Page 43 of So I'll Know
“Once again,you. Stop treating me like a child!” I shout.
“Stop acting like one!”
I grit my teeth and lean forward, getting in his face. “I’ve taken care of myself my whole life. I don’tneedanyone to baby me, and I certainly don’t need your pity.”
Marcus surprises me when his fingers brush a strand of hairbehind my ear, the gesture alarmingly tender. “And I’ve taken care of people my whole life, so we’re at an impasse.”
My anger fizzles at his words when I remember everything he’s told me about protecting his siblings from his dad, and I drop my gaze, feeling like an asshole.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. When I look back up at him, his eyes are soft. “I know you were just being nice. It’s just . . . people treat me like I’m helpless because I’m small, and I hate it.”
Marcus’s lips twitch with a ghost of a smile. I want to kiss him again so bad. “We may not know each other that well yet, Jeremy Hart, but if I’ve learned anything about you, it’s that you’re anything but helpless. You’re small, but mighty.”
I swallow a laugh and lean back, letting the cool air blow over my overheated skin. My hair is almost dry, but the salt water and sand have made it stiff. “Let’s get back. Just don’t carry me again.”
He nods. “Fine, but you shouldn’t walk on it. You’ll get debris in the cut, so lean on me.”
I concede and hobble the rest of the way to the beach house with Marcus’s arm firmly around my waist.
By the time we reach the stairs, my good foot aches from putting all my weight on it, and I’m sweating. I stumble on the first step, and Marcus gives me a tolerant look.
“Jeremy . . .”
“Okay, okay, crouch down.”
He does as I ask, and I hop onto his back, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. He smells like pine trees and the ocean, and I resist the urge to bury my nose in the nape of his neck.
“So I can’t carry you,” he grumbles as he stands, “but a piggyback is okay?”
“I’m on top,” I say with a smirk. “It feels more like my choice.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through my whole body.
Please don’t get hard. Please don’t get hard.
“Whatever you need to tell yourself, kid.” Marcus shakes his head. “For someone so small, you sure carry a lot of pride.”
“Is that some sort of gay joke?”
We reach the porch, and he squats, lowering me gently to the ground.
I limp to the sliding-glass door, tug it open, and shuffle inside. Marcus is close behind me, a protective hand on the small of my back. When I get to the bathroom, I stop him at the door.
“I can take care of it,” I say firmly.
He looks like he wants to protest, but nods reluctantly, and I close the door. I pull my shirt over my head. It’s damp and sticks to my skin, and sand sprinkles to the floor, making a mess on the white linoleum. I grimace, but it can’t be helped. Short of getting undressed on the porch, we were bound to bring in half the beach on our skin and clothing.
I carefully peel off my sweats, but the leg gets caught on my injured foot, and I topple, crashing to the ground with a cry.
“Fuck!” I stare dejectedly at the blood mixing with sand on the tile just as Marcus bursts through the door.
“Jeremy? Are you okay?” He drops to his knees by my side.
I raise my hand. “I’m okay, Marcus.”
“Please, just let me help. At least let me get you undressed and into the shower.”
I flush. “Just help me with my sweats.”
