I don’t even have my phone set in the cupholder when it rings in my hand.
Declan’s number.
Grumbling, I answer. “Please don’t argue with me, boy.”
But it’s not Declan’s voice I hear.
It’s George, his voice sounding deep, and husky, and thick with sleep. “Do you want me to send Declan over to you this morning?”
An irrational wave of rage washes through me. I hit thestopbutton on the bike’s control panel. “If I’d wanted him here, George, I would’ve told him to come over. I’ll see you at the fundraiser.”
I hang up on him and sit there for a moment before the scream erupts from me. I don’t need that motherfucker offering to sendmyboy over to me like I’m a goddamned pity fuck.
Am I even going to be able to do this? Honestly?
Wouldn’t I be better off turning my back and walking away from both of them? Not professionally, but personally.
Intimately.
Right now, it feels like I’m engaging in the bad kind of masochism. But as much as I love andwantDeclan, I don’tneedhim.
I’m not the one who was probably less than a couple of months from committing suicide.
Not like I can’t find companionship. Then I won’t be risking becoming part of a messy, emotional fallout.
I’m never going to come first in George’s life, and that’s…
That’s fine.
I never wanted to be first in his life.
I wanted to be first in Ellen’s life, in her heart, and I never could be. Logically, I know it wasn’t through any lacking on my part but try telling my heart and soul that.
Ironically, I had the boy of my dreams, who wanted to be nothing but number one in my life, and now he’s George’s sun and moon, while I’m left adrift out in the Kuiper Belt.
Admittedly from my own positioning there, but still.
Deciding to abandon the last two miles of my bike ride, I storm upstairs and hit the shower. And that’s where I am when I hear the knock on my open bathroom door, which startles me.
I turn to stick my head out around the end of the shower curtain. “Goddammit, Declan! I told you—”
George stands there wearing sweats and a T-shirt, arms crossed and leaning against the doorway.
Somber George.
The face of the man upon his return from hell.
His hair isn’t even combed, he obviously hasn’t had a shower or shaved yet. I see he’s got Declan’s keys in his hands, which explains how he got inside. To avoid EPU’s notice, he took Declan’s Jag. And he has his own keys and alarm code to my house, although he hasn’t used them since his return from hell.
George has these gorgeous blue eyes I’ve always thought were amazing. I know Ellen loved them, too. Logan and Ryder are the spitting image of him, same eyes, looks just like their dad. Today, they look tinged with grey, a look I’ve come to associate with grief and sadness in him.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, stunned to even see him out of bed this time of morning. Especially on a rare day he can sleep in.
“Are you going to talk to me?” he quietly asks.
“About what?”
His head droops and he slowly shakes it. “I’m not giving up on you, Case.”
