Samantha Young - Fall From India Place

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say or if it was possible to force words out of the burning, painful ball of tears clogging my throat. At my prolonged silence, Ellie sighed unhappily and promptly left. The fact that she didn’t say good-bye told me she was hurt and annoyed at me.

I went right back to being pissed off at Marco.

I stewed for a while, until my phone rang and jerked me out of my daze. With a sigh, I reached for it, not recognizing the number. Hoping it wasn’t a salesman, not just for my sake but for theirs, I answered.

“Hannah, it’s me.” Marco’s familiar deep voice hit me with the force of a cannonball.

My whole body shuddered away from the phone in shock and I stared at it for a second, fury quickly building in me at his audacity.

I heard him say my name in question.

Putting the phone back to my ear, I snapped, “How did you get this number?”

“From Anisha. I explained we were old friends. I just want to talk. I need a chance to explain.”

Over the past few years I had imagined this moment, and every single time I hung up on him immediately or I walked away. In actuality I found myself hesitating because the reality was that he didn’t sound like the boy I’d once known. It wasn’t easy to describe, but even with me, someone whom he’d considered his best friend, he’d kept a guard up around his words all the time.

There wasn’t a guard up now. I couldn’t say how I knew. I just… felt it.

And it stunned me for a few seconds. A few seconds filled with curiosity and indecision.

But following those seconds were the memories of what I’d been through.

“Hannah?”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I answered. “I’m over it.”

Before Marco could say another word, I hung up and switched my phone off.

“It looks like I need to get a new number,” I said flippantly, but I wasn’t fooling myself. My hands shook and my heart pounded as I placed the phone back on my table.

Probationary year was often difficult – the days were sometimes stressful and I was busy all the time. For once I was thankful for that over the next few days. I was also thankful for the adult literacy course and for the book group I’d joined that gathered every Wednesday evening at St. Stephen’s Centre. If it kept me active and focused on anything but Marco, it was a godsend.

I had my fourth-year class that afternoon, and they were definitely helping to keep me busy. It would seem that not all of them were happy to be reading the play Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw.

Throughout the period, Jack Ryan, the little pain in the arse that Tabitha Bell had been so upset over, had repeatedly sighed heavily as we read scenes and discussed the play. Five times I’d asked him to sit properly at his desk after he pushed his chair up onto its back legs, balancing it precariously. I had visions of the chair tipping him and his head cracking off the corner of the desk behind him and me being blamed for his stupidity.

He was driving me nuts, but I was doing my best to ignore him and teach.

“Aw come on, man, whit the fuck is this shite?” he grumbled, loud enough for me to hear him.

Before I could reprimand him, Jarrod got there. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up, you whining wee bastard?”

“Jarrod,” I warned.

“What?” Jarrod grimaced at me. “He’s being a dick.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to lower yourself to his level.”

Jack’s chair thudded to the ground. “You calling me a dick, Miss?”

I gave him a lengthy stare in answer. Jarrod relaxed, chuckling in triumph at Jack.

Jack flushed, but fortunately the bell rang before I could receive his sure-to-be-disrespectful retort.

As the kids got up to leave, I called Jarrod over to my desk, something that seemed to be becoming a regular occurrence. He swaggered over to me with his cocky assuredness, grinning at me. “If you’re going to give me a row, don’t bother.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “Don’t bother because you know you were in the wrong?”

He shrugged. “I just said what you wanted to say.”

That was so terribly true it took everything in me not to give that fact away. “Jarrod, the point is that you’re a bright kid, and a good kid, and you need to learn to stop retaliating against idiots who aren’t worth it. Keep your lips sealed and walk away.”

“From who? Ryan and Mr. Rutherford?” he sneered.

I shrugged this time, and Jarrod smiled as if he knew I agreed with him. I wanted him to rein in that temper of his so guys like Jack Ryan and Rutherford didn’t get the best of him. I said this to him and he stared at the floor thoughtfully.

A few seconds of contemplation passed, and since I didn’t want him to feel like I was coming down on him all the time, I pushed another topic. “Did you look at my notes on your personal essay?”

He nodded.

“Making any progress?”

“I suppose so.”

“As good as it is, I just feel it would have more impact if the reader had insight into your parents and their influence on your relationship with your brother.”

Jarrod’s eyes hardened. “Well, it’s just Mum, me, and the wee man. Dad bolted just after my brother was born.”

Feeling instantly uncomfortable and knowing I couldn’t really say anything helpful since I fortunately didn’t have personal insight into parents who abandoned their children, I offered a lame “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugged with fake nonchalance.

“It does. Try writing it in. It might help.”

He rolled his eyes, giving me a sad smile. “See, why did you have to go spoil a perfectly nice moment with the personal essay crap, Miss Nichols?”

Giving him a look that told him I didn’t buy his pretense at cool, I opened my mouth to dismiss him just as a loud knock on my open classroom doorway drew our gazes.

I sucked in my breath, my body freezing in shock.

Filling the entire doorway was Marco. He was wearing a dark fleece hoodie and dark jeans tucked into construction boots. My eyes flew back up to his face, and I felt that painful wince in my chest at his handsomeness.

What the hell was he doing here?

Jarrod sensed the sudden tension. “You okay, Miss Nichols?” His eyes swung to Marco and instantly narrowed in suspicion.

