding his eyes, Marcus nodded. “Yes.”

Ray tapped a key. He entered a few details and then pulled out a debit card and entered the numbers. One more click and… “Done. Go home and pack. You need to be at the airport by two fifteen.”

Marcus didn't move. “How much do I owe you?”

“We'll work that out when you get back.” Ray slid his card back into his wallet and stood. As he came around the desk, he added, “Whoever he is and whatever is going on is more important than the money.”

“Thank you, Ray. It means a lot.”

“You're welcome.” Ray hugged him. “Good luck. And let me know when you land safely, all right?”

“I will.”

“Now go home and pack.”

“I'm on it.” As they released each other, Marcus smiled. “I really appreciate this.”

“I know you do.” Ray squeezed his arm. “And I hope whoever's in France knows how lucky he is.”

Lucky—after he'd let him go, even pushed him away. The thought almost turned Marcus's stomach. Even though he had a lot of time to pack and get ready, nervous tension was settling in his neck. He wanted to be going, doing something. In that mood, he'd drive to the airport many hours too early. “I think the record so far is mixed in terms of luck.” Marcus shrugged and pushed his hands into his pockets. “I just have to fix a mistake.”

“Good luck. And if it works out and you want to introduce him…”

“Yeah, maybe. I think he'd appreciate the food.” He searched Ray's face, but Ray seemed quite mellow—wistful rather than jealous. He wouldn't rush it, introducing them, but considering Ray lent him the money, keeping Ray at arm's length would be strange. They were over each other, and Marcus felt like he was over the resentment. Bottom line, they'd had some good years. Quite a few of them. They'd built this place together from a third-rate eatery, had gutted the whole thing, had worked so hard that one of their running jokes was to torch it, take the insurance money and run—and more than once, they'd been actually just another minor disaster away from doing exactly that. And now, just looking around, he saw that the waitstaff were perfectly poised, the decor was tasteful, everything flawless, working like clockwork. Above all, the patrons seemed to be enjoying the food and having a good time. They'd built this, and even if Ray owned it all now, he was also still running it, still tied into all this, and it looked good on him. This place was very much Ray, but Marcus remembered fondly how hard he himself had worked. He'd bet if he walked into the kitchen, things were still pretty much run the exact same way he'd set them up there.

They'd done good.

Ray touched his arm. “Marcus, get out of here. Pack your things and go catch your flight.”

“I know. I will.” Marcus took a half step toward the door, but hesitated. Then he turned and wrapped his arms around his ex-husband, hugging him tight. “Thank you again.”

“You're welcome.” Ray hugged him back. “You know I'd do anything for you.”

Marcus nodded against Ray's shoulder. In spite of all the bitterness and drama between them, he knew that was true.

“Go,” Ray whispered, nudging him back. “I don't want you missing whatever's at the end of that flight.”

Marcus's heart sped up. What was waiting on the other end? Rejection? Reconciliation?

Only one way to find out.