42. Grace

After dropping my latest letter in the mail after school, I headed home for the day. It had been six weeks since Deacon's internship had started in Miami, and I had only spoken to him once and received two letters.

Today, he was supposed to call.

My world revolved around the tiny moments when I got to have a piece of him back. His handwriting, his words, his voice. Anything that I could cling to. Marcus told me he would meet me at my house to speak with him, too. Deacon mentioned in his last letter that things in the Amato pack were vastly different from what they were here, and Marcus wanted more information if Deacon could get it to him.

From what Marcus had told me, Deacon has called to check in with the pack once a week since arriving there. He's heard from him more than I have, though Alpha Marlo doesn't allow him to speak.

Marcus and I have fallen into a fast friendship in the last six weeks. He walks me from work on nights he isn't working and walks with me to school on mornings he is. We meet on his off days at the diner while I work, or he hangs out and reads in the library while I study. He doesn't interrupt; he just finds something he enjoys and quietly passes the time.

Marcus has surprised me with his thirst for knowledge. I've even started calling him Ace because he seems to have an answer for everything. He loves history and has been through most of the books in the small section by now. I even asked Darlene, the librarian I like the most, if she could order new ones, as I know he will run out soon.

What surprises me most is the goodness I've seen in him. He picks up trash others drop, returns the carts to the front of the grocery store, and treats everyone he meets with the utmost respect.

It warms my heart that he's the person Deacon found to be his best friend. I just know that Marcus will make Deacon a better man because of his unwavering virtue. And Deacon will keep the darkness in this world from corrupting Marcus as he goes on to lead.

If Deacon and I are polar opposites, Marcus and I are two peas in a pod. We have so much in common that our friendship is easy. It's been nice having someone who understands what I'm going through by my side while I wait for Deacon to return.

With Marcus, I don't have to worry about him crossing a line, being inappropriate, or wanting more because we both care about Deacon. Knowing the man that Marcus is, only lets me know that he would never try anything behind his best friend"s back.

That alone takes so much stress off me. I know my heart belongs to Deacon, and it's nice not to constantly rebuke someone"s futile advances like I do with Greg. Marcus is a safe space where I can let my guard down without worrying about opening myself up.

"I was beginning to wonder if you were going to make it," his voice hits me, pulling my attention from the sidewalk as I approach my house.

"Well, some of us still need to work on graduating. You remember school, don"t you? That big building with all the kids, teachers, and knowledge just waiting at your fingertips," I say, exaggerating each piece with large arm movements that nearly knock my backpack off.

When I look at him again, his mask is gone, and a bit of sadness shows through before he can slam his defenses into place.

It isn't the first time one of my jokes hit him the wrong way, and guilt hits me right in the stomach. I remember he was in the middle of his senior year when he got pushed into this whole Alpha internship and retreat.

"I had to give the rest of you a chance at keeping up. Could you imagine me with all of that in addition to my endless knowledge and unwavering recall? Wouldn't be fair," he says, aiming for light-hearted, but his tone misses the mark by just a little bit. If I didn't know him better, I would have bought the retort, but I've learned his tells over the last few weeks, and if I'm being honest, his poker face is terrible.

"How would any of us mere mortals compete," I deadpan, letting him have that moment and not pushing him to talk about it.

We walk in, and I set my bag on the counter in the kitchen before turning to point Marcus to the dining table next to our phone. I catch Marcus casually looking around the space, and for the first time, I realize Marcus has never been inside my house.

Panic sets in immediately.

Maybe I should have warned him about my dad?

Perhaps I should have told Deacon to call the diner instead?

As I wrestle with how I can get out of this moment without him seeing this side of my life, the side I keep everyone away from, my dad appears from around the corner, coming from his room to the kitchen wearing his boxers, dirty long socks, and an open robe.

I'm mortified.

He strides up to the refrigerator and opens it before bending over to grab a cold beer. He spots me standing next to the counter when he shuts the door to return to his room.

"Hey Gracie, no work today?" he asks, gravel in his throat before approaching me and kissing my head. It"s a gesture he's done since I was a child, but one that never bothered me until this moment. When he hasn't showered, isn't wearing proper clothes, and smells like a brewery.

"We got another notice from the power company, saying we have until Friday to get a payment in." He pauses. "Can you …" He stops his question, shame shining from his eyes.

I'm frozen. Panic creeps in at the words he just said out loud, hitting Marcus's ears, at the truth of our financial situation being revealed when I have tried so hard to cover for so long.

Deacon doesn't even know.

I can't answer him as his eyes finally land on Marcus sitting at the table.

"Gracie, please tell me you haven't joined some religious cult." His words hit my ears, but my brain is processing everything so slowly that I don't comprehend them. My eyes flip up to Marcus, and I see exactly what he means.

Marcus is wearing a navy polo shirt and white shorts with a belt. His hair looks fresh from a Ralph Lauren advertisement, and he has a notebook in his hand with a leather cover.

Laughter bubbles out of me awkwardly before I can stop it.

"No, Pops, he's not a bible salesman or recruiting me for a cult," I finally say when I contain it.

Marcus, to his credit, maintains his composure and stands up, reaching out his hand to my dad, who grabs it and shakes it firmly.

Always the gentlemen.

"Apologies for coming unannounced, sir. I'm Marcus, Marcus Stone."

"Generally, you save those apologies for the women in your life, son," he says, not cracking a smile before releasing Marcus's hand and casually pulling the robe together so he's more presentable.

"There a reason you"re in my living room?" he asks.

"We're waiting on a call from Deacon, Pops," I answer for him, my eyes dropping to the floor.

At the sound of Deacon's name, my dad"s face sours. He has never liked that I ended up with a Marlo, and I know a part of him still hopes it won't work out.

"Well, I'll leave you to it. Nice to meet you, Marty," he says over his shoulder before returning to his room, his door slamming loudly.

I hold my breath, staring at the hallway my dad just exited, not daring to turn around and face Marcus. I must be tomato red, and I don't even know where to begin explaining my dad to him.

"I am…"

Before I can get the sentence out, Marcus stands before me, causing me to look up at him.

"Don't. Don't you dare apologize to me, Spitfire," he places a hand under my chin when I try to look away. "You don't have to hide this part of you from me. I know you. Deacon knows you. You don't have to prove your worth to anyone. We see it."

How? How do they see beyond the poor girl with the drunk dad and the mom who left her behind? The girl barely able to make the bills because her dad gave up on everyone, including her? How can they see value in that?

My eyes fill with tears that threaten to fall as he releases my face the moment the telephone rings.