Well Written

6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Marcus

M y gaze is glued to the soft, cream pages of The Thread Untied . Partially because that's how reading works, but largely due to the fact that every time they look away, they seem to find Kane sitting at the back of the crowd. Why the hell did I choose to read an excerpt so graphic?

"'I groan at the sensation of his skin grazing mine. The soft tickle of the hair below his navel drags down my stomach as his head lowers to my— to my…"

I clear my throat, blood rushing to the tops of my cheeks. My face burns as my eyes scan the word over and over again. Something flashes in my mind. A distant memory, of trailing fingertips and soft gasps. Kane's breathy whispers, begging me for more. God, I hate myself.

"My cock."

I break my stare at the word to glance at Janelle. Her brows furrow in concern, and she quickly replaces the book in my hand with a cup of water. I gulp it down, then exhale slowly through my nose.

"Sorry," I chuckle nervously. "I seem to be getting a bit overheated."

"Because it's steamy in here!" someone calls out suggestively from the crowd. My gaze flashes over to the familiar stranger, EJ wearing a proudly indicative smirk. He shoots me a wink, and the warmth in my cheeks intensifies.

I always read smut at my launch parties. It's what I'm known for, mostly. I like to think there are some who see my work deeper than that, but I don't mind that it's the average person's focus. Sex sells, and for good reason. It can mean so many things beyond animalistic instincts and divine pleasure. But it also doesn't have to. I've never had a problem reading it aloud, because it's such a natural thing. But today, I find myself struggling with the words in front of me, and I'm going to pretend that I have no idea why.

"And that's it!" Nellie announces, slamming the book shut. "If you want to know what happens next, grab a signed copy before you leave! And don't forget to thank Clara and Kane for welcoming us into their beautiful store."

Indiscernible mumbles come from the crowd in front of me, which gradually transforms into a confused round of applause. My eyes shift to my fans, and I stand up, forcing a thankful grin.

"Thank you, everyone. Really, thank you so much." I place my hand on my chest, the heavy thrum of my heart vibrating to my fingertips. My eyes filter through the crowd until they find what they're so desperately searching for. Kane stares at me, his lips slightly parted, and his cheeks flushed.

At least I am not the only victim of my poor excerpt decision, though I think it might be better if I were. The second he realizes I'm looking at him, his jaw snaps shut. I gesture a hand toward him, then one at Clara, who I swear is plotting some sort of assassination.

"And again, the most sincere gratitude for our hosts today. Feel free to stick around and browse their collections. I wouldn't be here without them."

Kane's warm, chestnut eyes grow round as my words travel to him. His head begins to tilt, but as I stand, ready to approach him, I'm flooded with hounding questions, reaching hands, and a sea of bodies.

"Step back please!" Janelle commands, inserting herself between me and the crowd. "You will all have a chance to speak with Carsen at the signing table. And no physical contact, or Derrick here will toss you out!" Clara's husband beams proudly next to her, and though he's undeniably large enough to play bodyguard, something about the softness of his grin makes me feel like I'd be better off with Clara herself.

"Now, line up!"

After what feels like years, the crowd begins to dwindle, and my wrist starts cramping from the repeated dance of my signature. I don't mind it, really. It's worth it to know that so many people, in the very town I was condemned, celebrate the kind of love I write about. Coral Beach was never inherently homophobic, but it wasn't necessarily supportive either. Growing up, there was always a sharp line dividing the city.

Those who embraced it, and those who didn't.

For the longest time, I was the latter, for no other reason than the simple fact that my parents were the same. And even if he hates me, I'll always love Kane. Because if I hadn't met him, I think hatred would have consumed me. Externally. Internally.

"Are your erotic scenes inspired by real life?"

I take moment to control my facial muscles, before looking up at the person who just spoke. EJ grins eagerly, sliding his copy of my novel across the table for me to sign. I force an uncomfortable smile, but a telling sigh slips out of me.

"Nope."

I scribble my signature extra messily on the title page, then push the book back toward him. His shoulders sink down, and he almost rolls his eyes as he leaves the line. Jesus. Has the guy ever heard of manners?

