“Normally, when you like someone, you don’t bail the next day. I know you don’t do repeats, but I was under the impression you were aware of the context.”
“I’m aware.” He shoved Remington. “But I…I don’t know who I liked.”
He knew that sounded ridiculous without explanation, but how could he easily explain the duality of Callahan McMillian to someone who hadn’t witnessed it first-hand? The story would paint Callahan like a two-faced villain, and Jace knew that while that’s how it all felt inside of him, it wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right. Callahan wasn’t a villain, but he was a product of his circumstance, much like Jace.
“Was it not Callahan?” Remington asked. “Did you meet someone else? Are we not talking about Callahan?”
“No, we are. He’s…it’s complicated.”
“I have a PhD in Library Science. I think I can make sense of it.”
Jace swallowed and recounted the story of the weekend to Remington. He told him about the flight, and the sex, and about Rhys and Sebastian and Ashley. He told Remington everything, about the way Callahan had identified him in the picture from the gallery, and the way Callahan had danced with him in the middle of the hotel room, and he told him about the way Callahan had hardened and turned cold in the presence of other people.
“So he’s mercurial,” Remington said after Jace finished talking.
“It’s not that,” he countered. “I know when it’s going to happen. I knew every time he would change. I just thought that after…that after, he wouldn’t.”
Remington smiled, his eyes crinkling around the corners.
“What are you smiling about?” Jace grumbled.
“I love when you retain word definitions.”
“It’s hard to not.” He shrugged. “If I didn’t, I’d never know what you’re talking about.”
“What do you mean you knew when he’d change?” Remington asked.
“Whenever we were around his friends. Or not his friends, when we were around those people.” Jace sneered. “He was rough at first when we were alone, but then he was so, so good. And then…”
“Don’t you think that maybe he was putting on a show?”
“I know he was. It’s just I don’t know which side of him was the act.”
Jace leaned against the couch and scooted close to Remington, resting his head on his best friend’s shoulder with a sigh. He wanted to imagine Callahan when they were alone was the real Callahan, but it was hard to be sure. He fell into both roles so easily, and after observing Rhys, Jace couldn’t be convinced he had it wrong. What kind of person could pretend to have such lack of concern for other people? But then again, why would Callahan bother to learn the name of the chauffeur if he was such a bad person?
The whole thing was a disaster, and Jace was tired of trying to make sense of it. He wanted to close his eyes and wake up three weeks ago, when he could tell Sebastian no, when he could not go to Lion and not meet Callahan in the first place, when he’d never have known what it was like to be with Callahan, and then…not.
“Does he know you’re gone?” Remington bent forward, taking Jace with him. He grabbed his laptop and the book he’d had open, then leaned back, arranging everything on his lap around Jace.
“He knows I’m not at the hotel. I’m sure he can assume.”
“Has he tried to reach out to you?”
“Yes,” he said.
“What did he have to say?”
“It was a lot of panicked questions.” Jace closed his eyes. “I didn’t answer his calls. I only saw the texts, then I turned my phone off for the flight.”
“I’m pretty sure that tells you which Callahan is the real one then, doesn’t it?” Remington flipped one of the pages in his book and danced his fingertip down the page, tapping it once he reached the word he was looking for.
Jace frowned, annoyed at the logic in Remington’s statement. But Remington hadn’t met Callahan, and he hadn’t been there. He didn’t know what it was like to be around those people, to see Callahan around those people after the moments they’d shared together. The soft Callahan might be the real one, but the society Callahan had the sharpened edges that threatened—and protected—him.
He had the fleeting idea that Callahan’s callous nature around his friends might be a survival mechanism and he thought, in that moment, he should turn his phone on and apologize, but Remington reached for another book and propped it up on Jace’s knee, returning to his work while Jace stewed in his thoughts.
Jace fell asleep like that and woke up alone, a blanket over top of him. Remington’s computer and books were still strewn about the table, and Jace could hear the shower running down the hall. He stretched and recognized the shape of his phone sitting on top of Remington’s computer. He reached for it and powered it on, alerts pouring through so quickly the ring pattern didn’t even have time to complete before announcing a new message.
He rolled onto his back and dropped the phone onto his chest, waiting for the alarms to quiet. The shower turned off, and a minute later, Remington stood at the end of the couch, a towel wrapped around his waist.
