Page 33 of The Other Side of Apart
“Marcus, go back to?—”
“Get on the bike, Mei. We have to go.”
CHAPTER 16
I’m stuck between a dream and a nightmare, my emotions stretched, frayed, numb. Hours ago, my life couldn’t have been more perfect. I have Marcus. I’m married to him, not just dating, not hoping for someday with him. We were living in our first apartment—just ours, no one else’s. He was living his soccer dreams, and I was cheering him on and figuring out how to make my culinary dreams come true in a new way. Now…we’re no longer in that dream world. We’re in L.A. We rode straight into the place I ran from after the assault, but this time I’m with Marcus on a motorcycle, idling at a sprawling entrance gate and there’s still fear, no matter how far we’ve run.
This gate is like the one in front of our honeymoon beach house, but instead, I’m pretty sure the drive leads to a mansion, if it’s anything like the other houses on this street. And unlike the beach house, I’m not looking forward to what’s inside.
We really don’t know where we’re going, so maybe this is it? Maybe it’s not. We have nowhere else to go, so why not here—a sprawling villa-mansion where Marcus’s biological mom-who-he’s-never-met-before lives.
After leaving the soccer field, we raced back to our apartment, parked right outside the doors to our building, andran upstairs. We threw everything we own back into our weary bags. As Marcus was shoving things in his bag, an envelope dropped to the floor and he paused, staring it down. Then he’d snatched it off the ground, shoved it in his pocket, and said, “We’re going to L.A.” Those were the last words he’d said.
It was a long, silent drive from Stanford; we haven’t had silence like this since the day we drove away from San Francisco with nothing but two bags and fear. Today, we still have only two bags, and fear has multiplied and invited loss along to take the place of hope.
Marcus’s body was rigid the whole six-hour drive, like something inside him had hardened. I haven’t touched him; I gripped my knees the whole ride instead, holding myself on the bike when what I really wanted to do was fly into the endless blue sky. He hasn’t touched me either, and I’m afraid we both lost more than just Stanford. I’m not sure how we’ll ever get it all back.
If I’m being honest, I’m okay with the silence because it’s allowed me to think. Seeing Nick this morning was like drowning in air, mentally clawing at anything to pull me out and away. Memories have swerved toward me all afternoon, the ones I thought I’d buried hitting me head on. They rammed their way into my soul, and I’m thankful I was behind Marcus so he couldn’t see me cry. The wind took my tears, and he’ll never know. He has his own tears to fight, and I don’t have energy for both of ours. My whole body is too full of hate toward Nick.
He obliterated my world and our dreams just by stepping out of a car. He made Marcus choose between Stanford and me. I don’t feel victorious to be the one he chose.
A man comes out of the guard shack in front of the gate, wearing a cardigan and tie. He asks us how he can help. Help is useless now.
“Hey. My name’s Marcus Miller. Here to see Olivia Sultana.” Marcus’s words are flat, like they’ve been run over and he’s peeling them off the ground.
“I’ll give her a call. One moment,” the guard says and goes back inside the shack.
Marcus’s mom is inside the mansion. Maybe. We’ll find out, if the guard opens the gate for us. If his mom chooses to allow two complete strangers inside her home, even if one of them is her flesh and blood.
Marcus looks straight ahead, waiting for the gate to swing aside and let us in. Maybe it will, maybe it won’t. Nothing’s gone as it should today.
But then the gate beeps, and Marcus’s back rises like he’s pulling air into his lungs. The guard waves us through, and Marcus eases the motorcycle past the gate and up the steep driveway to his mom. A mom he’s never met or spoken to. She’s as much a mystery to Marcus as my dad is to me. If the roles were reversed, I’m not sure I’d be brave enough to do what Marcus is doing. But we’re also desperate. I wonder what he hopes to find behind the towering double doors of this Italian villa-style mansion overlooking L.A. Maybe he’s just hoping to find hope because he left it all on the soccer field. I saw it in his backward glance. I left mine on the sidewalk the moment I saw Nick, so neither of us can offer any to the other.
Marcus parks beside the cobblestone driveway and starts up the sidewalk, his posture stiff and hunched. I rush to catch up, and we climb the never-ending steps to the front doors together.
Halfway up, I grab his hand, yanking him to a stop. “Marcus.”
He pauses, panic flashing in his eyes, chased by determination that hardens in his jaw.
I meet his eyes, holding onto them. “Whatever happens in there, with her, I’m in this with you. If you say we go, we go. You’re not doing this alone, but if you’d rather, I’ll stay outhere.” All I can give him is this one choice, now that I’ve taken everything else from him.
He pulls me into his arms and against his chest, his chin resting on top of my head. “I want you here,” he whispers, choked. “I’m sorry.”
I don’t dare move, just soak in his voice rumbling through me, his arms wrapped completely around me, holding me to him until he draws back, and we take the few remaining steps to the doors together.
He stares at the doorbell for a minute, then rings it. He holds my hand so tightly it aches, but it’s a relief to feel an ache somewhere other than my chest.
When the door finally opens, a tiny woman wearing a black pantsuit smiles, her eyes darting between us from behind white rimmed glasses. “May I help you?”
It takes me less than a second to realize this woman can’t be Marcus’s mom. Marcus must realize the same thing because he clears his throat and says, “Yeah, ummm…is Olivia here? I’m…her son. Marcus. I got her address from a graduation card she sent me. Just…stopping by to meet her.” His words cut off at the edges like he was going to say something else but decided not to.
The woman searches Marcus’s face before she gives us another warm smile. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. However, she’s not home right now. I expect her in about an hour. Would you like to come in and wait?”
We’re sitting on the back deck overlooking L.A., both of us twirling our glass water bottles on the table opposite each other. Marcus is mentally rehearsing, lost between then and now, now and the minute Olivia gets home. He’s holding back words Ican see in his eyes before he shoves them aside. All that’s going through my mind is how much I hate this town and being this close to what happened in a hotel not far from here…
The door sweeps open, and a female version of Marcus glides onto the deck. She hesitates, her dress and hair and miles of leg pausing, then eases toward us. I can’t stop staring at her, but with a body and face like hers, she’s probably used to it. It runs in the family, apparently.
“Marcus?” Her voice is low, rich, smooth. “This is a surprise.”
