Page 54 of Desolation

I’m laying on a tennis court doing sit-ups as the sun rises. I like to come out to this park early to get a workout because no one is using the courts.

It also allows me to think. And the only thing on my mind right now is Marianne. And that bomb she dropped on me last night. I never thought she would tell me anything and then she just blurts out that she is married. Guilt shot through me at those words. I never wanted to be in this situation. I saw my brother cheat on his ex-fiancée when they were still together and it took a toll on him. It worked out for the best because he is happily married to the love of his life now. But I saw what it did to his ex. She reached out to me when she moved to LA but I didn’t talk to her much.

But as Mari explained her situation, the awful things her husband did, and the fact he is blackmailing her, my guilt dissipated. I wish she told me more. I wish I could do something to help her. I can’t believe a man would manipulate his wife that way to get what he wanted. I wish I’d pried for more information, found out the reason he was blackmailing her but when she dropped the second bomb on me, all other thoughts disappeared.

Kids.

She has kids.

I’m an asshole because I didn’t even ask about them.

But kids are my one red flag. I grew up in a shitty household. I don’t know how parents are supposed to act because mine never gave me a clear direction in that. So when I find out a girl I’m fucking, or with Mari, one I plan to, tells me they have kids, I end it right then and there.

But for some goddamn unknown reason, I don’t want to end it with her. I want to see where this goes, regardless if she is still married. I saw her own guilt written all over her face when she told me she was still married and some guys may be idiots for believing her when she said she was getting a divorce. But I saw the fear in her eyes, the fear instilled by her husband. The shame she felt for cheating and I knew she was telling the truth. I would tolerate her kids if it meant we could have some sort of relationship.

I don’t do relationships.

What the hell is this woman doing to me?

I try to erase her from my mind as my abs burn. I lose track of counting as my thoughts wander but I think I’m almost at two hundred. I fall back onto the court, my breath heavy as I look for the energy to flip over and start my pushups.

“You trying to get an eight-pack?” someone shouts at me.

I turn my head, my vision slightly blurry from the exhaustion, and I can just make out the figure of a tall man covered in tattoos walking toward me. It’s not until he gets closer, I notice the long blonde hair pushed back from his face.

I groan into the air. Mark Dixon is the last person I want to deal with right now.

My eyes are closed and I feel him hovering over me, he doesn’t say a word so I hope he will go away if I ignore him.

The sudden feeling of my shirt being raised makes me bolt from the ground. “What the fuck, man?”

“Just checking to see if two more abs popped onto your stomach,” he grins at me.

I shake my head and start to walk away.

“Muff said I might find you here.”

“How the hell does Jackson know I work out here?” I ask.

Mark shrugs. “Hell if I know.”

“Fucking weird.”

“Muffin is a weird one. I blame it on his obsession with Kitty.”

“What do you want?”

Mark shrugs as he crosses his arms. “Just seeing how you were doing after our talk the other night.”

“I’m fine.”

“Hmm. Is that why you did close to three hundred sit-ups?”

Three hundred? No way I hit that many, I turn from him and start doing suicide sprints.

“From the amount of torture you are putting yourself through, I’m guessing no.”

I continue to ignore him as I make my way up and down the court in segments. The squeak of my shoes as I bend to touch the ground doing nothing to drown him out as I run.

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