Marek Page 7

  "I have no idea." My voice is heavy and defeated, matching exactly how I always felt when trying to pull away from Owen's pressures. "Our relationship was lukewarm at best. We didn't...um...take things all the way. I wouldn't. Pretended to hold out for marriage because I just wasn't attracted to him in that way. How fucked up is that?"

  "Sounds almost obsessive to me," Josie says thoughtfully.

  "I just don't know. Stepping away from him--having distance between us--I look back on it and it just seems surreal. Like that really couldn't have been me, on the verge of walking down the aisle with someone I didn't really love."

  "You were doing it to protect your parents," Josie reminds me gently.

  "They would be so disappointed in me if they knew that's why I was doing it." They never had a clue.

  Josie reaches out and takes my hand, giving it a quick squeeze of affirmation. "Where do things stand now with them?"

  "Owen gave me two weeks to come back. Wants to get the wedding done, and he's accelerated my parents' note again."

  "Marek would--"

  "No," I say with a hard shake of my head. "He doesn't know and I don't want him to know. I was so stupid to get into that mess, and he already thinks I'm a nut job for keeping Lilly from him. I just can't take any more of his condescension right now."

  I can tell by the look in her eyes she wants to argue with me. That she wants to advocate for Marek, believing in the goodness of his heart. And maybe he would offer to help me out, but I can't ask him. I have no right to expect anything of him other than being a good dad to our daughter.

  "How much is owed on the note?" Josie asks, seeming to accept my rebuff of Marek.

  "Just a little under fifty thousand," I tell her, then take in a deep breath. "So back to your original question about the job...yes, I'm interested. With a salary, perhaps I could work out some type of payments with the bank on their behalf. It wouldn't be much, because I'd have living expenses--rent and such here--but maybe that could forestall the note going into default."

  "That's definitely a good thought," Josie says, but I can tell by the tone of her voice she has a better idea. "Or, you could just stay here at Marek's rent free and let him continue to pay expenses. Then you'd have more money to offer the bank."

  "I don't know if that's a good idea," I murmur, moving my gaze to my wineglass.

  "Why not?" Josie asks with dogged determination. "As long as he's not being abusive to you, this is a good environment for both you and Lilly. Nice house, security, and it gives Marek more quality time with his daughter. It would then give you the opportunity to help pull your parents out of trouble without having to sacrifice yourself to that jackass you were going to marry or involve Marek any further."

  She has a damn good point. For the first time since I came to North Carolina, I feel a slight loosening of the ever-present tightness that's been in my chest. Maybe I can get out from under Owen without my parents getting hurt at all.

  I look to Josie with a smile taking form on my face. "Well, then, yes. I'm very interested in the job."

  "Perfect," Josie says, and picks up her wineglass. She holds it out to me and I tap mine against it.

  I take a small sip of my wine, and after I swallow, give a nervous laugh. "I can't believe how much lighter my shoulders feel right now. I mean, I know I don't have the job, but I do have a plan at least."

  "That's the spirit," Josie says with a chuckle. "But I'll put in a very good word for you."

  Setting my wineglass down, I turn more fully to face Josie. The somberness in my voice reflects just how serious I am when I tell her, "Thank you. For letting me vent and helping me with a job. It's more than I could have ever expected from such a new friend."

  Josie's eyes twinkle with fondness. "You and I have a lot in common. I know what it's like to have your heart broken by a man who leaves you. I know what it's like to carry that around."

  "What makes you think my heart has been broken?" I ask her curiously. I haven't told her any of my history with Marek.

  "I recognize it," Josie murmurs. "Am I wrong?"

  I shake my head with a sad smile.

  "Well, I also know that the pain can be overcome with the right type of man."

  "Reed?" I take a very good guess.

  "Yes," she says with a nod. "Now that's an interesting story, which I'll proceed to tell you over chocolate."

  I laugh and turn back to my quiche, feeling much better about my situation than I have in a long time. "Deal."

