Page 123 of Love Marks
“Uncle Wes, can I have my juice box?”
I shake my head. “Not until we get to your dad’s place.” She crosses her arms and huffs, but I just roll my eyes, nudging her towards my car, where Pete waits.
When we climb in, he flickers his eyes towards me from the driver’s seat. “Where to, Mr. Marks?”
I try not to grimace at his words. Ever since I threatened his job and forced him to tell me about Quinn, he only addresses me as Mr. Marks and hasn’t said a word about anything else. Not about his family, not about his fantasy football league he’s always talking my ear off about. He just drives in silence.
Add his name to the growing list of apologies I need to make. Best to get started.
“Pete.” His eyes meet mine warily, but his gaze is steady, unblinking. “I want to apologize for…threatening you. I was scared of losing Quinn and well, turns out I did anyways.” I shake my head, getting off course. “That’s not the point. The point is I was disrespectful to you and to our friendship and I’m sorry.”
He blinks a few times in the silence and then nods, a quick movement, his eyes softening. “Thanks, boss. Don’t worry about it. Water under the bridge.”
The car pulls away and I tell Pete to take us to Ben’s apartment. Luckily for me, he won’t be home until later this evening, so I have a few hours to prepare for the next leg of my apology tour.
After my conversation with my mom last night, my head has been a jumble of thoughts. Do I need to let Quinn go? Does she deserve better than me? Or do I need to let go of myself? Of my own fears and need for control holding me back?
Luna’s voice interrupts my thoughts, her hand hitting my arm. “Why did you say sorry to the driver man?” She whispers, but from Pete’s small smile, I know he can hear her.
“His name is Peter, and I apologized because I wasn’t very nice to him. I said something hurtful.”
“Why?” She blinks up at me, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“Why did I say something hurtful?” I clarify, and she nods eagerly, waiting for my answer. I suppress a sigh and consider how to answer. “Because I was hurting, too. Sometimes when people are feeling hurt or angry, they say things they don’t mean.”
“Is he okay?” She asks, her eyes widening.
“Why don’t you ask him?” I tell her, knowing Pete can hear everything we’re saying. She taps her finger to her chin, looking thoughtful.
“Mr. Peter?” Her quiet voice pipes up.
“Yes, Miss Luna?”
She glances at me, her expression pleading, but I just shrug. She looks back at Pete. “Are you going to be okay?”
My heart aches at the innocence in her question. Something about her just makes me emotional. I take a deep breath, my chest rising and falling in the quiet car.
“Your uncle is one of the best men I’ve ever met. I’m going to be just fine, Miss Luna.” His words send another jolt through me. I want to tell him he’s wrong, but he just turns his head to look at Luna. “Don’t you agree?”
She looks over at me and wrinkles her brow, frowning. “I guess. He’s weird,” she says definitively, eliciting laughs from Pete and me.
The rest of the ride is quiet. When we finally get to Ben’s apartment, Pete opens our doors and helps get Luna unbuckled from her car seat. I ask the doorman to bring her up to the apartment for me. Once she’s out of sight, I turn to Pete.
“Thank you. You really didn’t have to say that.”
“Meant every word, boss.”
Perhaps he can sense my frayed emotions, the knife-edge balance of emotions bubbling up in me, because his tone turns joking. “I used to be a taxi driver. If I quit every time someone threatened me, I’d be broke as hell.”
* * *
Later that night, I hear Ben letting himself into the apartment. Luna fell asleep two hours ago after guilting me into not one, but two bedtime stories. After countless pages about a nasty troll and a valiant knight, I finally heard her soft snores and closed the book.
In the foyer, Ben peels his coat off and drops his bag on the floor. He goes straight to the fridge, grabs two beers, and flops onto the couch next to me, handing me one of the open bottles.
“If you’re about to start a fight, don’t bother. I’m fucking exhausted,” he says, letting his head fall back. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath and I feel another pang of guilt hit me in the chest. He’s stressed and trying to take care of his family and I’m acting like — well, a shitty brother.
“Don’t worry. I left my weapons at the office.” I take a sip of my beer. “You too tired to hear an apology?”