My heart racing, I turned to my student and attempted to sound calm as I replied, “I’m fine. I’ll see you next class, Jarrod.”

“I can stay,” he said stubbornly.

I smiled at his protectiveness but shook my head. “I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t seem convinced or too happy about leaving me with the large, brooding man in the doorway, but he gave me a chin lift in good-bye and strode across the room, his eyes holding Marco’s in warning despite Marco’s size.

Marco watched him leave, his gaze following him out of the classroom. When Jarrod was out of sight, he turned back to me with an amused look in his gorgeous eyes. “You’ve got a loyal one there.”

No, no. There would be no pleasantries in this ambush. “What are you doing here?”

At my question, determination swept across his face and he walked into the room, somehow managing to fill the entire space with his more powerful than ever presence. I watched warily as he came to a stop a few feet from me. “Nish left my name with Reception so I could get in. My foreman let me cut out of work early. I was guessing that my only chance to see you would be in school.”

My pulse was literally throbbing, probably visibly in my neck, so I was glad I was wearing my hair loose. As dogged as he was in his attempts to talk, I was equally determined to prove he didn’t affect me. I stuck my chin out stubbornly. “Why? I told you I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”

He shrugged, jamming his hands in his jeans. “I think your attitude suggests otherwise.”

I glowered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

If that was a lip twitch of amusement I was going to kill him. He waved two fingers in the direction of my forehead and its frown lines. “That does.”

Time to change tactics. “Why the hell do you want to talk? You hate talking.”

Marco chuckled. “I’m not that guy anymore, Hannah. I just want a chance to explain that. But also to explain the past. And apologize for it.”

There was a part of me that was desperate to give in, like I would have done when I was a kid, eager for his respect and affection. But I wasn’t her anymore. He’d helped see to that. I leaned back against my desk and crossed my arms over my chest. “You’re sorry?”

His eyes glittered with obvious remorse. “Of course.”

“And you once did genuinely care about me?”

Something else entered his eyes, something more intense. His voice was deeper as he answered, “Yes.”

“Okay. If that’s true, you can prove it by turning around and walking out that door.”

Displeasure replaced the intensity. “Hannah —”

“Prove it,” I insisted fiercely.

Marco stared at me for a long moment, the muscle in his jaw working just like it used to when he was unhappy about something. To my surprise, my relief, and my disappointment, he gave me a jerky nod and turned around. I watched him walk away, my throat dry with thirst and hunger and heartache.

On Thursday evening after the adult literacy class, I did what I always did and went to my local gym. I didn’t have time to work out as much as I had done when I was at uni, but I always felt better if I got in at least two sessions a week. Sometimes, when things were particularly crazy I managed only one. That was always on a Thursday evening. Like my book group evenings, I looked forward to my Thursday nights at the gym because for a whole hour I switched off from work, friends, and family and just concentrated on sweating it out.

There were times, although not too often, when guys who thought they were so attractive they were rejection-proof would hit on me while I was just trying to enjoy my workout. I found that silence usually discomfited them and they’d quickly evaporate.

I was on the treadmill, working my way up from a walk to a run, when in my peripheral vision I saw the large figure of a guy step onto the treadmill next to me. My skin burned under his appraisal, but I ignored him.

However… my skin wouldn’t stop burning because he wouldn’t stop looking.

Annoyed, I chanced a scathing glance at him and nearly went flying backward off the treadmill when I realized it was Marco.

He reached out to steady me, but I flung my hands out and caught the rails. I almost sighed in relief that he hadn’t touched me. I quickly reduced the speed on the machine, drawing to a stop so I could turn a full-strength glare on him.

He stared back at me, not saying a word, while I tried to process what the hell was happening and the fact that he looked beyond amazing in his white T-shirt and track bottoms. He definitely visited the gym often.

But not my gym!

“What the hell are you doing here?” I hissed, smoothing strands of hair back into my ponytail, painfully aware of how gross I must look.

Marco flashed me a boyish grin. “Working out.”

Ignoring the flutterings caused by that grin, I narrowed my eyes and said through clenched teeth, “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“That’s because I’ve never been here before. I joined today.”

I was pretty sure a nerve under my right eye had begun to tick. “Why? And answer in full this time.”

He grinned again, crossing his arms over his chest so his biceps flexed. Oh, mamma.

It was official. I hated him.

“Speak!” I snapped, trying to control my wandering eyes.

Chuckling, Marco replied, “Anisha told me this is your gym, so now it’s my gym.”

“You’re stalking me?”

“I prefer to call it ‘actively pursuing you.’ I told you, I just want a chance to explain.”

Shaking my head in disbelief, I asked, “Who are you?”

“I’m not the guy I used to be.”

“Forget I asked, because I don’t care!” I yelled, instantly regretting it when one of the trainers shot me a warning look. I didn’t like the triumphant expression on Marco’s face. I was making it much too clear that he was affecting me. I sniffed haughtily and stepped off the treadmill. “I don’t want an explanation and I don’t care what gym you go to. I’m here to work out. You do as you please.”

With that stick up my butt, I wandered away from him, trying to remember if these were the shorts that made my arse look flat. I swear my butt cheeks flushed beneath the fabric at the thought of him checking me out.