  Chapter 9

  Marek

  It's been a day and a half since I've stepped foot in my house. I never made it back there after Reed and I helped Holt demolish his kitchen.

  I couldn't go back there because I was afraid of what I might do to Gracen. My hands shake as they sit atop my steering wheel while I stare blankly at the garage wall.

  When I had walked out of Holt's house, I had resolved to be nicer to Gracen. To let my anger go and concentrate on building something with Lilly.

  That resolve was quickly obliterated after I talked to my parents and told them about Lilly. It was a conversation that left me shredded and with a whole new level of fury at Gracen, because now she's managed to hurt my parents.

  I couldn't go home. There was no way. When I realized I'd do something irreparable to Gracen, the part of me that still held some measure of sanity told me to leave. So I drove east on I-40, right to the ocean. Got a hotel room in Wrightsville Beach and brooded overnight. The next day, I sat out on the beach and brooded some more before I felt a little bit more in control. I drove back with determination, and now I've been sitting in my garage for almost an hour.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I grasp the steering wheel hard for a moment. Something ugly is bottled inside of me and I have to let it out. The pressure is immense and the need for its release almost unbearable.

  I let out my breath without an ounce of tension easing up on me and make my way into my house.

  The kitchen lights are on and the aroma of what smells like pot roast lingers in the air. I tell myself to take some more time away from Gracen.

  Head to your room, Marek. Let it go for tonight.

  Instead, my feet carry me up the staircase.

  To Gracen.

  The woman who has now managed to cause excruciating pain to three people by keeping her secrets.

  As soon as I reach the top landing, I note the warm glow of light spilling across the hardwood floor from Lilly's open bedroom door. I can't see either of them, but I hear Gracen's voice as she reads The Three Little Pigs.

  I'm neither warmed nor amused when Gracen's voice pitches high. "Not by the hair on my chinny, chin, chin."

  Lilly is, though. She giggles uncontrollably, and that sweet sound causes my anger to go from a hard boil to a low simmer.

  I step into Lilly's room. Gracen's sitting with her back against the headboard, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. Lilly's curled into her mother's side so she can see the book that Gracen's reading from.

  They both look up at me, Gracen's mouth pinched tight. I know she's pissed I've been gone because she's texted me a few times. So fucking what.

  Lilly, though...her eyes light up in happiness to see me.

  Me.

  It's the first time that's happened, and my rage cools instantly.

  "Look, Daddy," she says in that sweet voice of an angel. "Mommy's reading to me."

  My heart swells with something I'd describe as close to pure euphoria. I've felt it before but in different degrees. Felt it just last year when we won the Stanley Cup.

  Felt it when I got drafted into the NHL.

  Felt it when Gracen told me she loved me for the first time when we were making out on the front porch of her parents' home after a date.

  Sure as fuck felt it to my toes the first time we'd made love.

  My eyes focus on Lilly, and I know my smile is genuine, because it's all for her, and she deserves it. "Looks like you're almost read
y to go to sleep, huh?"

  I get a cute, shy nod from her. "Want to read me a book?"

  And just like that, my rage returns.

  It feels like hot embers burning in my chest, because while I want nothing more than to read her a book right this very moment I'm pissed as hell all over again that Gracen's been reading her books for over three fucking years and I never got the chance to.

  I think back to my conversation with my parents yesterday. The utter grief as we talked things through. All that they lost and missed out on, and those embers flame so hot sweat breaks out on my forehead.

  My smile is tight and my voice gravelly with all this emotion raging through me. "How about tomorrow night?"

  "Okay," she says with a toothy grin.

  Gracen blanches slightly when I turn my gaze on her. There's no smile left, and my voice is razor sharp. "I need to talk to you when she's asleep."

  She swallows hard and nods at me, and I try not to be bothered by the tiny bit of fear in her expression.

  * * *

  --

  Galeti and Joan Fabritis are the best parents in the world. It's no exaggeration either. My dad was born and raised in Lithuania, but received his higher education in the States. A few years after finishing grad school, he became a naturalized citizen and insisted people use the more Americanized name Gale.

