A lump formed in Alyssa's throat. She had been nave, hadn't she? At least where Marco Vieri was concerned. He wasn't the same man she'd known before. While she hadn't realized that right away and could admit to herself she didn't know just how much he'd changed, she loved him the same. No. She thought she'd loved him before, but what she felt now was so much deeper, truer, more real.

He was the one who couldn't accept those changes. His reaction this morning proved that.

And as long as that was true, there was nothing she could do. Nothing he would let her do.

Hot tears burned down her cheeks. Nothing she'd ever done or said had helped her dad. Pain squeezed her heart. Maybe it was time to face that the same was true of Marco.

If Marco thought he'd felt bad before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now.

Almost an entire week had passed since he'd been maybe the biggest asshole of his life. And down into his soul, he was torn between wanting to fall to his knees and beg Alyssa's forgiveness and thinking maybe things had worked out for the best. Because clearly he'd been a complete idiot to think he could protect her from himself. She'd known what a disaster he was all along. The knowledge felt like someone had ripped his heart right from his chest.

For the best, my ass.

Her departure had made it clear he hadn't known what emptiness was. At Whiskey's, she only talked to him as much as her work required. She never made eye contact, and, when it happened accidentally, her gaze went blank, like she was looking through him. The house was like a tomb, still and lifeless. And his nights passed fitfully, the insomnia and nightmares back with a vengeance.

He'd just been so fucking humiliated to learn she not only knew about the nightmares, but had been sacrificing her own well-being for his. Day by day, the circles under her eyes had gotten darker while he'd celebrated the new miracle of peaceful sleep, never once considering she had something to do with it. And she had everything to do with it. He'd figured that much out Sunday morning as he spat some of the most hateful things he'd ever said-and to her of all people-and had lived the reality of it ever since.

He spent days struggling to remember precisely what he'd said during that conversation. He knew the gist of it, of course, but he'd been so angry and mournful that there hadn't exactly been a strong brain-to-mouth connection at that moment. He'd just spewed whatever had the best chance of exorcising the pain and tightness in his chest with no real regard for where that shit landed.

Consequences. He'd told her she never thought about consequences. Hell, he'd accused her of deliberately leading Eric on. Marco knew damn right well that wasn't true. What else? He'd thrown her help back in her face, taunting her for being so helpless.

Goddammit. Not only was it not true, but it was exactly the kind of mean dig her father used to specialize in. He'd grown up cursing Joseph Scott for what he did to his kids, and now he'd done the same thing to one of them.

Far from being weak and helpless, Alyssa was one of the strongest people he knew. He'd been living in hell for less than a year and felt like the weight of it might just break him. The hell she'd grown up in had been worse by far-it was longer, more personal, not of her own making, and perpetrated by someone she had every right to expect would love and protect her. Yet Alyssa had come out the other side a better person. She hadn't let the experience of her father's abuse break or embitter her. Marco could learn a thing or two.

That wasn't even the worst of it, though. He'd lost one of his closest, oldest friends. Setting aside how much he cared about her and all the complications that gave rise to, he'd first met Alyssa when he was twelve years old. Along with Brady, he'd known her longer than he'd known anyone outside of his family. With so little permanence in his life right now, that loss cut to the very heart of him.

And she was so clearly suffering. Her eyes had grown darker, her skin paler. She never joined them in the break room, which everyone noticed and speculated about. She talked softly, smiled less openly, and hardly ever laughed. He recognized this girl from another time in her life, and knowing he was the cause of it made him realize he was on the same path of bitterness and despair Joseph Scott had walked.

That realization was the kick in the ass he needed. He didn't want to be that man. Not for Alyssa. Not for himself.

Not to mention, three men had died because of something he'd done wrong. For nearly a year, he'd wallowed in self-pity and selfishness, but no more. Now it was time to live, to make amends.

Problem was, Marco had no idea how to make it right. Any of it. And in the meantime, the image of the horrified expression Alyssa had worn as he ranted at her filled his mind, night and day.

Dinner service on Friday was loud and rowdy. The band was there for two nights because there was so much demand to see them. Marco liked their music, a bluesy rock that brought down the house every time they'd been there, but he resented the pace of work their presence created because he never got a chance to open a conversation with Alyssa.

As the applause after the last encore died down, Marco turned to Jameson. "I need a huge favor, man."

"Yeah? What's up?" Jameson said, tucking his surfer-dude hair behind his ear.

"I really need to take care of something right now. Would you consider running through the closing solo tonight if I do the same for you tomorrow?"

Jameson looked at him for a moment. "Sure. Everything okay?"

Marco wiped his hands on a towel and sighed. "No. But I'm hoping it will be."

"Good luck," Jameson said as he collected the empties off the bar.

Marco was already on his way out. His brain slipped into operations mode as he planned a strategy to fix things with Alyssa.

Hell, Marco. This doesn't require a strategy. Just some damn honesty.

Not wanting to miss her before she left, he flopped on the couch in the lounge, determined to wait for her to get done. Half an hour later, a conversation reached him from the hallway.

"I think I just need to go home," Alyssa's voice said.

"Do you need a lift?" Marco frowned as he recognized Eric's voice. "Maybe you're coming down with something."

"Maybe. But that's okay. It's not far." Alyssa appeared in the doorway. "Thanks, though."

Marco's brain tuned out whatever Eric said in response as his senses drank Alyssa in. She wore a too-big white T-shirt tied in a knot at the small of her back and a pair of skinny black jeans that just covered her Chucks. Damn, she looked good.

Her gaze cut to him on the sofa. Her eyes were a different story-shadowed and exhausted. She crossed to her locker without saying a word.

Marco rose. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said in a tired voice. She slung her purse over her shoulder and shut the metal door.

He stepped to her side. "I'm sorry."

Alyssa glanced up at him, for the first time in a week really looking at him. "Me, too." Tears filled her eyes but didn't fall.

Marco cupped her cheek in his hand, his thumb swiping over the purple circles. "You're not sleeping."

She shrugged one shoulder as her gaze dropped just below his. A single tear spilled down her cheek. "Neither are you."

"Alyssa, I-"

She grabbed his hand and pushed it away. "Let's not do this, okay?"

"But-"

"I gotta go." She crossed the room.

Marco watched her walk out the door, debated for a long moment, then took off after her. He caught up to her in the parking lot. "Wait."