Then I turn and punch the living fuck out of the trailer wall.
The cheap aluminum dents under my knuckles. My hand immediately hurts like hell, but the ache is better than all the other unwelcome feelings churning in my gut.
This is a disaster. An utter fucking disaster.
And I’m not talking about Olympus, either.
I’m talking about the fact that my dream is crumbling in my hands like a goddamn sandcastle at the beach, and yet all I can think about is Eliana, Eliana,Eliana.
I close my eyes and I smell whatever the fuck that perfume of hers is. Peach, maybe? I don’t know and it doesn’t truly matter. What matters is that I can’t get it out of my nose.
Nor can I rid myself of how it felt to take two fistfuls of her shirt andrip.I felt like a wild fucking animal. If she hadn’t been spluttering for breath, I would’ve kept on ripping until her clothes hung in shreds around her and her bare body was mine for the taking.
It’s been a long time since I had this much hunger in me. Actually, it’s been my whole life.
Because no one has done this to me before. No one has made mewantso badly that it burns in my veins like poison.
No one buther.
I ought to be focused on the other shit. And I am, I am. Frank is screwing me over. I wonder if he even knows just how much it will cost if this ship goes up in flames.
Billions. Actual fuckingbillions.
If that is what happens, I’m gonna make damn sure that he’s close enough to feel the heat. I’ll feed him to the fire myself if I have to.
It just feels more and more lately like everything is spiraling out of control. I used to have a firm grip on the world. That’s less true than ever.
I flex my hand open and closed. A tiny trickle of blood leaks between my fingers from where my knuckles split against the trailer’s side. I shake it off, steel myself, then go to my car.
But even when I’m behind the wheel, the thought of returning to the office makes me sick to my stomach. Even if I could handle paperwork and politics, the fact that Eliana will be there, too—assuming she calls an Uber to get back from here now that I’ve marooned her across town—means I need to stay the hell away.
Because she’s quickly becoming a temptation I cannot resist.
So I don’t go to the office. I check my calendar app instead. Sage has a PT appointment in an hour. I’ll take him to lunch and then drive him there myself. That’ll be a good distraction for a while.
And maybe a breather from Eliana is a good thing.
For both of us.
“The fuck’re you doing here?” Sage blurts in surprise when he sees me walk through the penthouse door.”
“Firstly, watch your mouth,” I say. “Secondly, is that any way to greet your brother? And thirdly, what the hell are you doing playing video games in the middle of the day? You’re supposed to be doing schoolwork.”
Sage rolls his eyes. Parenting a teenager is every bit as much of a pain in the ass as books and movies warn you it will be. The factthat he’s my younger brother and I can simply punch him when he pisses me off is a slight perk, but only slight.
“I’m at lunch,” Sage says defensively, pointing at the half-eaten sandwich on the coffee table. “And I finished my work already.”
“It’s eleven-thirty.”
“Early lunch. Easy work.”
I want to keep prying, but the truth is, Sage doesn’t have much else to fill his days. Him attending virtual school means no cafeteria lunches, no locker-room banter, no spontaneous hangouts after the final bell. Hobbies are limited. Friends are few and far between.
It has to be this way, though. His physical therapy schedule is grueling—six sessions a week, each one lasting two hours—and by the time he’s done, he’s usually too exhausted to do anything except collapse on the couch and fire up whatever game is currently holding his attention.
I’ve tried to get him interested in other things. Offered to hire tutors for subjects he enjoys. Suggested he join online clubs or gaming communities where he might make friends. I even floated the idea of adaptive sports programs.
He’s shot down every single suggestion with a vengeance.
