Her Forbidden Hero (17 page)

Goddammit.
Not only was it not true, but it was exactly the kind of mean dig her father used to specialize in. He’d grown up cursing Joseph Scott for what he did to his kids, and now he’d done the same thing to one of them.

Far from being weak and helpless, Alyssa was one of the strongest people he knew. He’d been living in hell for less than a year and felt like the weight of it might just break him. The hell she’d grown up in had been worse by far—it was longer, more personal, not of her own making, and perpetrated by someone she had every right to expect would love and protect her. Yet Alyssa had come out the other side a better person. She hadn’t let the experience of her father’s abuse break or embitter her. Marco could learn a thing or two.

That wasn’t even the worst of it, though. He’d lost one of his closest, oldest friends. Setting aside how much he cared about her and all the complications that gave rise to, he’d first met Alyssa when he was twelve years old. Along with Brady, he’d known her longer than he’d known anyone outside of his family. With so little permanence in his life right now, that loss cut to the very heart of him.

And she was so clearly suffering. Her eyes had grown darker, her skin paler. She never joined them in the break room, which everyone noticed and speculated about. She talked softly, smiled less openly, and hardly ever laughed. He recognized this girl from another time in her life, and knowing he was the cause of it made him realize he was on the same path of bitterness and despair Joseph Scott had walked.

That realization was the kick in the ass he needed. He didn’t want to be that man. Not for Alyssa. Not for himself.

Not to mention, three men had died because of something he’d done wrong. For nearly a year, he’d wallowed in self-pity and selfishness, but no more. Now it was time to live, to make amends.

Problem was, Marco had no idea how to make it right. Any of it. And in the meantime, the image of the horrified expression Alyssa had worn as he ranted at her filled his mind, night and day.

Dinner service on Friday was loud and rowdy. The band was there for two nights because there was so much demand to see them. Marco liked their music, a bluesy rock that brought down the house every time they’d been there, but he resented the pace of work their presence created because he never got a chance to open a conversation with Alyssa.

As the applause after the last encore died down, Marco turned to Jameson. “I need a huge favor, man.”

“Yeah? What’s up?” Jameson said, tucking his surfer-dude hair behind his ear.

“I really need to take care of something right now. Would you consider running through the closing solo tonight if I do the same for you tomorrow?”

Jameson looked at him for a moment. “Sure. Everything okay?”

Marco wiped his hands on a towel and sighed. “No. But I’m hoping it will be.”

“Good luck,” Jameson said as he collected the empties off the bar.

Marco was already on his way out. His brain slipped into operations mode as he planned a strategy to fix things with Alyssa.

Hell, Marco. This doesn’t require a strategy. Just some damn honesty
.

Not wanting to miss her before she left, he flopped on the couch in the lounge, determined to wait for her to get done. Half an hour later, a conversation reached him from the hallway.

“I think I just need to go home,” Alyssa’s voice said.

“Do you need a lift?” Marco frowned as he recognized Eric’s voice. “Maybe you’re coming down with something.”

“Maybe. But that’s okay. It’s not far.” Alyssa appeared in the doorway. “Thanks, though.”

Marco’s brain tuned out whatever Eric said in response as his senses drank Alyssa in. She wore a too-big white T-shirt tied in a knot at the small of her back and a pair of skinny black jeans that just covered her Chucks. Damn, she looked good.

Her gaze cut to him on the sofa. Her eyes were a different story—shadowed and exhausted. She crossed to her locker without saying a word.

Marco rose. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said in a tired voice. She slung her purse over her shoulder and shut the metal door.

He stepped to her side. “I’m sorry.”

Alyssa glanced up at him, for the first time in a week really looking at him. “Me, too.” Tears filled her eyes but didn’t fall.

Marco cupped her cheek in his hand, his thumb swiping over the purple circles. “You’re not sleeping.”

She shrugged one shoulder as her gaze dropped just below his. A single tear spilled down her cheek. “Neither are you.”

“Alyssa, I—”

She grabbed his hand and pushed it away. “Let’s not do this, okay?”

“But—”

“I gotta go.” She crossed the room.

Marco watched her walk out the door, debated for a long moment, then took off after her. He caught up to her in the parking lot. “Wait.”

She glanced over her shoulder but kept walking.

“Aly, I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

Alyssa unlocked her driver’s door and pulled it open. She paused when the wall of steel and glass separated them. “No, you shouldn’t have. Although that’s not the same as saying you don’t believe what you said, is it?” She sank into her seat and pulled the door shut.

Her words sank in as her engine whirred to life.
Believe…?
Marco gasped and pounded on the window. Through the glass, she looked up at him but then reversed the car out of the spot. Marco held out his hands. “Alyssa, wait! I didn’t…”

She pulled away. Marco’s gaze followed her taillights as she crossed the lot, his mind spinning into overdrive. Every bone in his body demanded he go after her. But for now—for her—he could be patient.

Realization slammed into him. He could be patient because…over the past week, he’d been building toward a resolution. She was one of his oldest friends, the only person who accepted him unconditionally, and the woman he loved—

Marco sucked in a breath.

Good God. He did. He
loved
her. Her absence had made him sure of that.