"Next!" Nellie yells, right next to my ear. The aggressive sound of gum smacking quickly follows, and I almost shoot her a dirty look, but it stops abruptly when the next person in line steps forward. I choke, on air or spit or regret, and Nellie slides another cup of water toward me.

"Are you okay?" Kane asks, but his brow is cocked in a way that tells me he isn't too concerned. Like maybe, if I wasn't okay, he would be perfectly content. My head bounces as I nod violently, until I feel the point of an elbow jab into my ribcage. My gaze shifts to Janelle, and I shoot her an irritated glance until I realize that she's trying to help me. Her head shakes inconspicuously, her dark brown eyes wide and round with embarrassment. The second-hand kind. My cheeks puff as I blow out a steady stream of air, before turning back to Kane.

"Oh." I wave my hands around dismissively. "Yeah. I'm good. All good. You?"

With his eyebrow still judging me, Kane slides a pristine, hardcover copy of The Thread Untied across the table. My pulse quickens, and I stare at it curiously for a moment, before looking back up at him.

"You… want a signed copy?" A nervous laugh bubbles out of me, but Kane's expression doesn't shift. His hands, however, jam into his pockets so far down that the waistline of his pants rolls slightly. Barely, but just enough that a tiny strip of skin below his stomach exposes itself, and the thick, dark hairs growing from it, creep out as well. I suck in a quick breath, forcing my gaze to move anywhere but down.

"They're worth more signed, so—" Kane shrugs, then shakes his head softly so that his messy brown waves move out of his eyes. "If you don't mind."

"I don't."

I smile, and I'm surprised when I see that Kane smiles back. He doesn't smile by habit. Or at least, he didn't back then. It was a rare occurrence, but a magnificent one, because when it happened, you knew it was real. A pure and honest display of his fleeting emotion, something to be cherished. I wonder if it's the same now. I'm sure, as he's aged, he's fallen into the same politeness as the rest of us. To put on the mask that everything is swell. But despite the lines surrounding the smile, it looks just as it did twenty years ago, so I cherish it anyway.

"Do you just want me to sign it, or…" I trail off, and in my brain, I'm bashing my forehead into the table. Kane chews on his lower lip, his gaze moving around me, but never looking at me directly.

"You could personalize it," he says softly. "If you want. Anything is okay."

I nod, this time ensuring I'm aware of both the duration and velocity. My fingers find the divot between the cover and the pages, and I flip the book open, smoothing my palm over the title page to flatten it. I want this to be perfect.

Yet I have no idea what to say.

The page stares back, the title inked across it taunting me. The Thread Untied. And suddenly, I get an idea.

I'm going to regret this.

Really, it's a terrible idea. But this can't be the last time I see Kane. I have to talk to him. I need to apologize. My fingers pick up the marker beside me, and I begin to scribble words carefully across the page.

The shutters are white. They were brown before, which I always thought was ugly, but they're white now, and for some reason, I don't really like that either. It doesn't even look like my childhood home anymore. Not just because of the colors, but the add-on, and the balcony, and the aura.

I'm glad it bears little resemblance, actually, because if it looked the same, I'd believe my parents still lived there. They were never big on accepting change. Still, I never allowed myself to wonder where they may have gone. Are they alive, even? Most likely. But I know the best course of action is to keep pretending they aren't. Twenty years ago, I died. To them at least, and they to me. It's funny how many conditions come with unconditional love.

Religion. Career. Sexuality.

And I am nothing if not an overachiever, so of course, I went three-for-three.

A vibrating sensation rumbles in my pocket, and I pull out my phone, reading the name dancing across the screen.

Oh fuck.

I thought Janelle's description of my supposed illness would at least keep Simeon away for a couple more days. But I think he's running out of patience, and I'm undoubtedly running out of excuses. I take a steadying breath, roll my shoulders back, and press the phone to my ear.

"Marc," I announce. I can hear some scrambling through the receiver, like Simeon wasn't prepared for me to actually answer.

"Marcus?"

"I'm here, Simeon," I reply. My ear is filled with more indiscernible sounds, before finally becoming clear again.

"Hi Marcus." Simeon clears his throat. "Can you talk? Please?"

