Page 45 of Love Marks

I’ve been dreading this moment for the past two days. In my most childish form, I called out of work all weekend. Sharon told me if I didn’t come back soon, they’d temporarily replace me with another housekeeper. I agreed to come by tonight to get the laundry and pick up Wesley's dry-cleaning, hoping that he won’t be home.

To make things worse, I have to say goodbye to Sheila tomorrow. I’ve been avoiding thinking about her departure, but now it’s here, and I can’t run from it any longer.

Ding!

I step out to the elevator into the dark apartment. It’s very quiet.

“Wesley?” I call out.

Nothing.

Thank God.

Wesley has left his suits out in the hallway for dry-cleaning, so I gather the laundry from all the rooms. In and out. I’m almost finished throwing everything into the laundry cart when I hear a sound from Wesley’s office.

A warning low in my gut tells me to ignore it, but I don’t listen. It sounds like a voice.

Wesley’s voice.

He’s here!

I make a move to escape before he realizes I’m here, but I stop in my place, listening. It almost sounds like he’s…crying?

That’s impossible.

My hands moving before my brain can form thoughts, I push open the office door. Wesley sits slumped over his desk, his head in his hands. An empty whiskey glass sits next to him.

“Wesley?” My voice is soft as a whisper.

His head snaps up at the sound, his red eyes meeting mine. My stomach drops at the sight of his teary-eyed face. This is a Wesley I have never seen before, and it fills me with an unexpected dread. He looks completely devastated.

“Are you okay?” I ask. He just blinks back at me as if he can’t believe I’m real. The feeling is mutual. If there’s one thing I didn’t expect to see tonight, it’s this.

“Quinn?” His gruff voice breaks off halfway through. “I thought you were sick.”

“Sick?” I say without thinking.

Yes, sick, idiot! You told him you were sick!

“Right, yes. I’m feeling much better, thanks.” The words spill out and I hope they sound convincing. Wesley just nods like he can barely keep his head up. He stands, rising to his full height, and stumbles over to the bar cart where a near-empty whiskey bottle sits.

“Should you—” I start.

He lifts the bottle but immediately drops it, the glass shattering. I flinch.

Jeez, we really have to stop meeting this way.

Wesley hardly notices the bottle and stumbles back, laughing. I rush over to him.

“Here. Come on.” I put some of his weight on my body and start moving out of the office towards Wesley’s room.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his words slurred.

“Putting you to bed. Can you help me a little? You’re heavy as shit,” I groan, leaning against the wall as we stumble through the hallway.

“Shit.” He giggles. Giggles! Wesley Marks can giggle! “You said shit. You never curse.”

“Around you,” I correct him, pushing open his bedroom door.