Rowdy || 18+ || RH

Chapter 34

Fowler

I leave the girls to finish breakfast and get ready for the beach. My heart feels heavy in my chest. I know we don't really go upstairs, to Marx's part of the house, but I have to talk to him. I can't stand to see Emersyn hurting over something that's so easily fixed.

Bounding up the stairs with an energy that feels a bit out of place given the situation, I find myself at his bedroom door. Taking a deep breath, I try to rein in my usually playful demeanor; this isn't the time for jokes. With a determined knock, more forceful than I intended, I wait.

Minutes feel like hours as I wait for him to answer. The door finally opens, revealing Marx. His white hair catches the morning light. His sharp jaw is set, a clear sign of his annoyance at my sudden visit.

"We need to talk, man," I say, my voice more firm than I expected. I don't wait for an invitation, walking past him to stand in the center of his room.

Marx closes the door, his face showing a mix of confusion and annoyance. "About?" he asks, his eyebrow raising slightly, giving him a questioning look.

"Emersyn," I reply, my voice tinged with a protective edge.

He leans against the wall, his arms crossed, a picture of calm and collected strength. "What about her?" he asks, trying to keep his face neutral.

I feel my anger rising, unable to hold back any longer. "What do you want from her? Be honest," I demand, my voice echoing in the room, my dark eyes filled with fire.

His fingers start tapping against his arm, a telltale sign that he's deep in thought. He avoids my gaze, his voice low when he answers. "I don't want anything from her," he replies, but I can see through him. His avoidance tells me everything I need to know.

I step closer, my finger pointing at him accusingly. "Don't lie to me, Marx. We've known each other for years," I say, my voice growing louder with each word.

"I'm not-" he starts, but I cut him off, not willing to hear any excuses.

"No, don't," I interrupt, my anger boiling over. "She told me about the other night in the kitchen," I say, watching as his face changes to genuine surprise.

He stumbles over his words, clearly caught off-guard. "She tells me everything, Marx. Especially if something is hurting her," I add, my voice softer now, but still firm. "And you hurt her."

Marx finally breaks, his facade crumbling. "It... it was a mistake. A one-time thing. It won't happen again," he says, but I can hear the uncertainty in his voice.

I shake my head, disbelief and sadness mingling in my chest. "Nothing with Emersyn is a mistake, Marx. And you're fooling yourself if you think that night was a one-off," I retort, trying to make him see reason.

Marx doesn't respond, his silence filling the room, becoming a testament to his conflicting feelings and the complex situation we find ourselves in.

I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "I know, just as well as you do, that Emersyn is special. She brought light into our lives, something we desperately needed. We all need her in different ways. The rest of us are okay with sharing her attention, her affection. But hurting her like this, it's not okay, Marx," I say, my voice filled with a mix of anger and sadness.

Marx just stands there, his face showing little emotion. I can only hope that my words have reached him, that he understands the gravity of his actions.

Marx's eyes are avoiding mine, but I can see the struggle within them, the conflicting emotions. His hands clench and unclench at his sides.

I take another step closer, my voice desperate now. "Marx, she's not just another girl, you know that. You can't just toy with her emotions like this."

Marx finally meets my gaze, his eyes filled with a strange mix of frustration and sadness. "You think I don't know that?" he retorts, his voice rising for the first time. "You think I don't know how special she is?"

His outburst catches me off guard, the raw emotion in his voice revealing the depth of his feelings for her.

I swallow hard, my voice softer now. "Then why, Marx? Why risk hurting her?"

He turns away, unable to maintain eye contact. "I... I didn't mean to," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I lost control around her. I won't let it happen again."

I can feel the weight of his words, the heavy burden of unspoken feelings and unresolved tensions. It's a messy web of emotions, one that threatens to ensnare us all.

I reach out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I think we both know that you won't be able to stay away from her. You deserve her, too, Marx. You deserve to feel the warmth of her affection. And she wants you. I can see that as clear as day."

His massive frame trembles slightly under my touch, a stark contrast to the normally composed and collected Marx I know. He seems on the verge of breaking.

Marx sighs heavily, the weight of the world seemingly on his shoulders. "Fowler, it's not that simple. There are things... things you don't understand," he says, his voice tinged with a sadness that seems too ancient for his 36 years.

I scoff, unable to hide my frustration. "Then make me understand, Marx. Don't shut me out. Don't shut her out," I urge.

He turns to face me, his glasses slightly askew, revealing eyes that hold an ocean of regret and longing. "I'm scared," he admits. "Scared of hurting her more than I already have. Scared of what I might become if I let myself get too close," he confesses, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet echoing profoundly in the silence that envelops us.

My heart aches at his words, at the depth of the pain and fear reflected in his eyes. A part of me wants to shake him, to force him to see the potential for happiness that lies before him. But I know Marx. I know the demons he wrestles with, the burdens he carries.

"I know you're scared, Marx. But you can't let fear dictate your life, dictate your happiness. Emersyn is strong, stronger than both of us combined. And she cares about you, a lot. Don't you think she deserves a say in this? A say in her own happiness?" I ask, trying to infuse as much sense and clarity into the fraught atmosphere. Maybe I'm being dramatic, maybe I'm making too much out of this, but it seems to be working.

Marx seems to shrink before me, the weight of my words pressing down on him. It's a rare sight, seeing Marx so vulnerable, so open. It gives me hope, hope that maybe, just maybe, he might be willing to take a chance on love, on happiness.

He sinks down onto the edge of his bed, his face buried in his hands. The room is filled with the sound of his heavy breaths, each one seeming to carry a lifetime of regrets and what-ifs.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally looks up, his eyes red and swollen. "You're right, Fowler. I... I need to figure this out. For Emersyn's sake, and for mine," he says, a glimmer of determination breaking through the clouds of uncertainty that had gathered in his eyes.

I nod, my throat tight with emotion. "Take your time, Marx. But not too much time. Life is short, and love... love is too precious to waste," I say, my voice thick with tears that threaten to spill over.

He nods, wiping away the tears that have escaped his control. "Thank you. I don't know what I would do without you," he says, his voice trembling.

I offer him a small smile, the weight of the conversation still hanging heavily between us. "You'll never have to find out, buddy," I reply, my voice filled with a love and loyalty that runs deeper than the oceans. "I'm here for the long run, whether you lie it or not."

He gives me a weak smile.

"Oh, we're going to the beach today. Get ready, you're driving."

With that, I turn and leave the room, the door closing softly behind me. As I walk down the hallway, I can only hope that Marx will find the courage to face his fears, to open his heart to the possibility of love and happiness that Emersyn offers.