Scars from a Memoir (25 page)

“Hungry?”

I shook my head.

“Let me get you something to drink.”

I followed him into the kitchen and watched his fingers lift two mugs out of the cabinet and fill them with coffee from the automatic dispenser. He dumped a little cream and two spoonfuls of sugar into mine. I hadn't told him how I took my coffee; he remembered from the last time I was here. He gave me the mug, but my eyes didn't
leave his fingers. They were long, thin, and masculine, and his nails were trimmed and rounded. They would look good on me.

He went into the freezer and took out a pint of ice cream and two spoons, setting them between us. The few silver hairs in his scruff sparkled under the kitchen light, making him look distinguished and professional. Age was attractive on him. While working the track, I'd learned that the younger men were usually selfish and inexperienced. Mark had showed me he wasn't either of those things.

“You know you want some,” he said with a mouthful.

The ice cream was chocolate, with swirls of marshmallow and caramel. I reached in and our spoons touched.

“You first,” he said, pulling out.

I brought the spoon up to my mouth, and he watched my lips cover it and my tongue lick the ice cream off, observed the way I swirled it around in my mouth before I swallowed. His mouth opened slightly for just a second and then closed. There was some chocolate on my bottom lip, and I sucked it until it was gone. My eyes never left his.

I took another spoonful, and because his was still in the ice cream, our fingers touched. A shiver ran up my arms, down my chest, and past my stomach. My eyes closed, and I took a deep breath. When they opened, they landed on his lips. They were full and soft, and I could almost feel them on my neck.

An urge had taken over, and only Mark could fill it. I'd felt the attraction when I'd gone to his bar opening. Maybe even before. Had I been fighting this because of Asher's connection with my brother? I didn't know. What I did know was how sexy Mark's smile had been when he listened to music with Asher in his office, how he always showed up whenever I needed to be saved, how safe I felt when his arms were around me.

He put the ice cream back in the freezer and the spoons in the sink. He walked toward me; I was directly in his path, but he stopped a foot away. His hands clenched at his sides as though he were trying to keep them from reaching out. I leaned against the wall, eyeing him invitingly.

He took a step closer, sending me a whiff of his scent. It was woodsy with a hint of musk. My back arched and my head moved down so the side of my neck was exposed.

His breathing deepened.

My eyes were the best feature on my face, and I knew how to use them. How to open them just enough that only the deep, ocean blue showed. How to slowly blink, revealing the length and thickness of my lashes. Mark's gaze became even more intense, and his hands slammed into the wall behind me. His head dipped, and his lips hovered in front of mine.

I knew Mark too well; he wasn't going to kiss me without my permission. He needed to hear the words because of what had happened between us in the hallway of his bar when I'd been high. But I wasn't ready for words just yet.

I pressed my fingers into his stomach and climbed my way up to his hair, grabbing a handful and pushing his face into mine. I could taste the sweetness of the chocolate and marshmallow. I wanted more.

The way his shirt lay on his chest showed the tightness of his muscles. There were too many buttons to undo. I held both sides of the collar and started to pull, but he stopped me. He grabbed my hands and held them in place.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

He took a deep breath. “I can't do this. Not tonight.”

My face turned red. The ice cream sloshed around in my stomach. Mark was rejecting me? Now? After giving me a taste of his lips?

I pulled my fingers out of his hand and moved around him.

He blocked me from the side. “Nicole, listen to me.” He held my cheeks with his palms. “I care about you so much.”

I shook his hands off. “Just not in
that
way.”

“That's not true. I want you. But tonight, I just want to hold you.” He pulled me into his chest and pressed his lips against the top of my head.

He just wanted to hold me? No one had ever said that to me before.

My breathing slowed, and my body relaxed. He wasn't rejecting me because he didn't want to have sex with me. He wanted to comfort me and be there for me the way I needed him to be. Mark was amazing.

-29-

I WOKE TO LIPS ON THE BACK OF MY NECK and hands curled around my stomach. The scent coming from behind me wasn't Asher's. It was toothpaste, mixed with a hint of cologne and sleep. The sheets and blanket wrapped around me weren't mine. Suddenly, memories from last night came rushing back, and I rolled over. Mark's face met me.

