Falling for the New Guy

“It’s not like that,” she said lamely. She got off the couch, pushing her hair back and linking her hands behind her head before letting them fall at her sides. “He calls and asks for help. I need...” She shook her head. “He’s an alcoholic, Marc. He’s sick. I’m all he has. It’s sometimes a bit much and I need a break.”

“You...” Part of him was desperate to keep his mouth shut, to keep out of this, to help in only the most peripheral ways possible, but it wasn’t a big enough part of him to keep his mouth shut. “I know it’s none of my business, but him having a fight with that scrawny guy at his apartment complex? It may not just be alcohol.”

Her shoulders slumped and she turned away from him. “I know. That’s new. Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“I don’t want to talk about this, Marc. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I have things under control.” Her head bobbed as if she was nodding to herself. Then a sound escaped her mouth—not really a laugh, not a sob. He wasn’t sure what the noise was.

“God, what a joke. I don’t have a damn thing under control anymore. I’m not even fooling myself.” She sniffled. “I’m not doing this again in front of you. I’m going home. Look, I’m sorry. I need to get out of here.” She moved for the door, but he was—thankfully—faster and got there first. Blocking it.

What the hell are you doing?

He had no idea. He only knew he couldn’t let her leave. “Tess.”

Even though she’d sniffled, she wasn’t crying. Yet. Her eyes were shiny with tears. “Marc, let me go, okay? I’ll handle everything. I always do. I...have to.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes, hands shaking.

The little voice in his head kept repeating the same question over and over—What the hell are you doing? Only it didn’t seem to change the fact he was doing it. He reached for her shoulders, fingers curling around them. Even though her body trembled, she felt so damn strong under his hands he just wished he had answers.

He could only do his best, which would never be good enough, but maybe it could be something. “Surely there’s someone who can help—”

“I don’t have anyone who can help us,” she choked out, dropping her hands from her eyes, a mix of determination and defeat. How did she do that?

A few tears had escaped her eyes, and he hated the feeling in his gut—helplessness. As though there wasn’t a thing he could do to fix this.

A very familiar feeling. One he couldn’t seem to shake no matter where he went, and yet the words that came out of his mouth didn’t seem to understand that. “I can help.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t.” How long had he been trying to help only to fail? But...she made him feel as if this could be different. “Honestly, my choice method of help would be arresting the kind of asshole that would hurt his daughter.” Without permission from the rational side of his brain, his hands moved from her shoulders down to her arm, where she’d held a cloth over a cut that first night he’d met her.

“I can’t—”

“So, I can’t fix anything. But I can help. You need to be away from your phone. I’m right next door. Well, almost. I don’t have much of a life, considering I just moved here. The point is, if you need someone to distract you, I can do that.” Which sounded... “I didn’t mean...”

She smiled, which was nice to see. “Why don’t you order the pizza, Captain Quiet? That’ll be enough distracting...for now.” Then her expression went soft, and there was that fleeting feeling he’d been chasing for most of his life, the feeling that he’d helped, that he’d done something.

Tess rose to her toes and brushed her lips against his cheek. “Thanks,” she said.

He swallowed, because a kiss on the cheek—a friendly thank-you kiss on the cheek—was not something to get all worked up over. But that’s exactly what he was. Worked up. Tied up. Ridiculously pleased that someone had recognized his effort.

Also, screwed. Very, very screwed.

CHAPTER SEVEN

TESS BLINKED HER eyes open to a strange ceiling. There was no faint watermark from that one particularly nasty storm three years ago. And someone was tugging her foot.

She leveraged up onto her elbows and was met with Marc. Oh-so-yummy Marc. Who apparently attracted her tears and breakdowns like a damn magnet.

“Um, didn’t know how much time you needed to get ready in the morning.”

“Morning?” Tess looked around the dimly lit apartment. “What time is it?”

“Five.”

“In the morning?”

“Yes, that’s kind of what I was getting at.”

Tess rubbed her eyes trying to get her sleepy brain to engage. So, they’d ordered pizza. Watched...hockey. Yes, that was why she’d fallen asleep. Apparently kept sleeping long after she should have.

“I slept all night on your couch.”