  He met my mom in college and fell instantly in love with the sassy midwesterner from Wisconsin who cursed like a sailor when cheering on her beloved Packers. Dad learned to love the Packers too.

  They lived and worked in New York City for years. They married young, but put off having kids so they could concentrate on their careers. By the time they were ready, they were in their late thirties and were really, really ready. They'd done all their partying, traveling, and working hard to climb the ladder of success, so when I came along they were devoted to me. Dad moved them to the suburbs of Wilkie, an hour and a half drive north of the city. My mother became a full-time mom and Dad commuted to the city for work. They wanted another kid, but it wasn't in the cards for them, so Marek Graham Fabritis became their entire life. Some might call me spoiled from the lavish attention they've given me over the years, but I call myself just insanely fucking lucky to have the best parents in the world.

  My parents were both so successful at their careers doing financial planning they were able to take early retirement. My dad still dabbles for a few clients here and there, but he pretty much just plays with his money now.

  Oh, and he and my mom follow me around the country watching me play hockey.

  Both my parents recognized my talent and love for the game when I was very young. They put a lot of time and money into me, encouraging me to develop and nurture my passion for being on the ice. While they worked hard, there was at least one of them at every one of my games growing up. When I went to college in Boston, it became a little trickier, and they couldn't travel to watch me as often as they'd liked.

  But three years into my career as a professional hockey player, Dad walked away from Wall Street and I purchased season tickets for them. They became my personal traveling fan club. They've always been there for me.

  Always.

  It's why when I made that call to them yesterday, I was already grieving the loss they'd be feeling, because there were never two people who were more suited to be grandparents than Gale and Joan Fabritis.

  Drumming my fingers on the kitchen counter, I look at the digital clock on the oven and will it to move faster so I can get this over with. I pick up the bottle of bourbon and pour another inch into my glass. No way I'm getting drunk, but I'm finding the liquor is quelling my rage somewhat. I can hear the floor above me creaking while Gracen gets Lilly tucked into bed. It goes silent again and I can envision Gracen sitting on the edge of Lilly's bed, singing to her. She does this every night, and it's always the same five songs.

  Lilly's favorite lullabies, she told me.

  Sometimes it only takes one song before she's out. Sometimes it takes all five before those eyes close. On the rare occasions it takes more than five songs, Gracen starts at the top all over again. I know this because I observed it that second night I'd returned from my beach trip with Holt to avoid Gracen and Lilly. I lurked outside her room and listened. When Gracen came out, quietly closing the door behind her, she gave me a sheepish look.

  "Sorry...my singing is pretty bad," she muttered.

  "She likes you to sing to her?" I asked curiously, because my voice was awful and I couldn't imagine singing those songs to Lilly.

  Gracen told me about the five songs, two I knew the lyrics to and three I didn't. I have since looked them up--the songs being "Bringing Home a Baby Bumble Bee," "You are my Sunshine," and "The Circle Song"--and I'm determined to learn them.

  I pick up the bourbon and slug it back, my eyes watering from the burn in my throat. I set the tumbler down and don't pick the bottle back up again. I want to keep my wits about me.

  Lilly must have fallen asleep fast, because Gracen's footsteps echo lightly on the staircase as she comes down. I turn on the stool where I'd been sitting to face her as she steps into the kitchen.

  She doesn't even give me a chance to attack first. Her eyes narrow at me and she crosses her arms over her chest. Her voice is as soft as butterfly wings, though, and I know that's in deference to Lilly asleep upstairs. "Okay. Let's have it. You're clearly pissed at me for something."

  "Mom...Dad...I have to tell you both something."

  That was the start of the conversation.

  "I told my parents about Lilly yesterday," I tell her through gritted teeth as I stand from the stool. "I'm sure you can imagine how it went."

  Gracen's face crumbles and her eyes get glossy with wetness. I steel myself against it, though.

  Lowering her face, she whispers, "How...how did they take it?"