I stare at the nearly unrecognizable house across the street, lingering for a moment. I don't know why I'm drawn toward it rather than away. Still, I spin on my heel, and begin my walk back to the inn.

"Yeah," I say. "I can talk."

"Great!" A pause of silence follows the word, and I prepare myself for the professional and passive wrath of Simeon Goldberg. He lets out a long sigh. "Look, Marc. I have to be honest with you. I'm not the big boss, here. I'm just the little guy. And my job, as the little guy , is to deliver a completed manuscript to the publishers, by the due date. "

I pinch the inner corners of my eyes between my thumb and index finger, breathing out slowly.

"Yeah, I know Simeon." I try not to let my distaste for the guilt-approach present itself in my tone. "I'm sorry it's taking so long, it's just- it's not working for me. I'm not connecting with the characters like I thought I was going to, and I just— I think I need to scrap it. Start a new one, maybe."

Simeon clears his throat on the other end of the phone, and I pull it away from my ear so I can sigh as loudly as I want without moral repercussions.

"There is no 'scrapping it', Marcus. This is the book the you signed the deal for. This is the book we have to deliver. In three months. You had six. Frankly, Marc, my highschooler could finish a book in that time frame."

"I'll get the pages to you, Simeon," I say flatly, and I pat myself on the back for simply clicking the red button to end the call, rather than chucking my phone onto the concrete slabs in front of me.

"How was your walk?" Nellie greets me at the door of the hotel, like she somehow knew when exactly I'd arrive. I nod at her in appreciation as I step inside, but forget to fight the exasperated sigh that flattens my lungs.

"Simeon called," I explain. She nods, because that, of course, is explanation enough. Then, a beaming smile conquers her face.

"You—" She grabs my bicep, and begins dragging me toward the stairs. "—have other things to focus on right now."

I pause on the steps, feeling her grip tighten around my arm. "Like what?"

Nellie rolls her eyes. "Uh, like your date? You know, the invite you scribbled into Kane's book? At seven?"

I step back, the metal railing of the staircase catching my fall.

"It's not a date," I say firmly. Again, she rolls her eyes. "And besides, it's not like he's going to show."

She huffs, grabbing my arm again and pulling me up the rest of the way, until we reach the door to my hotel room.

"You're being very…" Her hands wave around like she's casting a spell on me. "I don't know, annoying? Pouty. You're being very pouty. Open the door."

I don't know why I listen to Janelle. Maybe because every time I feel like my career is falling apart, she swoops in to fix it. Or maybe, it's just nice sometimes to be told what to do. In any event, the door swings open, and she wastes no time finding my suitcase and digging through it. I stand behind her, watching as all of my carefully folded clothes become wadded balls of wrinkled linen. Finally, she turns to me, her cheeks glowing with a radiant smile.

"Put this on," she commands. Reluctantly, I take the outfit into the bathroom, and begin to change.

The pants she chose are new. New , new. Like, I haven't even tried them on, new. They look kind of small, and I'm nervous, because if they don't fit, I'll just take it as a sign that this was, in fact, a terrible idea. My eyes close as I slide on the pants, the textured feel of linen dragging against my bare legs causes goosebumps to wash over them. When I blindly find the inner metal clasp, and lock the pieces together, I suck in a shaky breath.

They fit.

I open my eyes and grab the shirt of Janelle's choice; a worn blue button up. It's old, years old, and honestly, I'm not even sure why I still own it, much less why I brought it all the way here. Anxiously, I pull my arms through the sleeves, and begin to button it.

This was a really, really bad idea. Why did I do this? Why did I even come to Coral Springs in the first place?

I stare into the mirror as my thoughts spiral. It actually is a pretty good outfit. The colors are soft and beachy, the textures loose and flattering. I run a comb through my hair one, two, three too many times, then follow it with my fingers, the grey hairs moving to create a path of their own direction.

"Hurry up, I want to see!" Nellie calls out through the closed door. If I don't come out now, I'll probably stay in this bathroom until I die. So I take a breath, shake my hair around one last time, then open the bathroom door, and step out.

Nellie's face lights up, and I swear to god there's a twinkle in her eye. She gasps.

" Oh. " Her head nods aggressively, and her cheeks flush with a dark red hue. "He's gonna show up."