“That must be some comfortable couch you picked out. Once you were out, you were out. And snoring.”

“I do not snore.”

“Oh, right, that must have been a mouse.” He grinned. Like an actual, full-blown pleased-with-himself smile and God, he was so damn hot. And sweet. Nice and helpful and yes, it seemed about right that the first guy to trip her trigger in a long time was completely off-limits.

And the only one in...ever who’d stepped up to help. But that was her own fault. After that incident between Dad and her boyfriend right after high school, she’d given up any hope of help. She kept friends at enough distance so they didn’t know what was going on.

Work was her life, coworkers her family and her dad this secret little piece of herself no one saw.

So sure, like this guy, have the hots for this guy and be completely incapable of doing anything about it.

Well, not incapable.

Oh, no, no, no. None of that. Because giving up all she’d built to scratch an itch or get some help was idiocy. Marc’s help would be minimal and short-lived. Her reputation at the station needed to last her through retirement.

Period.

“You want some breakfast?”

“Um, thanks, really, thanks for everything, but I didn’t plan on spending the night on your couch. I need to make sure I have a pressed uniform and clean socks and all manner of things.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“I...I’m not usually this much of a mess.” She pulled her tennis shoes on. “Really. It...really.” She had a desperate need for him to understand that. He was catching her at a bad time. Usually she had no trouble juggling everything. This was abnormal. He was catching her at a bad time.

He had to believe that. She had to believe that.

“I believe you.”

Tess laughed. It wasn’t exactly a happy laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. “Honestly, Marc, I don’t know why. I have given you absolutely no reason to believe I have any of my shit together.”

“Actually, most of the time you seem like you have everything infinitely together. The blips make you human instead of...”

“Instead of what?”

“Nothing,” he grumbled, turning away from her and walking toward the kitchen.

“Oh, no, you have to tell me. Come on. I’m the pathetic girl who cried on you for the second night in a row and slept on your couch. Give me something to boost my deflated ego here.”

“Your ego is fine. You make me talk too much.” He fiddled with his coffeemaker, rinsing out the carafe with more precision than necessary.

“That cheers me up almost as much as the thinking-I’ve-got-it-together thing.” It really did. She didn’t feel so pathetic, and she got a kick out of making him grumbly. “You don’t talk too much, by the way. Everything you say is...” She let out a sigh. Awkwardness wasn’t something she felt too often, but in trying to give him an honest compliment, she felt it dig in.

“Anyway.” She forced an easy, confident smile. She’d learned a long time ago how to pretend. Except when he’s all nice and you fall apart like a total loser. Ugh. She crossed to him and held her hand out. “Thanks.”

He stared at her hand for a few seconds before lifting his gaze to hers. Grrr, it was so unfair she couldn’t throw herself at him.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“Don’t get all—”

“We’re friends. You don’t have to thank friends. It’s just what we do. Okay?”

She realized he was uncomfortable, possibly as awkward as she felt. Maybe he was as bad at taking gratitude as she was at expressing it. Well, hey, that would come in handy.

“Okay,” she said with a nod, dropping her hand. “No thanks. Just friends helping friends.”

Marc nodded.

“Well, friend, I’m going to go get ready to cart your ass around today, and if you want to bring your friendly FTO a cup of coffee to go, she would not say no.”

Marc’s mouth quirked, that little half smile he had. Nothing compared to the full-blown smile during the snoring conversation, but it was enough. Enough to make the unwelcome attraction flutters come out.

“Sure thing.”

Tess gave a little nod then turned toward the door. She didn’t want to face her phone and the likely bazillion messages from Dad, but she felt stronger. Better equipped to deal with them than she had yesterday.

She wasn’t sure if she would give the credit to Marc believing she had it together or just the offer of his help. Either way, it made her a little itchy. Help wasn’t something she’d ever had.

“Tess?”

She looked over her shoulder. He didn’t look up from his coffee preparations even as he spoke.

“Just to be clear, my door’s always open for...whatever.”

Not sexual, Camden. “I appreciate that.” And she did. More than she probably should. Because even if Marc was her friend and her coworker, she couldn’t always ignore helping her father. She couldn’t always distract herself from it. More, she couldn’t always count on Marc to drop everything for her. Eventually he’d build his own life here.

