“I generally dislike gratuitous segues, but this one time, I’ll make an exception.”
chapter 28
. . .
“I’ll meet you at the table. I think it’s time I check in and see what I’m in for when I get home tomorrow.”
Heath hadn’t stopped looking forlorn since they’d returned from their stranding, and reminding him reality was waiting made his shouldersandhis face droop. It was a necessary evil. Evan hadn’t checked messages or emails for almost two weeks, and if a shitstorm was waiting for him, he’d prefer a night to prepare.
“Five minutes,” Heath warned. “Ten tops. Then I’m sending Izzy after you.”
Heath backed out of the room, gesturing that he’d be watching the clock, and Evan blew him a kiss, because it felt the best way to be both cute and an asshole. It was a delicate balance, but he’d been practicing.
The business area was a space smaller than a broom closet just outside of the main lobby. He laughed when he saw it, because there was no way even the most dedicated hardass was working there. He connected to the Wi-Fi and braced himself as his phone started up.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
Voicemail, full. Text messages, off the charts, and emails… the last one he’d received was an IT warning that he was over his limit and could get fucked until he deleted this shit.
He started with texts, because they were easy to skim. A number were from clients congratulating him on his marriage, followed by apologies and condolences after having heard the news. The next few weeks of meetings were going to be more hellish than normal.
Corey had reached out at first to laugh at him, naturally, and then to apologize, because his wife told him he was an asshole for making fun of him. Later, he laughed a little more, because hewasan asshole, then he ended with a request for Evan to call as soon as he had reception.
That wasn’t good.
Leo’s messages were a bit of the same, except his wife had moved out months ago and was therefore not available to make the bastard pretend he had a conscience. His ribbing continued until he left a similar message to get in touch.
Fuck. What had happened?
A skimming of emails revealed little. His calendar showed bookings well into the future, and there weren’t any subject lines showing he’d gotten fired, sued, audited, or requested to report to a government agent operating out of an unmarked van. Which meant his messages must hold the key.
Thanking the tech gods for visual voicemail, he deleted marketing spam and appointment reminders. Deleted the message from his father without even looking at it. Same with the ones from his brothers. Corey and Leo hadn’t even called him, but Owen had.
Dude, when I told you it was time for a new flavor, I didn’t mean to toss the bun for the hotdog. This shit is all overthe Bleat,and you’re being dragged for stiffing everyone at the wedding to run off with someguy. Iknowthis is bullshit, because the source is your brother Rich, but you’re gonna have a hell of a mess to clean up when you get back.
Evan read the message three more times, and then he put his phone face down on the table and walked across the room to collapse on a settee.
There was no way. No one in his family could know what he’d been up to. No fucking way.
Even if Owen had let it slip that he’d gone on the trip. Even if Lucy had materialized to provide details of where he was, the island was still private. Other than the staff, they were the only inhabitants, and he’d gone nowhere in public since he’d arrived. How the fuck would Rich have found out?
Isabella strolled into the lobby. “You’re two minutes past ten, buster.”
She rushed over to sit beside him when she saw him hunched and muttering, wrapping an arm around his back. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
If his poker face had cracked that fast, he was in for a world of hurt twenty-four hours from now.
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, come tell it over dinner.” She stood and tried to tug him up by his arm, but he slipped free and buried his face into his hands.
They’d discussed telling the family the truth at dinner, because Heath’s guilt was eating him alive and dragging it out past the trip would make telling them even worse.
“Let’s just be honest and deal with the fallout. Maybe they’ll be understanding?”
Meanwhile, Evan was camp “milk it till it died.” He liked the Spencers and their assorted relatives. Even Penelope, with her unabashed love of all things inappropriate—okay, especially Penelope—but he didn’t expect to be hobnobbing with them at any point in the future, so why did it matter? Why not let theirmemories fade into obscurity as daily life slowly overwrote them?
Then there was Isabella, whose dark eyes seemed to bore straight into his soul. She was genuinely concerned about him. Two weeks, and she gave enough of a shit to offer comfort and support. He’d forgotten there were people like that out there. Now, he knew two.
