Page 24 of Sparks Fly
He looks at his daughter, the little girl in the orange tutu with the powdered sugar on her elbow and the bracelet she hasn't stopped touching all afternoon, and he looks away like we are strangers. Like we are nobody.
Because that’s how he’s treated us since he decided to check out on us.
Cora hasn't seen him yet, thank God. I try to control my breathing, to try and keep my reaction at a minimum. No one else seems to notice, but then I realize someone has.
I feel the way Mark’s body changes beside me, the ease is gone, tension replacing it. He steps forward slightly, just enough to put himself at my left, and he looks at Derek until Derek is out of sight.Then he looks at me. Then down at Cora, who is telling Amy about the finale.
"Hey." His voice is low, meant only for me. "Look at me."
I do.
"It doesn't matter," he says. "Because you're mine now. Both of you." His eyes hold mine, certain and clear, no performance in them. "You hear me?"
My throat is tight. I nod.
He picks up the blanket from my hands and tucks it under his arm, and then he reaches for Cora's hand, and she takes it automatically, already mid-story, barely breaking stride.
I watch them walk ahead of me for exactly three seconds.
Then I catch up, but I can’t help the feeling that all that’s good might turn bad.
Chapter Twelve
Mark
It's been a couple days since the Ice Cream Social and I haven't been able to stop thinking about Trish and Cora. I even made that picture of us the lock screen on my phone. It just hasn't worked out for us to be able to see each other.
It’s why I’m thinking about her instead of focusing on the lunch I’m supposed to be making. But if I don’t get my head in the game, we’re going to have a hungry house, and if these guys get hangry, it’s not good.
Lunch at the station is a group effort, which means Gunner and I are in the kitchen arguing about whether the chili needs more cumin while Torres sets the table and pretends he can't hear us.
"It needs more cumin," I say.
"It doesn't need more cumin, it needs more time." Gunner puts the lid back on the pot like that settles it.
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
"Don't touch my chili, Mark."
I hold my hands up and step back, and Torres snorts from the table. I grab my phone off the counter and flip it over because it's a habit at this point. The lock screen looks back at me. That picture makes me want everything.
I've looked at it probably forty times in the last two days.
We've texted back and forth, and there was a phone call that ran longer than either of us planned, and I've driven past the county clerk's office once, which I'm not going to admit to anyone. But between my shift rotation and Cora's schedule and the general logistics of two adults with actual lives, we haven't managed to be in the same place at the same time. It sucks, but it’s where we are right now.
"You're looking at that picture again," Gunner says without turning around.
Fucker has eyes in the back of his head. "I'm checking the time,” I argue with him.
"Your lock screen is a photo, not a clock," he argues back.
Torres laughs out loud this time. I put my phone face down on the counter before flipping him the bird.
Lunch is good. Turns out, the chili is, in fact, better after more time, which I don't acknowledge out loud. Afterward Gunner and I head down to the workout room to get a session in before the afternoon gets away from us. We've done this enough times that we don't need to talk about it. He takes the bench, I take the rack, we rotate, we spot each other, we don't talk much.
About forty minutes in, I'm on my second set of deadlifts when he speaks up.
"Amy took Rosa to the county clerk's office today."