In her presence these past few weeks, when he’d started smiling and laughing again—that wasn’t fake like he’d assumed. And that didn’t include the comfort and solace she’d brought him that had given him not only peaceful sleep, but a reprieve from the nightly punishment of his subconscious.

To think that all this time he’d been looking for a purpose, for who he was supposed to be now, for a path that led from the dark into the light. And he’d found it in the one person who had been there all along.

None of this fixed all the things that complicated a possible relationship. But it was time for Marco to man up and admit what was going on with him instead of hiding behind a false facade and the pretense that, somehow, she was at fault.

Tomorrow, he would try again.

Back in her hotel room, she traded the dress pants, blouse, and heels she’d worn to the interview for her skinny black jeans, Chucks, and—she debated on the shirt. A week without access to a washing machine had left her in desperate need of a trip to the Laundromat. The last clean white shirt she had was the tank top with the scoop back Marco had criticized her for wearing.

Screw it.

She pulled it over her head, added a necklace and the diamond studs Marco had given her years ago, and put her hair in a ponytail. The ends were curlier than usual because of how she’d styled her hair for the interview, and it made her feel cute. She appreciated the boost.

Now, what to do about food? At this point, her options were the vending machine down the hall, a fast-food drive-thru, or the really good, really free food at Whiskey’s.

Alyssa drummed her fingers on the bathroom counter. She’d not only been in the same room with Marco last night, she’d also talked to him. And she’d survived. If he were hanging out in the break room today, she’d survive that, too.

Right. Okay. So… She grabbed her purse and keys and headed to work.

Of course, Marco was there.
Just act normal
, she thought, giving herself a pep talk. “Hey, guys.” She slipped into a seat, placing Van between her and Marco.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Alyssa Scott,” Van said, elbowing her.

She squinted at him. “Who are you, again?”

Tommy guffawed. Quiet sounded loudly from Marco’s seat, but Alyssa was sure she could feel his gaze. It tempted her to look down the table at him, but she held fast and focused on the southwestern macaroni and cheese she was fast becoming addicted to.

“Seriously, what’s been up with you? Everything okay? Eric said you were sick last night,” Van said.

She swallowed a bite. “No, I’m fine. I’ve just been busy looking for an apartment and…stuff.” She shrugged. “Don’t worry”—she winked at Van—“it wasn’t your cooking or anything. I’d tell you.”

He grinned and rocked his chair back. “It’s a good thing I like you.”

Alyssa smiled. “Sure is. Where’s Eric today?” She asked the question before thinking, and she hated the heat that rose to her cheeks when she thought of Marco accusing her of leading Eric on.

Van rose and collected his dishes. “The band’s been keeping him running with special requests all morning. Now that the waitstaff is starting to arrive, Pete’s going to put two of you on the green room until they go onstage. I need Eric in the kitchen.”

“Oh, okay. Does this happen a lot?”

“No,” he said. “But when a band has a two-day gig, they often come in early on the second day and then this happens. And”—he leaned down next to her and spoke under his breath—“these guys act like they’re entitled rock stars, demanding this and that all damn day. Every time they’re here.” He rolled his eyes.

Alyssa grinned. “They
are
good.”

Van and Tommy groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re another drooling fan girl,” Van said. “My opinion of you will forever be ruined.”

Alyssa turned in her seat to reply and found herself gazing into Marco’s intense blue eyes, framed by the reappearance of the circles she’d helped chase away a week ago. “Uh…”

Van shook his head. “One mention of the rock stars from hell and her brain goes to mush. I have one word for you, Alyssa. Are you ready?”

She blinked away from Marco’s hold on her and focused on Van. “Um. Sure.”

“Overrated.”

“You think so?”

Tommy smiled and got up from the table. “Don’t get him started. Fair warning.”

Van glared at the other man, then turned back to her. “Way,
way
overrated.”

She forced herself to shake off the dazed feeling Marco’s sad eyes had caused. “Hmm. So what you’re saying is, they’re the best band ever.”

Van turned on his heel. “That’s it. Now you’re just being cruel.”

The laughter that spilled out of her was the first in a week. “Aw, don’t be that way.”

He continued ranting down the hall and Alyssa couldn’t help but smile. And then she realized she was all alone with Marco.

Marco turned toward her and rested his elbows on his knees. God, he really was a beautiful man, even if he had broken her heart. “I really need to talk to you.”

She got up from the table. “I have stuff I need to be doing.”

He followed and stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the clean scent of soap on his skin. “It doesn’t have to be here or now. But later, after work?”

She lifted her gaze to respond, and his knuckles caressed her cheek. Jeez, but hope was such a desperate bitch sometimes, wasn’t it? Because Alyssa would’ve sworn that Marco was looking at her with something close to love in his eyes. She stepped back. “I don’t know…”

He didn’t let her get away, instead coming right up in front of her again, his hand curling around her neck. “I do. Give me a chance to make this right. Please.” He massaged her neck with gentle squeezes she felt everywhere.

“O-okay.”

“Okay?” He gave her a small smile.

She ducked her chin. “Yeah.”

His lips pressed to the top of her head and Alyssa bit down on the inside of her cheek. She held still, afraid to move lest she break the spell that had apparently fallen over him. She couldn’t think of another explanation for his tenderness. Not after the way he’d treated her last week, first with the avoidance, and then with the ugly outburst.