Starting Fires (44 page)

Epilogue

Six Months Later

F
rom the couch,
I could hear them arguing, not caring in the least about disturbing my television show.

“Why not?” Lucas loudly asked from the kitchen.

“Just because,” Marlowe countered.

I hoped she wouldn’t come in here and say something like,
Wally, tell him how stupid he’s being.
I so wasn’t interested in getting involved. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be long before this was finished and they’d be snuggled up somewhere. And preferably not in front of me. As happy as I was for them, I had no desire to witness their lovey-dovey eyes.

It was crazy even thinking about Lucas looking at someone that way. As long as I’d known him, he’d never given two shits about any girl, but the guy had it bad for Marlowe. Real bad. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, she’d been leading him around by his dick for a year and a half. From the moment he saw her, he was done for.

“I don’t understand,” Lucas said. “You’re there all the time anyway. What difference would it make?”

He was right. Since she’d gotten her old job back, and he’d opened up his music store, if they weren’t working, they were together. His house or theirs, it didn’t matter. It was starting to feel like we had a fourth roommate.

“Your house is ugly,” she said, making me chuckle. It kind of was.

“We can redecorate.”

She huffed. “Well… you don’t have a pool.”

“I’ll fucking build you one!”

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, slapping something on the counter.

Watching them over the last year had been tough. It was heartbreaking to see them destroy something so beautiful. Thank God, they’d gotten their shit together. I liked to think that I had a part to play in it, but it had almost been lost. After Lucas came back from New York, he’d been a mess. One night he even cried, just a little bit, but enough to make me a tad uncomfortable. I wondered if a girl would ever come along that could make me break down like that. It was doubtful.

In the kitchen, their voices grew louder. “Don’t be stupid!” Marlowe yelled.

“Alright, I’m fucking done with this conversation,” he said and stormed into the living room.

“Wait!” Marlowe said. “Lucas, wait.”

From the couch, I could see him halt his steps, but he didn’t turn around. Marlowe crept over, moving to stand in front of him. With love and affection, she brought her hands to his face, cradling it, as she whispered to him. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she was pouting a little. Her hands moved to link around his neck as she reached up on her tiptoes. When he held her waist and leaned down to give her a kiss, I knew the argument was over.

I had to endure their make-up, and tried not to watch. Eventually, Lucas pulled away. “Okay,” he said. “But you aren’t sleeping over anymore.”

Marlowe tensed, pulling away from him. “What?” she said.

“You can’t have both, Marzy,” he told her.

“Fine!” she said, stomping her foot like a child before storming off to her room. Lucas chuckled as he watched her go then sat in one of the recliners.

Once she was gone, I asked, “You gonna actually follow through?”

He gave me a look that said,
Please. What do you think?
No, then, he wasn’t.

“Is it worth it?” I asked, wondering again about my own non-existent love life.

“Every damn day,” he smiled.

My house was quiet as I lay in bed. And I hated it. Ever since Ian moved out, I couldn’t stand being here alone. That was
one
of the reasons I wanted Marlowe to move in with me, but damn that girl was stubborn. Having her next to me had become the only way I could fall asleep. Last night had been horrible. She hadn’t given in as I thought she would, and I tossed and turned getting zero sleep.

This was night two and I was about five seconds away from walking across the street when I heard my front door open. I smiled as her feet crept down the hallway. “That better be a burglar and not Marlowe Duncan’s fine ass,” I yelled.

She chuckled as she stepped into my room. Standing by the door, she quietly said, “You don’t mean it, do you?”

“No, baby,” I said and pulled the covers back.

With a sigh of relief, she crawled in, immediately wrapping her arms around me. “Good,” she said. “I wouldn’t have been able to hold out much longer.”

“Five seconds, babe,” I said, “in five seconds I would have been walking across the street.”

I felt her smile as she gave my neck a kiss. “Damn,” she said. “I nearly won.” We nuzzled into each other and I finally felt my mind calming.

I was nearly under when she softly said, “I’m just not ready.”

I understood. It was a big decision, but I knew what I wanted. If putting a ring on her finger would have made her decision easier, I would have done it, but that would have freaked her out more. Over the months, I’d been learning how to handle her. She needed care and patience. When Marlowe was ready, she let you know. While she worked things out, I made sure she knew I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Give me some time,” she said.

“Take all the time you need,” I said, giving her a reassuring rub. “I want you here with me, but not if you aren’t ready.”

She sighed, hugging me tightly to her. “I love you,” she whispered.

Hearing her say those words was like a shock to the heart. Her mouth rarely uttered them, saving them to blindside me when I least expected it. I didn’t need her to say it, because I felt it every day from her, but damn it felt good when she did.

“I love you, too,” I said, giving the top of her head a kiss. Within minutes, we were both asleep.

A week later, I was brushing my teeth, and noticed a bright pink toothbrush next to my sink. Marzy never left her things in my house. Ever. I scanned the bathroom counter and saw a feminine hairbrush, too. Smiling around my own toothbrush, I continued getting ready for my day.