She stepped into the hall, closing the door behind her. Maybe Marc wouldn’t always be around to help, but for the time being, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to take a little bit.

* * *

AT THE KNOCK on the door, Marc’s heartbeat kicked up. “Moron,” he muttered into the empty apartment. An apartment that hadn’t felt all that empty until he’d come home from work this afternoon. Empty had been his way of life—it had felt like solitude.

It was not normal or okay that Tess had whirled into everything and made it feel like a void instead. Like the quiet was too quiet and the alone was too alone. He had spent the entire day working side by side with her. He’d had two hours of alone time this evening.

But he’d told her he could help. He’d told her they were friends. So he opened the door and tried to not look irritated. Besides, he wasn’t a total asshole. He could definitely be her friend without also wanting to get her naked.

Or at least he wouldn’t act on it.

“Brownies!” Tess said cheerfully. “Now, I’m no culinary genius, but I have mastered the art of the perfect box brownie.” She waltzed her way in as if she belonged. As if that was something people normally did in his life.

Hell, his mother didn’t even waltz into his place like that, and she was the overbearing sort—just more focused on Leah.

“Brownies, huh?”

“Since friends don’t say thank-you for helping each other out, they bring brownies. Also, I wanted brownies, but if I keep this whole thing in my apartment I will eat it all tonight.”

He was spared having to respond to that when his cell phone rang. Since the caller ID read Mom, Marc had to think whether or not to ignore it.

“Go ahead,” Tess said with a wave, already in his kitchen drawers, presumably rooting around for a knife to cut the brownies. Hopefully a plate, too. Because if she ate without a plate, there would be brownie crumbs everywhere and—

“Answer it,” she insisted.

Right. He clicked Accept and stepped toward his bedroom. He wasn’t sure he wanted Tess to be able to hear his conversation. He wasn’t sure he hid his pathetic mommy issues so well when he was actually talking to his mother.

“Marc? Is silence how you greet your mother? Because I know that phone of yours tells you who’s calling.”

Marc stepped into his room, gingerly closing the door and hoping Tess wouldn’t notice.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Much better. Now, I need to talk to you about next Friday.”

“Next Friday?”

“Your father and I bumped up our trip. I’m hoping if we get a house lined up it might spur your sister or Jacob on in the engagement process.”

Marc closed his eyes. A weight settled in his chest. A helpless feeling that he’d moved here for nothing. Mom wasn’t ever going to look up and say, “Why, Marc, you’ve been a kind of exceptional son. Thank you for that.”

Because all that mattered was Leah. Now Leah and Jacob.

Which shouldn’t be something he got so tied up about. He should be adult enough to accept it and move on. But he was here, so the likelihood of that was slim at this point.

“Marc?”

“I was looking at my schedule. I can’t take off, but I’ll still be on days, so I’ll be free after four every day. How long are you staying?”

“Two weeks. More if I can finagle it.”

“Okay, well, I’ll have Monday and Tuesday off.”

“That’s fine. Leah said she can take off whatever days we’re here. Your father and I can always entertain ourselves, or Jacob said MC’s doors are always open. But of course we’ll want to have you come over for some family meals, too.”

We. Come over. To Leah’s house. Even though he’d moved here because they’d asked him to so they could be one big happy family, and being the idiot he was, he’d thought that would put him on equal footing. He’d thought that meant he mattered.

But he was being invited to dinners like an outsider while they stayed with Leah and Jacob.

He needed this conversation to be over. “Yeah, sure. Just keep me up-to-date.”

“Have you spent any time with your sister?”

“I stopped by MC the other day, and we’re going to have lunch next week.” Although with Mom and Dad coming maybe he could get out of that. Hell, maybe he could get out of the whole damn thing. Maybe he’d moved here for them, but if they still didn’t want to see him...maybe he didn’t need to be seen.

“I’ve got company, Mom. Gotta go.”

“Oh, what kind of company?”

“A friend from work.”

“Oh.” Mom’s disappointment was palpable, but at least that was something. If he really wanted her to care, he could probably mention the friend from work was a woman. A very attractive woman.

But as desperate as he was for his mother’s attention, he wasn’t that bad. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sure, sweetie, love you.”

