Chapter Sixteen
The call had come late Sunday evening, only a few minutes after he’d stepped out of the shower. Water dripped on the floor, and when he saw the number from the prison, he almost ignored it.
He wished he had.
They told him they found his father collapsed in his cell and had tried for an hour to revive him with no success.
Wolf had bitten back his immediate response:You shouldn’t have bothered.
For over twenty years he’d lived with the stain of his father’s crimes hovering over him like a filthy cloud. He’d woken up with it, gone to school and work with it. It was the first thing he saw before he opened his eyes in the morning and the last thing when he closed his eyes.
Nothing had ever managed to displace the choking heaviness of all the guilt and shame he carried.
Nothing or nobody, except Spencer.
He’d had no intention of telling anyone about Victor’s death. They’d done an autopsy, and he’d asked for the body to be cremated. As he’d debated whether to leave his ashes there to be discarded, something painful had twisted inside him. Unable to eat or sleep, Wolf had spent the nights torturing himself by looking through old photos of him and his parents and reading newspaper accounts of the trial. In the end, he’d decided he would take the ashes home and figure out what to do with them at a later date. He’d waited for the weight of almost a quarter century of pain and hurt to lift from his chest and set him free.
It didn’t come.
Since he’d heard the news, he dragged himself through the days, unable to concentrate, angry that he’d been cheated, but he couldn’t figure out of what. The effort to respond to texts and make frivolous, futile conversation was too great, and he added the guilt of ignoring his friends to the ever-growing list of what made Wolf a shit human being.
Then Spencer had busted into his office, pushing him to the limit and beyond. He’d thought he could keep it together, but it was so damn fucking hard and he was so damn fucking tired.
He didn’t want to hold it in any longer.
Surprisingly, Spencer didn’t bombard him with questions. Wolf had heard his breath hitch, had felt the shock roll through him when Wolf had spoken the words he thought he’d keep hidden forever, but all Spencer did was tighten the hold around his waist.
When did Spencer get to be the strong one?
“I think we should sit,” Spencer said.
With his hand in Spencer’s, Wolf allowed himself to be led to the sofa on the opposite side of his office, and they sat, Spencer keeping a hand on his nape, anchoring him so he didn’t float away.
“Do you feel like talking?” Gentle fingers carded through his hair, and the pure simplicity of the moment nearly broke him. “I’m not going to push you.”
At that, Wolf had to smile. “You’re not? Color me shocked.”
“Idiot,” Spencer murmured, but not without affection, and Wolf’s heart swelled.
“Don’t you have to be at work? I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”
The hand on his nape tightened, and Spencer pressed his cheek to Wolf’s. “I’d burn it all down before I’d walk away from you now.” His fingers returned to petting Wolf’s hair.
They sat for a few minutes; then Wolf heaved a sigh and began. “I grew up on Long Island. ‘The Gold Coast,’ they call it. An enclave of the North Shore, where the homes are huge, the cars are fast, and money talks.”
“And the more money you have, the louder you are, I’ll bet.”
“I won’t deny I had a charmed life growing up. My father was a corporate lawyer, my mother was queen of the social scene. I had anything I wanted—tennis lessons, horseback riding, vacations, whatever. Busy man that he was, my father was rarely home, but when he was, we’d do everything together. I idolized him,” he whispered. “Everyone loved him. He was always laughing and fun to be with, and we’d swim together, get ice cream…I hated when he’d leave, but he always said, ‘I’ll be back soon, kiddo, don’t worry.’ He was a workaholic—”
“Like father, like son,” Spencer said, and Wolf pushed him away.
“Don’t ever say that. I’m nothing like him,” he snarled and jumped up from the couch, heart pounding, violently ill now at the thought of revealing his secret. Head bent, he braced his hands on his desk and waited for the room to stop spinning.
“I’m sorry.” Spencer held him, covering him from behind like a shield. “Please don’t stop. I promise I won’t interrupt.”
“Is that humanly possible?” He turned in Spencer’s arms with a shadow of a smile. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’ve never told anyone.”
“I’m not just anyone, Wolfie.”