Two weeks after that, she was standing in my kitchen, wearing my grey t-shirt. It was too big for her, but I loved when she decided to wear it. As she studied paint palettes, she bit her lip, not realizing that I was smiling at her across the room. I grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and walked towards my couch. Not a minute after I settled into it, she came to me, squeezing in as close as she could. “What do you think about this color for the living room?” she asked me, pointing to a light gray. “We’d need to take the paneling down,” she said. “But I think it’s pretty.”

She could paint it puke green for all I cared, I was just happy that she was even entertaining this idea. “If you like it, I like it, baby.”

She smiled and tilted her head up to me. “What about your room? Do you want to paint it?”

Our
room, I wanted to say, but refrained. “First let’s see how hard this one will be, then we can decide on the others,” I said.

“Okay,” she said and curled into my side. The game was on, and I knew that she didn’t care about it, but watched it anyway, just so she could be close to me. The only regret I had with her is that I’d waited so long to tell her how I felt. I could’ve been experiencing this all along. I moved my beer to my other hand, so I could hold hers.

The next week, I was in my music room, fixing an old guitar, hoping to feature it in my shop. The wood was beautiful, and it had been quite a find. Hearing my front door open, I set it aside and stepped into the hallway. Marlowe was carrying a box, walking with it to my kitchen table. She sat it down with a sigh. “The rest of my things are ready to be moved,” she said, sounding defeated.

I wanted this, but not with her looking so downtrodden. If she was going to be living with me, I wanted her to be excited about it. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” I said, approaching her and giving her back a rub. “I mean it.”

“It’s not that,” she said.

“Then what it is?”

She turned around to face me, bringing her hands to my chest. As she often did when she was going to talk about something that made her uncomfortable, her fingers went to the buttons on my shirt, toying with them. “I want to move in with you,” she said softly. “I do. But…”

Her mouth twisted around as she tried to find the words. I grabbed her around the waist and placed her on the table, moving to stand between her legs. “You can tell me,” I said, brushing her beautiful hair away from her face.

“This… it’s scary,” she confessed. “What if it ruins everything?”

I gave her a reassuring smile. “You’re right,” I said. “It
is
scary. But that doesn’t mean it has to ruin everything. What if it makes everything wonderful?”

“You want me here?” she asked, tears welling in her eyes. “You
really
want me here?”

“Yes,” I said, cradling her face. “A million times yes. You’re my Marzy. And I want you here.” I stopped to give her a tiny kiss. “Do you want to be here?”

Her arms went around my neck as she nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do,” she said, sniffling. “I want this.” As she kissed me, we slowly moved until her back was flush against the table.

Our hands went to work on our clothes, and I lost myself in her. She was my everything. The catalyst that brought happiness to my life. I loved her more than anything I’d ever loved before. The thought used to scare me, but having Marlowe return my love was an addiction that I would never shake. I thirsted for her. Hungered for her. And I burned for her. My fire was strong, and it was never going out.

The End

Acknowledgements

Thank you Jodi
for reading and loving this. You are my cousin, but so much more than that. You’ve been there for me through thick a
nd thin, never judging. I know that I can count on you—for anything. You were the first to read this, and your enthusiasm gave me the courage to share it with others. But you live too far away. I miss you.

Kristen. This book is dedicated to you, but I also feel the need to express how much you mean to me. You believed in this story even when I didn’t. These characters were just as real to you as they were to me, and you were vital in the writing of this. Thank you for telling me, “Mak, you’re better than this,” when you knew something sucked. And thank you even more for being afraid to say it. When we met seven years ago, I thought you hated me, but after a chance encounter on a parking lot curb, you made me laugh and the rest is history.

Teri C., I’m so glad that I shared this with you. Seeing the book through your eyes felt like a dream. You talked about it with me as if I wasn’t the one who wrote it. To you, it was just like any other novel you’d decide to read. You saw these characters. You stepped into their skins and lived this with them. Thank you. It meant so much to me.

My Clayton. Every day you prove to me that I am worthy of love. Despite my insecurities, I know that, in your eyes, I am the most beautiful woman on the face of the planet. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for hugging me when I need to cry and letting me yell when I need to vent. In all, thank you for putting up with me. I know I don’t make it easy. You’re my best friend and I love you.

If it wasn’t for Neil Gaiman, I don’t think I would have written this book. We’ve never met or spoken, and probably haven’t even been in the same state, but his words, his wonderful, beautiful words, inspire me in ways I cannot even articulate. Discovering him is probably one of the most meaningful events of my life. The world needs more Gaimans. So thank you, Neil. Thank. You. So. Much.

And finally, you. You, behind your paperback, or phone, or other reading device. I hope you enjoyed the journey that we shared. I know that parts of this story were frustrating. Sometimes I wanted to hug Marlowe, and sometimes I wanted to smack her in the face. Whatever you feel about her and these characters, thank you for taking a chance on me.

About the Author

Starting Fires
is
the debut novel for Makenzie Smith, an independent writer residing in Louisiana. She is obsessed with books, fantasy, and her daughter. If she isn’t indulging in one of her infatuations, she is daydreaming. Contact her, she’d love to hear from you.

You can follow her on instagram and twitter @makenzieherself. Or visit her facebook page at
facebook.com/authormakenziesmith
. If you are interested in upcoming projects, she can also be contacted via her website at
www.authormakenziesmith.com