Page 107 of Men of Fort Dale: The Complete Series

He wasn’t going to break his own heart.

Yawning, he padded down the stairs and made his way to the kitchen counter on the opposite side of the kitchen.

Tapping the power button of the Keurig, he grabbed a pod and a mug as it hissed and gurgled to heat the water.

Another tap and it began to brew until the cup was full of steaming coffee, and he poured in the creamer and sugar.

He was taking his first sip as he stepped into the living space and stopped as he caught sight of his phone on the table beside the couch. Frowning at the blinking light, he finished his sip before picking it up. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the text and the name of the sender.

Carter.

Had to bail so captain fuckface wouldn’t get pissy. Don’t sleep all day, lazy ass .

Marco chuckled, shaking his head. He couldn’t help but read more into the message than just taking the words at face value.

Much like Carter hadn’t needed to pay Marco back for the food, there had been no real need to text Marco to explain why he’d left, especially because he’d warned Marco the night before.

Yet he had, and that simple gesture was enough to make Marco hope he was right about there being more behind Carter’s casual, brusque attitude.

No worries , Marco texted back. Figured you would.

He set the phone down, hesitated, and picked it back up before he could second-guess himself.

Thank you for last night. You’re always welcome back here :)

He tapped the send button before tossing the phone back on the couch. If he was right about the possibility of something more meaningful between him and Carter and about Carter wanting something similar, he knew he had to tread carefully.

Sipping coffee, he remembered Carter’s look when Marco spotted him in the club. It was the first time he’d seen something on Carter’s face other than annoyance, anger, or deep thought. Marco couldn’t find the words for the emotions he’d seen, but they’d made Marco’s heart skip a beat.

There were signs, hints that Marco could see, lying just beneath the prickly, gruff surface that Carter held onto.

At the same time, there were warning signs.

Hesitancy and indecision, and Marco was pretty sure there was worry and probably fear.

If that was the case, he needed to be cautious of pushing Carter too hard while trying to show him it was perfectly safe to step forward.

“And me with my shit sense of balance,” Marco told the empty room with a laugh.

A buzz brought his attention back to the present with a snap.

Someone was buzzing to be let into the building.

Marco’s heart skipped a beat as he hurried to the panel beside his door and pressed the unlock button without bothering to ask who it was.

There was only one person he could think would be over so early on a Saturday, or at least, he hoped it was.

Marco waited until he heard someone outside the door before unlocking it and pulling it open. He tried not to look disappointed when he saw who it was, but from the raised brow on Dean’s face, Marco hadn’t done a very good job.

Rather than comment, Dean looked him over, cocking his head. “Nice shorts. Couldn’t find a pair in your size?”

Marco looked down, realizing he hadn’t thought to put on pants. “Like you haven’t seen more than this.”

“Not in a while. Not that I don’t appreciate a free view.”

“Don’t let Sloane hear you say that.”

“Sloane knows damn well the only person I want to see roaming around in a skimpy pair of underwear is him.”

To Marco’s dismay, he watched as a familiar wrinkled face passed behind Dean.

“Morning, Mrs. Palmer,” Marco called brightly, earning a disgruntled huff as she took her dog outside.

“That woman is convinced I’m a degenerate, I swear,” Marco muttered as he backed up to let Dean into the apartment.

Dean closed the door behind him. “I don’t want to know, and I’m not asking.”

“Probably for the best,” Marco said as he eyed the paper bag in Dean’s hand.

Dean looked up, brows stitching together as he stared at something on Marco. “Uh. I take it that guy from last night stayed over?”

Marco blinked, pushing aside the reminder of when he’d last seen Dean. “Yes, why?”

Dean cleared his throat, raising a free hand to tap his neck. “Oh, just a hint.”

Marco turned on the spot and strode toward the bathroom to stare in the mirror. He was sure Dean could hear his heavy sigh as he spotted what Dean had been staring at. There, at the base of his throat and on the underside of his jaw, were faint but still dark marks.

“I hope those are good marks,” Dean’s voice said as it floated into the bathroom.

Marco huffed, slapping his hand on the light switch as he glared at Dean. “Don’t start, Dean. If you came over to start round two with me over this, you can go right back out the door.”

He stopped when he saw Dean watching him with amusement. Worse yet, a devilish look in his eyes made his smile turn into a smirk.