His thumb brushed a piece of hair behind my ear, and his palm cupped my cheek. “Good morning.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but my words were stuck. His hands were powerful, and a shiver ran up my chest.

“Do you want some breakfast?”

I nodded, and he got out of bed. He was wearing basketball shorts and a T-shirt but changed into jeans and a V-neck.

I waited for him to leave the room before I got out of bed. Mark had given me a pair of boxers, and I'd worn my tank top to sleep in. My jeans and sweater were folded on a shelf in his closet. That wasn't the way I had left them last night. I put on my clothes and went into the bathroom, noting that yesterday's mascara and liner were smudged under my lower lids. I washed my face and swished around some mouthwash.

The scent of coffee hit me as soon as I got to the bottom of the stairs. He handed me a mug when I walked into the kitchen and placed a bowl of fruit in front of me as I sat at the bar. The pineapple made my mouth pucker.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked.

“Your bed is really comfortable.”

He smiled. “That's the only reason you slept well?”

“Maybe,” I said, returning the smile.

He flipped the pancakes one last time. Then he moved around the island and set the plate in front of me. “I hope you like blueberry?”

I didn't take my eyes off his lips. “I do.”

I squirted a little syrup over the top and handed the bottle to Mark. He wasn't looking at the bottle; he was staring at me. My body was responding, but I didn't want him to know that. After last night, I didn't want him to think I was begging for his touch, so I filled my mouth with a bite of pancake. He hadn't picked up his fork and was still holding the syrup. He hadn't sat down yet. I took a sip of orange juice. “Aren't you hungry?”

He nodded.

“Are you going to eat?”

He nodded again.

I shifted in my chair to face him, and he pressed his thighs against my knees. He hadn't wanted to have sex last night, and I understood why. But it was morning. There was no reason to wait.

*   *   *

As I walked out of the bathroom, dressed in a button-down that I had found in Mark's closet, he met me in the hallway. We stopped in front of each other, and I rubbed my nose against the collar. “It smells just like you.”

“It looks nice on you,” he said. He took my fingers and his eyes met mine. “I want to be your new memory.”

His words slammed into me as though I'd been sleepwalking and had fallen down the stairs. I searched his pupils, really looking at them for the first time.

“Give your heart to me, Nicole.” His hands moved to my face, and he leaned down so his lips were inches away. “Relive with me who you always wanted to be.”

*   *   *

Mark told me he'd call Al and get me out of my evening shift, but I couldn't leave Al shorthanded just because I wanted to be with Mark; plus, I needed the money. I did let him drive me home, and I kissed him before I got out of his car.

“I'll see you tonight?” he asked, before I shut the door.

I smiled. “Yes, you will, and I can't wait.”

“I don't want you to take the train, so I'll pick you up after your shift.”

“How do you think I'm going to get to work?” If he was worried about me relapsing, there were ways to get to Roxbury other than the train. I'd been triggered to use before, and I'd probably be tempted again. Mark couldn't protect me every second.

“I just want to pick you up. Is there something wrong with that?” He laughed a little and winked.

“I'll see you at midnight.”

Mark didn't drive away until I got inside. As I put my keys in my purse, I noticed my cell phone. There were over twenty missed calls—all from Jesse and Asher—and two voicemails.

I stood by the mailboxes and listened to Jesse's message, telling me he'd talked to Asher and was worried about me. He asked me to call him.

The second one was from Asher. “Cole, I feel sick that you're in pain and that I caused it. I hope you're somewhere safe. I hope…I hope you're not doing anything to harm yourself. If I was the reason you relapsed…I love you. Please come home to me.”

Asher was probably upstairs waiting for me. He wanted me to come “home” to him. And he loved me? We hadn't said those words yet. There were times when we'd looked in each other's eyes and said, “love.” We hadn't questioned that aspect of our relationship because that one word had been enough.

I was dressed in Mark's button-down. I smelled like him—his cologne on the collar of the shirt, his shampoo in my hair, his kisses on my cheeks.