  In two long strides I'm before her, my hand going to her chin to force her face up. I lean into her and growl, "How did they take it? They're devastated. Torn to pieces for everything they missed out on. For everything I missed out on. They're not only hurting for themselves, they're hurting for me too."

  "Marek," she implores, but I roll right over her.

  "They didn't get to hold her after she was born, or change her diapers, or sing her lullabies. They didn't get to fucking sit in bed with her and read The Three Little Pigs. They didn't get to spoil her the way grandparents have the right to do."

  Okay, I might be laying it on a little thick, and I'd have to admit I'm probably pouring out my hurts and not my parents' at this point. My dad was shocked, then he showed the famous Fabritis temper. He was pissed. My mom cried. God, how she'd cried, but toward the end, her tears were happy knowing she had a granddaughter.

  By the end of the conversation, it was all about Lilly, and they asked a million questions, most of which I couldn't answer. They're getting on a plane this weekend to come and learn the answers themselves.

  At the end, my mom told me something I didn't want to hear. "Marek, you know that had to have been horrible for Gracen too, right? I can't imagine the difficulty she must have had in making those choices."

  My mother had fucking loved Gracen like a daughter. They didn't stay in contact when I left, although my parents would have loved to keep seeing her. I'm sure it was just too painful, though, for Gracen, and I understood that.

  But I cannot understand how she couldn't let them be a part of Lilly's life.

  I thought perhaps I'd rail at Gracen for a good long time, but my momentum is completely depleted. My hand drops from Gracen's face and I scrub it through my hair. "They're flying in Saturday. They want to meet Lilly."

  "Of course," Gracen murmurs. She sounds thoroughly beat down, and I wish it made me happy to know that.

  But it doesn't.

  It makes me feel ashamed.

  I push past Gracen, my intent to head for my bedroom and some solitude so I can just brood alone while preferably watching a baseball game on TV.<
br />
  "Marek," she calls out to me. I stop and turn to face her. "Next time you decide to go off, you need to at least have the decency to let me know that you won't be home."

  My ears start buzzing as heat flushes up my neck.

  "Decency?" I ask her. I'm astounded she'd talk to me about decency.

  "Yes, decency," she says with her chin lifted stubbornly. "And the courtesy of letting me know if you're not coming home."

  My laugh is hoarse, my expression condescending. "I owe you no such courtesy, Gracen. You're a roommate. You live in my house. It's none of your busi--"

  "It is absolutely my business," she growls at me with her fists curled tight. "When Lilly asks me at night where her daddy is and when he'll be home and I can't provide her an answer, well...it's my fucking business."

  Guilt presses down on me. Awful, burning shame that Lilly asked for me and I wasn't here.

  I'm on the verge of vomiting out some type of apology when Gracen adds, "You're a dad now. Start acting like it."

  Every bit of disgust in myself turns right back around on Gracen. I'm a fucking basket case the way my emotions have been reeling back and forth. One minute I'm angry. The next I'm smitten with tenderness for Lilly. The next I'm feeling guilty. The next I want to scream and yell at Gracen for her injustices. The next I want to kiss her.

  Except right now I'm pissed, and I choose to focus on that. I stomp up to her, get right in her face, and snarl my fury at her. "I would know better how to be a dad if I'd had the same three and a half years you did to perfect this parenting shit, now wouldn't I?"

  To my astonishment, Gracen rolls her eyes at me. She isn't cowed as usual, but instead goes to her toes to get right in my face. "Enough already. I am so sick of you throwing that at me. I've apologized for it."

  "Not enough, you haven't," I say in a harsh whisper, slightly impressed that both of us are still cognizant of a sleeping toddler upstairs.

  "Oh get over yourself, Marek," Gracen drawls with another eye roll. "I'm done apologizing to you."

  That eye roll.

  The way she's dismissing my feelings.

  The sheer temerity she has in refusing to shoulder more responsibility when I'm clearly not done with making her feel like shit.

  The way she's fighting back at me. Eyes all passionately glazed with indignation, those fantastic tits heaving under her T-shirt.