Page 111 of Leave a Mark
He put the last bite of muffin in his mouth and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t let himself consider that she’d leave him for good. If she did, he’d be wrecked.
Lee picked up his phone again.
Lee:You love me, and I love you, but it’s going to take forever to text all this, so I’m calling you. Maybe you’ll answer.
He tapped her number, started driving, and waited through three rings, hoping — but knowing — she wouldn’t pick up. When her voicemail answered, Lee listened to Wren’s three-second greeting.
“In the studio Thursday through Sunday. Leave a message.”
“So, my dad’s an ass… I think you knew that before this morning. He’s not really an asshole, but he is an ass. You can appreciate the difference. Being an ass means he thinks he knows everything — even when he’s clueless. He doesn’t like to be wrong, and he doesn’t like people to tell him he’s wrong. If he were an asshole, he wouldn’t care. But he does…” Lee sighed and got ready to explain. “Don’t get me wrong. Being an ass isn’t okay, and I’ve let it go on far too long. I’m old enough to know that he’s a well-meaning ass, but I’m too old to let him tread over my boundaries… so it’s my fault you—”
Beep!
Wren’s phone cut him off, and he immediately tapped her number again, picking up right where he left off.
“It’s my fault you got hurt today. I promised never to hurt you, but I still let you get hurt because I didn’t let my family know I was in love with the most amazing and perfect woman in the world and that they needed to stay the hell away from my house on Sunday mornings when I had the good fortune of having you all to myself… and I chose the easier path. For whatever ridiculous reason, my dad and Barbara had it in their heads that Marcelle was right for me. The last time I talked to my dad, I let him keep believing that just so I could get off the phone… so stupid, Wren. Marcelle’s not right for me. She’s never been right for me. If they’d ever seen you and I together, they’d know what right looks like. They’d understand why I’d never be happy with Marcelle because you’re the only one who—”
Beep!
He called back again.
“Dammit. I hate this fucking phone. You, Wren. You are the only one who gets me. The only one who makes me happy… the only one I want… and I’m pulling up to Mamaw Gigi’s, and your kickass Mustang isn’t here. Where are you, Wren?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“SHIT, WREN. YOU’REnot at Studio Ink.”
Lee’s voice came out panicked over the sounds of traffic in the distance.
“Rocky said you called in sick. Baby, you never miss work. Where the fuck are you? Just text me and let me know you’re all right.”
“Was that him again?” Cherise eyed her with a disapproving frown.
Wren nodded, slumping deeper into her best friend’s couch after listening to Lee’s fourth voicemail.
“And you’re just going to let him twist in the wind? The best guy in the whole world? The best chance at happiness that’s ever landed at your feet?”
“I don’t need a man to make me happy,” she defended, puffing up her chest. “I have my art. I have my friends. I have Agnes. I—”
Cherise tucked her chin and gave Wren a pitying look. “Have you ever been happier than you are with him?”
Wren scowled. “If you think this is helping, you’re wrong. As my best friend, you’re supposed to be on my side.”
Cherise flopped down beside her. “Sweetie, Iamon your side. I’m on the side that knows that pushing this guy away could be the biggest mistake of your life. This is me trying to help you steer clear of disaster.”
Wren plucked a pill on her sweater rather than face Cherise. “You don’t get it.”
Cherisetsked. “Give me a little credit. I’ve known you for almost five years, Wren. What haven’t we shared?" When Wren didn’t answer, she pressed on. “We’ve shared everything… I know about everything that happened to you, and you know about everything that happened to me.”
Wren met her friend’s eyes and saw the conviction in them.
“My dad was a wife-beating piece of shit, and every time he tried to raise his hand to me or my little brother, my mom stepped in front of it. You want to compare baggage with me, bitch?” Cherise asked with a sneer. “Get yourself a ticket.”
“A ticket?” Wren frowned.
Cherise’s sneer vanished. A look of defeat took its place. “A baggage claim ticket. I was going for a metaphor.”
In spite of herself and her misery, Wren tilted her head back and laughed. Cherise socked her in the arm, trying to stifle her own laughter.
