WhenScottfills the screen, I want to toss the phone across the bedroom, my hard-on completely gone, heart racing for an entirely different reason. I’m fucking mortified.
“Hello?” I answer before I’m ready, voice raspy, almost like I was about to engage his daughter in phone sex …
“Tell me that you aren’t still in bed?”
I rest my head against the headboard, blowing out a deep breath.
“Had a late practice and …” I push back the duvet, my knee just as swollen as it was when I climbed into bed last night. “I needed to get some extra rest.”
Street noise filters down the phone.
“Well, I’m sorry to cut your rehabilitation short, but would you mind buzzing me in? I’m about to enter your building.”
I bolt up in bed, wondering what arrangements I’ve forgotten this time.
“I need to talk with you,” Scott continues. “Or more like ask you for another favor.”
Five minutes later, I’ve thrown on some clothes, and I have a worried Scott sitting opposite me in the living area.
Reminding me of his daughter, he casts his eyes around my stark penthouse. “My voice actually echoes in here; it’s that empty.”
Reaching out, he picks up the coffee I made him and takes a couple of sips.
“What’s the problem?” I ask, assuming that’s why he needs another favor.
His previously concerned expression turns more apprehensive, although it doesn’t need to. He should know that I’ll alwayshave his back, even though I’m not being fully truthful with him at present.
“It’s Billie.”
At the mention of her name, full-body trembles set in. I sit forward, bracing my elbows on my knees to try and suppress any signs of anxiety.
Shit. What the fuck does he know?
My voice is hoarse, borderline strained when I respond, “What about her?”
Gaze falling to his hands and with a crutch leaning against the wall next to him, he looks like a broken man. Or at least one carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“You know I wouldn’t come to you if I had an alternative.” When he brings his eyes back to mine, I can immediately tell what he’s going to ask. “The money you loaned to us?—”
“Gifted,” I clarify. “The money Igiftedto you.”
He clears his throat, an awkward atmosphere settling in the room. “Well, yeah, that money. It’s running out faster than I anticipated.”
He scrubs a hand over his mouth, struggling to ask me the question.
I decide to step in and make this as easy as I can. “How much more do Billie and Blake need?” By mentioning their names, I know I’m separating Scott and Freya from the equation. This money isn’t for them, and that’s the only reason why he’s sitting in front of me right now. It’s the only reason why he brought their financial woes up in the bar that night.
Trouble is, back then, nothing was happening between me and his daughter, and circumstances were very different.
Back then, I wasn’t walking a moral tightrope, and therefore giving him money felt like the act of a good friend helping an even better man and his family in a time of need. Now, all that has shifted, and while I’d be still giving the money with all the best intentions, I know if Scott knew the full truth, then he wouldn’t accept another dime.
And that’s exactly why I can’t come clean despite knowing it’s the right thing to do.
Billie and Blake trump everything, and I’m not about to see a friend sell his assets—or worse, run up debt to fund the essentials for his family. We both know that Tucker is paying the bare minimum toward Blake’s upkeep, and like hell is Billie moving back home to save money. That’s if she could break out of the lease.
“Give me a number,” I press.
More silence.
