Page 38 of Leave a Mark
“I guess that’s pretty stupid, huh?” Her voice was just a squeak.
Lee shook his head. “It’s not stupid. I wanted this to work out, too." He raised a finger and tucked a stray lock of her strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear.
“Shit, Leland, are we breaking up?” Her eyes again went wide with the reality of it. Thirteen months as a couple were coming to an end in the middle of his kitchen.
Lee swallowed. Sadness. That was the sum of what he felt — with a trace of guilt at the heart of it, but the will to fight — the will to deny that this was the end — was notably absent. Still, he didn’t want to hurt her.
“You know who I am. You know what I want. None of that’s going to change." He left it at that. No matter what he said, Marcelle would decide for herself anyway. Right on cue, she took a deep breath and stood straight.
“I guess I know what I need to do then… Goodbye, Leland." She leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek. Lee caught her against him one last time and hugged her, half-sorry he couldn’t be the man she wanted but wholly grateful that they both knew the truth.
“Goodbye, Marcelle.”
They held on for a moment, but then Marcelle pulled herself away and wiped her eyes, wearing a brave smile. Victor whimpered and pawed Lee’s leg, and she laughed.
“I’ve never been crazy about dogs, but he’s pretty cute." She bent down and patted Victor on the head. He stood up and wagged. “Goodbye, Victor.”
“Yeah, he is.” Lee smiled at his dog. They’d been together all of twenty-four hours, but the puppy already seemed to be able to read his moods. They were bonding, and it was more than one-sided.
Marcelle stood up again. “If it’s okay, I’ll come by tomorrow while you’re at the hospital and get my things. I’ll leave your key on the back porch.”
As always, she thought about things that would have never crossed his mind. Her practical plan made their break-up sink in a little more.
Lee nodded. “Thanks.”
She nodded, too. “Okay, then…" And Marcelle picked up her jacket, headed for the door, and left.
Lee stood for a moment and stared at the back door. Then he collapsed into a chair and leaned his elbows on his kitchen table. Victor circled, sniffed his right knee, and popped up on his hind legs to get closer. Reaching down, Lee scrubbed the puppy’s head. “She’s gone,” he said aloud. Victor wagged his tail, all excited. “Dude, I just broke up. You shouldn’t look so happy about it.”
The pup gave a shallow growl and a playful bark.
“It’s really your fault, you know,” Lee teased.
Again the dog barked. Lee couldn’t help but think he sounded proud.
“What? You want me to be alone so you can have me all to yourself?”
Victor jumped down and whimpered.
“Well, I don’t want to be alone, either, but that’s life.”
Again, Victor whined and pawed his leg, seeming to mime the thoughts Lee was trying not to let himself have.
“Don’t even think about it, man,” he said to them both. “Don’t you dare think about it.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LEE HAWTHORNE LIVEDin her mind, and Wren hated him for it.
Everything reminded her of him. Agnes. Rocky. Mamaw. Fruit. Tattoos. Dogs. Joss Whedon. Granola bars. It was ridiculous.
Lying in bed at night, she could feel him all over again… the tickle of his lips along her neck… the scrape of his stubble against her chin… the demand of his tongue in her mouth. The memory haunted and hurt her.
On the third Friday that Wren showed up for work three hours early, Rocky sent her away. In fact, he told her didn’t want to see her again until she “crash-landed on top of whatever man is driving you crazy.”
Effectively banished from work and unwilling to go back to her apartment, Wren sat in her car for five minutes, wondering what the hell she’d do with herself until noon. She could picture putting Rocky’s plan into action. She couldn’t stop obsessing about driving to Lee’s house, banging on his front door, and begging him to kiss her again. But that was never going to happen. Even if she did show up in Lee’s life, it couldn’t possibly lead to anything good. He had that girlfriend.Marcelle.And even if she was a toad masquerading as a princess, she was obviously the kind of woman Lee chose, the kind who’d been groomed from childhood to be on the arm of a doctor. She may even be a doctor herself.
Wren wouldn’t be surprised. Marcelle’s sneer of superiority had been hard to forget, and it looked like just the sort of expression someone with a healthy God-complex would wear. A doctor or not, in the social pecking order, Marcelle was leagues above Wren Blanchard, and the woman knew it. Lee knew it. And so did Wren.
