Falling for the New Guy

Marc felt as though he’d done an admirable job keeping his mouth shut—he was damn good at it, after all—but the trepidation in her voice, in her movements made him realize keeping quiet went against everything he stood for.

He didn’t let people get hurt if he could help it. While Tess was an adult and her father was her business, even if he did hurt her, Marc couldn’t stand by silently if she was afraid.

“Does he harass you?”

She went completely still, presumably because he’d broken the silent agreement not to discuss what had actually happened and what it meant.

“It’s not like that,” she said lamely. She got off the couch, pushing her hair back and linking her hands behind her head before letting them fall at her sides. “He calls and asks for help. I need...” She shook her head. “He’s an alcoholic, Marc. He’s sick. I’m all he has. It’s sometimes a bit much and I need a break.”

“You...” Part of him was desperate to keep his mouth shut, to keep out of this, to help in only the most peripheral ways possible, but it wasn’t a big enough part of him to keep his mouth shut. “I know it’s none of my business, but him having a fight with that scrawny guy at his apartment complex? It may not just be alcohol.”

Her shoulders slumped and she turned away from him. “I know. That’s new. Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“I don’t want to talk about this, Marc. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I have things under control.” Her head bobbed as if she was nodding to herself. Then a sound escaped her mouth—not really a laugh, not a sob. He wasn’t sure what the noise was.

“God, what a joke. I don’t have a damn thing under control anymore. I’m not even fooling myself.” She sniffled. “I’m not doing this again in front of you. I’m going home. Look, I’m sorry. I need to get out of here.” She moved for the door, but he was—thankfully—faster and got there first. Blocking it.

What the hell are you doing?

He had no idea. He only knew he couldn’t let her leave. “Tess.”

Even though she’d sniffled, she wasn’t crying. Yet. Her eyes were shiny with tears. “Marc, let me go, okay? I’ll handle everything. I always do. I...have to.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes, hands shaking.

The little voice in his head kept repeating the same question over and over—What the hell are you doing? Only it didn’t seem to change the fact he was doing it. He reached for her shoulders, fingers curling around them. Even though her body trembled, she felt so damn strong under his hands he just wished he had answers.

He could only do his best, which would never be good enough, but maybe it could be something. “Surely there’s someone who can help—”

“I don’t have anyone who can help us,” she choked out, dropping her hands from her eyes, a mix of determination and defeat. How did she do that?

A few tears had escaped her eyes, and he hated the feeling in his gut—helplessness. As though there wasn’t a thing he could do to fix this.

A very familiar feeling. One he couldn’t seem to shake no matter where he went, and yet the words that came out of his mouth didn’t seem to understand that. “I can help.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t.” How long had he been trying to help only to fail? But...she made him feel as if this could be different. “Honestly, my choice method of help would be arresting the kind of asshole that would hurt his daughter.” Without permission from the rational side of his brain, his hands moved from her shoulders down to her arm, where she’d held a cloth over a cut that first night he’d met her.

“I can’t—”

“So, I can’t fix anything. But I can help. You need to be away from your phone. I’m right next door. Well, almost. I don’t have much of a life, considering I just moved here. The point is, if you need someone to distract you, I can do that.” Which sounded... “I didn’t mean...”

She smiled, which was nice to see. “Why don’t you order the pizza, Captain Quiet? That’ll be enough distracting...for now.” Then her expression went soft, and there was that fleeting feeling he’d been chasing for most of his life, the feeling that he’d helped, that he’d done something.

Tess rose to her toes and brushed her lips against his cheek. “Thanks,” she said.

He swallowed, because a kiss on the cheek—a friendly thank-you kiss on the cheek—was not something to get all worked up over. But that’s exactly what he was. Worked up. Tied up. Ridiculously pleased that someone had recognized his effort.

Also, screwed. Very, very screwed.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.