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“Fuck,” he mumbles. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to cause problems. Make anyone worry.”
Indicating the sheets of paper I now see are covered with musical notes, I ask, “What’s all this? What’s going on?”
He carefully moves the keyboard off his leg and stretches, letting the music fall to the floor. “I apologize for the mess.”
“Fuck the mess,” I say. “What happened?”
I get the hint of a tired smile at my language but it fades quickly. His eyes are dull and almost…empty. “Hold on one sec,” he says.
He lifts both palms to his temples and closes his eyes. Emotions and pain race through his expression before he heaves a huge sigh. “Empty.”
“What’s empty?”
Eyes open and less haunted, he studies me and I know he’s weighing his words. Deciding what to tell me. “Tell me the truth, Marcus. I read rumors that you’ve been in treatment for addictions. Is that what this is? Drugs? I won’t say anything to anyone. If you want help, I’m here. Just don’t lie. Tell me the truth.”
Leaning forward with a groan he fumbles with gathering the scattered music. Once he has the thick stack in his hand, he holds them up. His hand shakes so he holds the pages against his chest with both hands. “No drugs, Bailey. I promise. It’s this. Songs, lyrics, music. Choruses and melodies. Harmonies. All this was in my head.”
“I still don’t understand.”
He shakes his head as though clearing his thoughts. “Thirsty. I’m so thirsty.”
I glance again at the mess around us. “When was the last time you ate?”
He shrugs. “No clue. Once the snack basket ran out…”
I move the coffeecake to his thigh. “It’s not much. Probably not all that good, but it’s a start.”
The music falls from his hands when he reaches for the plate. He tears off a corner of my crumbly cinnamon coffee cake and stuffs it into his mouth. “Thank you,” he says around the huge bite.
“I’ll get you water,” I tell him and stand.
“Drank it all. I think.”
Scooping a couple of empty bottles from the floor, I carry them to the tiny sink above the mini fridge. A quick check reveals an empty fridge, so I fill the bottles and return to Mars. He’s finished the coffeecake—now I wish I’d brought the whole thing—and I hand him the full bottles. He downs both in rapid succession then sighs as his eyes close.
“Marcus?”
He jerks and stares at me. “Bailey? What are you doing here?”
Drawing my brows together, I study him. “I was worried about you.”
After scrubbing his face with his hands, he peers at me over his fingertips. "I already asked that, didn’t I?” After my nod, he continues, “I promise to tell you everything, beautiful Bailey. I need to sleep first. And eat.”
He can’t stay here. The offer is out of my mouth before I have a chance to think about the implications. “Come back to my apartment. I’ll warm up some food. Then I’ll let you rest.” And take care of you. Because with his gaunt and haunted expression he really needs to be taken care of right now.
“Don’t think I can walk that far just yet.”
“I’ve got a vehicle. Come with me? Please?”
Relief at his slow nod fills me. I hold out my hands. “How can I help?”
“Just stay close.”
He refuses to let go of the pages of music as he struggles to his feet. While I’m hovering, I notice an oversized leather folder and hold it open so he can tuck the pages inside. Then he takes the folder and holds it against his stomach. I don’t understand why he’s so possessive of the music, but I won’t try to take it from him again.
After settling him in the ATV, I voice another concern. “You, uh, are kind of a mess. Do you want me to grab some clean clothes?”
He glances down and snorts. “Please. I must stink pretty bad.”