What was I doing?

Even though the top of the shirt was unbuttoned, I yanked the collar away from my throat and pushed my way back outside. I needed air. There was a bench on the next block and I took a seat, curling my knees into my chest.

What was happening to me?

My pulse throbbed in my veins, and I could feel my heart pounding under my fingers. I took a few deep breaths, trying to slow everything down so I could piece it all together.

I'd almost given up sobriety last night.

Asher hadn't even explained his side. I hadn't let him. But I wasn't sure he deserved a chance to explain. Was it wrong for me to run off to Mark and leave him worrying about me? I'd told Asher I had nothing to say and that I didn't think I ever would. Was that considered a breakup?

Michael's voice had stopped me from becoming a junkie again.

Then I headed straight into Mark's arms.

There had been a craving inside me, and by the time I got to Mark's apartment, I wanted him to fill that need. Just like heroin had been on my mind when I left Asher. Was I subbing one addiction for another?

My phone rang, and I looked at the caller ID.

“I'm OK,” I said into the phone.

“You don't sound OK,” Jesse said.

“I'm better now.”

My body was still shaking, but Jesse didn't need to know that. He needed to know I hadn't relapsed, nothing more.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“A block away from my apartment.”

“Why haven't you gone inside?”

“I don't know…”

“Come over. We'll talk.”

Michael had been the person I'd gone to when I was younger. He always had the answers and knew the right things to say. Jesse had shown me how much he was like Michael; I knew I could count on his advice. But he was Asher's brother.

“I can't. It's about Asher, and I don't want to get you involved.”

“I want the best for you, too, Cole. I can put Asher aside and help you through this.”

I didn't have anyone else. And I didn't have to tell him everything. I asked him for his address; the last time I'd been to his apartment was a bit fuzzy. Then I said I'd be there in a few minutes.

During the short train ride to his place, I didn't rehearse what I was going to say. I didn't know what to say; my thoughts were all jumbled together, and nothing made sense. Asher and Mark. Whom did I care for the most? Who was better for my sobriety? I wasn't sure whether either of them was right for me. Maybe what I needed was to be alone. By the time I started making a list, I was already at the lobby door. Jesse must have called down to let the doorman know I was coming because he greeted me by name and led me to the elevator.

Jesse was waiting for me in the entryway of his apartment and hugged me as soon as I stepped off the elevator. “What happened to you last night?”

I pulled away and looked into his eyes. They were so similar to Michael's eyes—honest and nurturing. How truthful could I be? Asher was still his brother no matter how much he wanted to help me.

“Can we sit?” I asked.

He took my hand, and we moved over to the couch. I snuggled into the corner, pulling one of the pillows onto my lap. Jesse's legs touched mine. After several seconds of silence, I told him about getting on the train to Roxbury.

“So you didn't use?” he asked.

I shook my head.

He let out a deep breath. “Where did you go?”

His eyes moved to my shirt. Jesse knew it wasn't Asher's; Asher didn't really wear button-downs, and he didn't own anything baby blue.

“I went to a dark place, but Michael's voice stopped me before I got too far.”

“That's not what I was asking.”

“I know.”

“We'll get back to that.” He covered my fingers with his. “Are you upset because you heard Michael's voice?”

I shook my head. “I hear his voice all the time. I see him when I close my eyes.”

“Then what is it, Cole? Are you questioning your feelings for Asher?”

“I don't know how I feel.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

There were only three men I could have even considered loving. Dustin had taken me out of rehab and kept me messed up on his drugs. I had used him and his connection to heroin; I just didn't realize it at the time. That wasn't love. Asher and I had started off slowly and became friends before we'd decided we were more than that. But he was Jesse's brother, and that never left my head. Mark and I had known each other for years. Before last night and this morning, I hadn't wanted anything from him other than his friendship.

Was that true? At the aquarium, I had wanted his lips—and probably more than that. Had I simply fallen in love with sweetness and caring because I'd never been treated that way by a man before? Did I really love either Mark or Asher?