25. Leonor

25

LEONOR

“ S o, are we going to talk about what happened?”

I roll my eyes as I reach for a second towel, stepping out of the shower with it barely wrapped around me before I go back to ignoring Mark.

Not that I’m ignoring him , not really. I’m avoiding the conversation he wants to have, which absolutely pertains to Collinsworth. A more in depth discussion about how he’s been acting at work, and most likely the fact that I shouted that I was in love with all four of my best friends in his face.

Mark is the only one who doesn’t know that, or won’t entertain it, anyway, and what just happened isn’t exactly how I wanted to broach the subject.

If I ever broach the subject.

“What is there to talk about?” Leaning toward the mirror, I glance at him in the doorway of my bathroom before tightening the towel. “You were there, you saw.”

Mark scrubs a hand over his skull trim before coming to stand next to me. “That wasn’t everything.”

My eyes meet his in the mirror briefly, those hazel orbs fixed for a second before he reaches for his toothbrush. I watch the way he rolls his toothpaste tube from the bottom, squeezing just enough onto the bristles, his movements fluid and calculated.

He might be the most carefree, the one Kane Night called the fiercest funny man he’d ever met, but there’s so much more to Markus Favre than what he shows to the world.

His humor, his positivity, they’re genuine but they’re also a front, a mask to hide behind when he’s not sure how to cope. Mark’s ability to deflect the heavy topics with a stupid joke or raunchy comment is second to none and when that doesn’t work, my teddy bear of a man shuts down and disappears.

Both are exactly why no one knows him the way we do.

They don’t know how big his heart is, how much he really cares about the few people he lets into his life. No one sees how selfless he is or the way Mark will literally put everyone else’s needs before his own. He’s spontaneous and impulsive but there’s this level of control Mark has, one that comes from carefully planning what he’s going to do and how he’s going to do it, and that is what makes him such a musical genius.

We all contribute to our albums, whether it’s the music or lyrics, but Mark is the mastermind behind the composition of each song, the arrangement of each note and even though it doesn’t seem like it, that meticulousness is in everything he does.

Even brushing his teeth.

“We rode back to the loft in silence, sugar. I could feel how pissed off you were and it isn’t really like you to stay quiet when you’re like that.”

“People change,” I say as I reach for my toner. “Maybe I handle my anger differently these days.”

Mark frowns at me as he spits, finishing with his teeth before he turns, pops a hip against the sink and crosses his arms over his chest.

“What?”

He arches a brow.

And I roll my eyes again . “Ok, I don’t but I was too mad to clearly articulate my thoughts. Silence seemed like a better option.”

Not to mention I was scared. I won’t admit that, I don’t need to because I know Lucky and Mark saw it, but I was afraid before I was royally pissed off so I bit my tongue.

Shaking his head, Mark reaches for my kimono before coming to stand behind me. “Calling Luck a circus freak was definitely bullshit and I’m glad you clocked that dill weed for doing it.”

“I hit him for both of you,” I say as I slip my arms into the silk, pulling it closed before I drop my towel. “I’m not going to stand by and let some pencil dick asshole talk shit.”

“I know.” Mark kisses my temple with a small smile. He goes back to leaning on the counter and watches me start in on the rest of my skin care. “And I appreciate it but it doesn’t bother me anymore, Leo. I’ve had a dad bod since I was a kid, it’s not a big deal.”

“Maybe it isn’t to you, but it is to me.” It always has been.

Because Mark can say it’s not a big deal or it doesn’t faze him until he’s blue in the face but I know different. The fact that he doesn’t have some insane six pack the way other guys do gets to him.

It doesn’t matter that Mark’s biceps are the size of my head or that his thighs are at least the size of two of mine side by side. He can bench press as much as Lucky weighs, for fuck sake, the dude is a bear. And, he’s hot.

Mark is the only guy with a beard I’ve ever been attracted to but he’s sexy with or without it because his jawline is perfect, his nose is Romanesque, and his lips are fuller than mine. And his eyes… those hazel eyes that favor green? They’re so pretty, especially with his mile long lashes framing them.

Combine all of that with his personality and Mark is the total package. He’s the only one who can’t see it no matter what he says.

“You weren’t onl y pissed.”

I set down my lotion then pause, turning to face him completely. “I was creeped out.”

Mark gives me a soft smile. “You were scared, Leo. I saw it as soon as I got out of the beast.”

“So?” I nearly snap as I quickly brush past him, moving into the bedroom because I don’t want to talk about this.

“ So ?” Mark follows me, obviously not ready to let this go. “So you were fucking scared, and I want to know why.”

“I was alone at work with a guy I don’t really know, and my tires were slashed. I think that’s pretty valid.”