“You’re not,” Marco concluded with embarrassment, which quickly morphed into annoyance. “You’re just screwing with me.”

“I am,” Dean admitted. “Though it looks like that guy was the one screwing you...or with you if you want.”

“Carter,” Marco told him. “His name is Carter.”

“I know his name,” Dean said, setting the bag aside. “He’s been in the clinic. First time I saw him was last weekend. Looked like he’d gone a few rounds with a boxer or two.”

Marco rolled his eyes, marching up to the loft so he could get dressed. “I’m not touching that subject, don’t ask me.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Dean called up to him.

“Alright,” Marco said, grabbing a loose pair of lounge pants and yanking them on. “Then why are you here?”

“I’m afraid to tell you the whole truth. I don’t want to get yelled at like a little kid.”

Marco put on a shirt for good measure. “Jesus, what is with you two? Last I checked, I’m a big boy.”

“True. But we’re your friends. We’re allowed to be concerned.”

Marco came down the stairs to find Dean on the couch. “You can be concerned without being an asshole.”

Dean laughed softly. “For most people, that’s true. But sometimes, I think Sloane doesn’t quite know how to perform that particular feat.”

“Well, maybe he should learn,” Marco said, picking up his coffee.

Dean shrugged, crossing one ankle over his knee. “He is what he is. For the record, he’ll inevitably admit he’s sorry he upset you.”

“But not sorry about what he said or did.”

“Maybe. Maybe he’ll be sorry down the road, but not now. Not while he thinks he has every reason to think and say it.”

“Stubborn.”

“He is. Drives me crazy.”

Marco might have believed that if it hadn’t been for the fond smile on Dean’s face.

Dean and Sloane, despite their strange and rough beginning, were two people Marco considered made for one another.

Dean was gentler and more patient, taking the edge off Sloane’s blunt and sometimes harsh behavior.

While Sloane’s steadiness and resolve did wonders for assuaging the more frantic and anxious side of Dean.

“I’m not happy with him,” Marco insisted.

Dean looked at him with wide eyes. “Really? Is that why you dressed him down like a little kid who’d drawn on the wall with a marker?”

Marco scowled at him. “Sarcasm is unbecoming.”

Dean chuckled. “You told him that, grumpy asshole or not, he doesn’t have the right to be a complete dick to someone.”

“He doesn’t.”

“And that if he’s going to be a Grade A asshole, then he should just stay home and glare at the wall.”

“I stand by that.”

“You finished by telling him that he needs to put a little more thought into what comes out of his mouth because not everyone will tolerate it like I do. And you expect an apology the next time you see him.”

Marco gestured with the now empty coffee mug. “Yes, on all counts.”

“You scolded him. Sloane, you scolded Sloane.”

“You do it all the time!”

“I’m also adorable,” Dean said with a grin.

Marco rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t count when he’s the one who calls you adorable.”

“You thought I was pretty cute once upon a time,” Dean pointed out.

Marco sighed, going back to the kitchen for another cup. “That was before I learned I was never going to be enough for you because you clearly need a big pain in the ass who snarls at the world in order to be happy.”

“From the looks of it, you don’t have much room to talk,” Dean called as Marco filled his cup.

Marco frowned as he walked back. “Carter and I...we aren’t like that.”

Dean watched his face, dark eyes sweeping. “But you want to be.”

Marco stared at the steam rising from his mug. “I do.”

“Does he?”

“I think so.”

“You think so.”

Marco didn’t need to look up to confirm the dubious tone in Dean’s face. “Things are complicated with him, Dean. I don’t think this sort of thing comes easy to him. And I think it weirds him out that I like him.”

Dean scoffed. “He finds it weird that you like him? That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement.”

Marco looked up with a glare. “Boy, I wonder why he might have a chip on his shoulder when everyone who meets him immediately treats him like the bad guy.”

Dean held his hands up in placation, smiling gently. “Be easy, my friend. I’m not criticizing him as a person. But as your friend, I’m allowed and even obligated to look at a situation that could easily go wrong and be worried for you.”

“I think he doesn’t know what to do,” Marco admitted with a sigh. “And I don’t want to push him too hard. I don’t know his whole story, but I’ve picked up enough to know his attitude, his...everything, is probably the only way he’s been able to get through life.”

It was Dean’s turn to sigh. “You’re really fixed on trying to see this through to the end, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“No chance of convincing you to bow out while you still have a chance?”

“Dean.”