Page 86 of Made For Ruin

Lainey looks to me for support, but I'm at a loss for words. How can I possibly explain the complex emotions and history between Lainey and me? How can I make Axel understand that this isn't some fling or manipulation on my part?

But Axel is already backing away, shaking his head in disgust. "I can't even look at you right now. Either of you."

He turns on his heel and storms off, disappearing around the corner. The sound of a slamming door echoes a moment later.

TWENTY-ONE

LAINEY

My head throbsas consciousness creeps in the next morning, reminding me exactly how much champagne I drank at the reception.

Not that it helped.

Nothing could have made last night better after seeing the betrayal in Axel’s eyes.

The rational part of me knows I didn't technically do anything wrong. We're all adults here, free to make our own choices. Marcus and I never crossed any lines while Axel and I were together. But the guilt still gnaws at me, knowing I should have told Axel sooner about my growing feelings for his dad.

I drag myself out of bed, wincing as the movement intensifies my headache. In the bathroom mirror, I'm greeted by bloodshot eyes and mascara smudges. I splash cold water on my face, trying to shake off the lingering effects of last night's champagne and the weight of my tangled emotions.

As I brush my teeth, I can't help but worry about what this means for my relationship with Marcus. Ruby drove me home from the reception. And when I got back, I found him sitting on the back deck in the darkness, a glass of whiskey untouched in his hand.

He saw me but neither of us said a word.What was there to say? We’d known this day would come eventually. Known that keeping us secret from Axel would blow up in our faces. We just hadn’t expected it to happen like this.

I brew a strong pot of coffee, hoping the aroma will lure Marcus back inside. As I pour two mugs, I debate whether to bring one out to him or wait for him to come to me.

The steady thwack of the ax against wood echoes through the quiet morning air.

Each strike feels like it's cleaving my heart in two.

I know Marcus is out there wrestling with his demons, trying to bury his guilt and conflict beneath a pile of firewood.

I want to go to him, to wrap my arms around his strong torso and press my face into the solid warmth of his back. I want to tell him that we'll figure this out together, that what we have is worth fighting for. But I'm frozen in the kitchen, paralyzed by the fear that he might not feel the same way anymore.

Finally, I force my feet to move. I push open the screen door with my hip, carefully balancing the two steaming mugs. The brisk mountain air nips at my skin as I pad across the dew-damp grass in my bare feet.

Marcus doesn't acknowledge me as I approach, just keeps splitting logs with methodical precision. I watch the fluid flex of his arms, the sweat glistening on his neck above the collar of his flannel shirt. He grunts with each swing.

"I made you coffee," I say quietly, holding out one of the mugs.

He lets the ax head thud into the chopping block, wiping an arm across his brow. He turns to me, his amber eyes filled with a tumultuous blend of emotions I can't quite decipher. Weariness. Guilt. Longing. He crosses the yard, closing the distance between us with purposeful strides.

"Thank you, baby," he murmurs, his deep voice even rougher than usual. His calloused fingers brush mine as he takes the mug.

"You've been up for hours," I comment, studying the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the tense set of his chiseled jaw. "Did you sleep at all?"

He takes a long sip of the coffee, his gaze fixed on the steam curling up from the surface. "Not really. Had a lot on my mind."

I swallow hard, my stomach twisting with fresh guilt and regret.

"Marcus, I'm so sorry about what happened with Axel. I never meant for him to find out like that. For it to hurt him. Or you."

Marcus sets the mug down on the nearby railing and pulls me into his arms. I'm enveloped by his warmth, his scent of pine and male musk and morning coffee. His big hand cradles the back of my head as I press my face into his chest.

"This isn't your fault, Lainey," he says firmly, his deep voice rumbling through me. "Don't you dare blame yourself for any of it."

I shake my head against him, tears pricking the backs of my eyes. "But it is, Marcus. At least partly. I should have told Axel sooner, before he figured it out on his own like that. Before he felt so betrayed and angry."

Marcus sighs heavily, his breath ruffling my hair. "No, baby. This is on me. It's about me and the fact that I've been a shit father to that boy for too goddamn long. I'm the one who needs to make this right with him."

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