He pulls his shirt off and tosses it on the floor then starts digging through his drawers in the dresser. “Valid, yes. It’s valid to be afraid of a dildo who won’t leave you the fuck alone but I know you, Leonor, and you can’t tell me?—“

“Fine,” I grunt as I bend forward and remove the towel from around my head. “Collinsworth scares the fuck out of me, ok? I don’t know why, he’s been a creeper and pushy but that’s not enough to have me panicking.” Aggressively drying my hair, I start getting defensive. “Not that I need a reason but if you really want one, we’ll just call it PTSD, ok?”

“Oh fuck right off, Leonor,” Mark says as I go upright, losing my balance a bit when I realize he’s standing there in nothing but a pair of boxer-briefs. “That’s not what I mean.”

What were we talking about?

I’ve seen Markus like this hundreds of times, hell I’ve seen him naked save for the goods but there really is something about seeing my boys like this after accepting how I’ve always felt about them. Just like it was with the other three, the thrill that races down my spine and lands right between my thighs while looking at one of them now is both exciting and terrifying. Probably more so with Mark because we can guess all we want but he’s never so much as hinted at being the slightest bit attracted to any of us.

Love, relationships, and sex? That’s an even bigger mystery, and I’d need him to spell it out for me.

Doesn’t change my feelings toward him, though.

“And, yeah, we’re going to keep avoiding that shit, all the trauma and baggage, all the fucked up things that happened back then.” Mark throws the clothes he just took out of the dresser on the bed and points a finger at me. “You don’t even want to talk about the fucked up shit going on now. Just like you won’t talk about whatever these secrets are that apparently only Franc De la Grange knows. I’ve been letting all that slide for some fucking reason.”

Oh right, we’re fighting.

I scowl as I step forward and point right back at him. “You’ve been letting it slide ? Wow, such a fucking saint.”

“Don’t, Leonor. Don’t you fucking go there with me.”

“What? Don’t want to talk about the heavy shit? Change your mind? I thought?—“

“All I have ever wanted was to be there for you, to protect you and help you through everything and anything life puts in your path but I’m not pushing you, Leo.” He closes the gap between us and lowers his head, the two of us now nose to nose. “Keeping you is way more important than hashing things out so if you don’t want to talk about them, fine, but we will talk about Collinsworth because I’m not going to sit by and let some pompous piece of shit make you feel anything less than the fucking stubborn, perfect, mouthy warrior you are. It’s not happening.”

Tears instantly spring to my eyes, my anger subsiding and turning into this gut wrenching, almost twisting pang of regret. Because those words, the look in Mark’s beautiful hazel eyes, I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.

There is love there, a different kind of love than what I always thought it was.

Unrequited, and possibly broken.

Whether or not Mark is in love with me, with any of us now doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because he was at one point, maybe for a long time, but he almost looks like he’s given up.

“That was the first time Collinsworth has ever done anything like that,” I say through clenched teeth, willing my tears away, begging the anger to take over again. “He’s persistent as fuck, and he’s cornered me before but he’s never trapped me like that. So there’s your talk, and if you want anything more, maybe you can start pulling up the floorboards to snoop through my journals. You know, since you liked going through my mail and backpack so fucking much.”

I spin toward my nightstand and grab my phone and cigarettes, tying my kimono tighter before I flip Mark the bird and run down the stairs. “Why don’t you start on that now, that way you won’t follow me outside!”

Making a beeline for the French doors, I blow through the living room, covering my mouth until I’m on the balcony when the first sob breaks free.

Markus Favre did love me once, I saw that clear as day, but if he still loves me now he might hate me a little more because he clearly doesn’t think we have a chance.

Or he doesn’t want one.

The look he gave me, his eyes, they said it all.

I swipe at the tears rolling down my cheeks as I slam the door closed, all but collapsing onto the stone bench out of view. I quickly pull a cigarette from my pack with trembling fingers, struggling to light it until the third try. Inhaling deeply, I attempt to calm myself down, looking out to the setting sun, the sky pink around the edges of the starless black.

Why does this hurt so much?

I didn’t know how any of them felt, not for sure, and I should be happy that I have the relationships I do with my amazing men. All four of them, even if they aren’t all how I hoped they’d be.

It’s not right .

That’s why it hurts so badly.

It’s not right only being with three of them when I know in my bones, all four of those men are my soulmates. They are everything I never allowed myself to want, they are exactly what I need, and all five of us together is what makes sense.

Fate might be a bitch but she gave me a chance at a future full of the things I never had. Markus is just as much a part of my destiny as Lucky, Pete and Norman are, and I’m never going to be whole until he knows it.

I lean back against the brick with a sigh, a few more tears sliding down my cheeks.

My ignorance, my denial, whatever it was that kept me oblivious, I waited too long, and pushed too hard.