“Yeah. Love you, too.” He clicked End and tossed the phone on his bed. Maybe Tess had the right idea about ignoring the parental phone calls.

Yeah, because her father is an abusive jerk, not because she’s pathetic and desperate for attention like a four year old.

Years of self-flagellation didn’t change the fact that he was always looking for the crumbs of attention his parents deigned to throw his way. Could he break the habit now? Maybe he should try.

Maybe he and Tess could be each other’s distraction. Not sexually. If he reminded himself of that enough, maybe he’d believe it. He stepped out of his room, leaving his phone inside.

“Sorry about...” He blinked at the empty kitchen, then looked around the living room. She’d...left?

He should not feel disappointed. Then he looked down at her pan of brownies, a generous chunk missing, a little note on top. Had to run out for a bit. See you tomorrow.

He should let it go. This was none of his business. He was the distraction friend. He didn’t need to be more than that. Maybe he was overreacting to think she was going to see her father. Maybe it was something else. He didn’t know everything about her life.

But all the rationalizations in the world didn’t stop him from shoving his feet into his shoes and jogging out the door, not even bothering to lock the dead bolt, which was unheard of.

He took the stairs two at a time and pushed out the building door to the parking lot. Tess was just opening her car door.

“Tess!”

She stopped and looked up at him, her expression some mix between sheepish and defeated. “Hey, sorry I had to bail. I...”

He crossed to her side of the car, only a little out of breath. “It’s okay, I just...” He just what? Hated the idea of her going to see her father alone? “If you’re going to see your dad, let me come with you.”

Her eyebrows drew together, clearly perplexed. “Um, no. I’m sorry. Thanks for the offer, really, but I can handle this.”

He reached out and took her arm, couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help any of this. Maybe she was right and he did have some misguided superhero sense of duty, but how could he watch her go into a situation that could get her hurt?

His thumb brushed over where she’d had the gash on her arm that first night. “Maybe you can, but a little backup couldn’t hurt.” Because if she did come back scathed, how would he be able to live with having let her go?

“I know you think the cut thing was him hurting me on purpose, but it wasn’t.” She patted his hand that grasped her arm. “The glass broke and a shard got me. He didn’t, like, come up and slash me.”

“How did it break?”

She blinked then looked away. “Well...”

He had seen that look before. Almost always on a woman convinced she was at fault for another man’s violence. “Well what?”

“He threw it.”

“Where?”

“At me.” She let out a gusty sigh and disentangled her arm from his grasp. “Look, I get it, really. I know what it looks like. But...he isn’t a monster. It’s not like he spent my whole life beating me. When he’s bad off, he gets violent. Yes, occasionally I get the brunt of that, but I can take care of myself, Marc. I’m a cop, too.”

“Tess—”

“I’ve done the bring a big-burly-guy-to-be-my-protector thing before. My boyfriend right out of high school was a bodybuilder. Bigger than you, Mr. Football Shoulders. All it did was agitate Dad from the start. He and James got in a brawl. Besides, he knows who you are. You’re the cop he wasn’t too pleased with the other day. So it would only escalate the situation.”

“So don’t go.”

She shook her head, looking immeasurably sad. So much worse than his own lame-ass pity party a few minutes ago. “I can’t let him kill himself or hurt other people. I have to fix this. I’ve been dealing with this my whole life. I know how to handle it.”

“If it’s been going on your whole life, why do you think you can fix it?” There had to be some way he could convince her not to go, to stay here, safe.

“I do sometimes fix it, thank you very much. I have gotten him help before, and things go okay for a while. But addiction isn’t easy to break.” She poked a finger into the center of his chest. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me so far, but I’m not about to let you think you can elbow your way into my life or my business. I can handle this.”

“I’m not saying you can’t.”

“Oh, really.”

“He hurt you. That isn’t—”

“It is what it is. I can handle it. I have handled it. On my own, for thirty-some years. And here I stand before you, in one piece. So I highly suggest you back the eff off, Marc.” She wrenched her door open, slid into the driver’s seat. Before she could pull it closed, he grabbed it, earning him a glare. “Seriously, Marc, this is not okay.”

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