And I keep fucking pushing,

I owe it to all of them to talk about everything, to put it all out there. My trauma is as much theirs, and if they’re willing to carry my baggage with me, why keep fighting it?

They deserve the truth, the entire story, and they deserve to be able to tell me theirs as well.

That’s what I need to do, what I have to do in order to make everything right but for some fucking reason I can’t. And it most likely cost me Markus, and it’ll probably do the same with the others.

I can’t live that way again.

I take a deep breath as I stab my smoke out next to me, my eyes drifting to the still busy street below.

Only to land on that damn Lambo.

“What the fuck?” I whisper, leaning forward, my nose scrunching in confusion.

Lucky said Franc did a search to see if anyone in my neighborhood drove a car like that and when nothing turned up, he did a wider search. Apparently there are only three people in the entire state of Louisiana who currently own anything like that fancy piece of shit, and none of them are on our side of the state.

Yet, there it is, the Lamborghini Veneno sitting on my street, right in front of my building. For at least the fourth time in the last seven or eight months.

I grab my phone in hopes of getting a picture or maybe even catching the license plate but when I tap the screen, it stays black. Because I’m a dumbass and never charge my phone so it’s still dead.

Ugh .

Setting my phone on top of my smokes, I slide toward the end of the bench and try to see the back end of the car without drawing any attention to myself. I can’t see it from here though, my balconies are wide and the one out front is set pretty far from the opposite side of the street. So, I get down on my hands and knees then crawl toward the iron railing, searching for a place that isn’t dripping with ivy or lined with potted plants.

Norm has a green thumb and says taking care of all the vegetation is good for me. I won’t say it to him but I agree, mainly because it’s been great for privacy during balcony sex.

Unfortunately, I can’t say the same when it comes to peeping on a car that may or may not belong to my new stalker.

I scrunch my nose again and squint through the tiny gaps before I huff, “Norman is lucky I love him so much.”

If I didn’t, I’d be launching these big ass pots over the railing. Which wouldn’t help my cause at all but this is ridiculous.

Probably not as ridiculous as a grown ass woman wearing nothing but a silk kimono while she crawls along her balcony spying on people like a lunatic. God help me if the breeze kicks up. At least I own this building, and the ones on either side of it shouldn’t be able to see into my balcony.

Hopefully .

I move closer to the railing, still trying to see through all the green but I can’t, not clearly enough to get any details on that ridiculous sports car so I keep going.

Inching my way along the thick rug covering the concrete, I keep coming up short so once I’m at the back corner farthest from the French doors, I decide to try something else. I go up on my knees and peek over the iron bars, barely poking my head up high enough to see anything, check for the Lambo then start grabbing the pots in the corner.

Slowly and as quietly as possible, I move two smaller ones, placing them behind me toward the wall. The medium pot scrapes along the cement and I cringe, glancing above the railing to see if anyone heard that, specifically the car below that doesn’t have ears.

I roll my eyes at how stupid I’m being, how stupid this entire scenario is as I finish moving the pot before I grab the edge of the biggest one that’s right up against the bars.

Only to frown when my hands are in front of me.

“What the hell…” There’s a smudge of red on the back of my right one so I turn them both over to see that palm and my left fingers are also red.

I swallow hard as I start to shake, reaching for the large piece of ceramic I now realize is streaked in the same sticky liquid.

It’s probably paint.

I’m sure that’s it.

What else would it be?

We have construction going on in the building, maybe some of the guys came out here to assess something and they had red paint on their clothes.

That’s probably what happened, I mean, I’m overreacting so that has to be it. Even if it seems really strange that Lucky would let anyone into the loft without taking off their shoes or making sure they wouldn’t track anything through the living room. He was probably across the hall when it happened so…

My stomach drops and my heart starts pounding in my ears as soon as I finish moving the plant out of the way, and see an entire puddle of blood .

The sticky red liquid is all over the back of the ceramic planter, the railing, and as I follow it up the ivy covered trellis between my apartment and the one across the hall, I scream.

I scream at the top of my lungs as I scramble backward, tears springing to my eyes as they land on the decapitated head of a goddamn goat. It’s hanging there by the horns, the big curved pieces stuck in the ivy, its tongue flopped out of an open mouth. Part of the spinal column is still attached, some long stringy pieces of it’s insides dangling around the bones, all of it dripping a steady stream of blood all over my balcony.

But what has me most freaked out, what has almost guttural sobs heaving from my chest, are the eyes.

The eyes have been torn out even though they’re still inside the sockets, and holding them in place are Lucky’s father’s drumsticks.

Drumsticks are sticking out of the decapitated head of a goat on my balcony, and the sound of Markus yelling for me as he comes charging through the doors is the last thing I hear before I pass the hell out.