Which—lightbulb moment—was what I’d been missing.
I missedBlair, as a person—of course I did—but I’d also missed having someone to care for. And all of this? The grown men wearing diapers, or dressed up as pets, or cuddled sweetly on their Daddies laps? Maybe I did get it, after all.
None of it was about the trappings, it was about the dynamic between them, just like it had been between Blair and me.
“Shit,” I said, another lightbulb going off. “Were Blair and I kinky?”
Greg laughed, the big kind again.
“Oh, fuck off,” I said, grinning too widely to mean it. “It wasn’t like our bedroom was stocked with handcuffs and ball gags.”
Although Blairhadthrived on being restrained at times.
“Really? I always figured you probably did have a few ball gags tucked away for him somewhere,” Greg said fondly. “The way his mouth never slowed down, I used to wonder how you got him to shut up in bed.”
With my cock, usually.
But—
“Still not sharing intimate details with you, Greg,” I growled, watching another carload of hotel guests pull out of the parking lot.
“No, no, and I’m not asking for them,” Greg said, still chuckling. “But yes, Edward, for the record, anyone who knew the two of you knew there was a power dynamic in your relationship.” He paused, then, “And it’s nice to hear you finally able to talk about him like this.”
I looked down at the pale band of skin on my ring finger.
“It is,” I admitted. “It feels good to remember his life, instead of being so fucking focused on his death. It was eating me up, Greg. Turning me into someone Blair wouldn’t have wanted me to become.”
Silence. Then—
“Jesus,” Greg said on an explosive breath. “Who are you, and where’s the Edward Garrett who’s been paying my salary for the last five years?”
“Fuck off,” I said, grinning again. “It was time, that’s all.”
Greg paused for a beat. Then, “And does ‘time’ have a name?”
Yet another “fuck off” was on the tip of my tongue. I’d always been a private person, even amongst friends. Blair had been the only one I’d ever had no secrets from… although the night before, holding Rene in the dark, my walls had come down so naturally and completely that it should have shocked me.
But instead, it had simply felt right.
“His name is Rene Boucher,” I admitted, something inside purring with satisfaction at the idea of claiming him for my own, even in this small way. “And he’s…”
Leaving.
I narrowed my eyes, moving closer to the window.
Rene wasleaving. Getting in a car with Sam and two other boys, and looking just as anxious—no, even more so now—than he had when I’d left him in the breakfast room.
“Shit,” I said, already moving. “Greg, I’ve got to go.”
“Is everything al—”
“It’s fine,” I barked. “Greg, I need to, he just,fuck. We’ll talk later.”
I disconnected the call. It wasn’t fine. Rene hadn’t just been uncomfortable earlier, he’d looked on the verge of falling apart. It was why I’d intended to get him out of there, just before Greg had called.
But even though I’d only meant to step out for a moment, I’d assumed he’d wait for me. That he trusted me.
I didn’t care that I wasn’t Rene’s “Daddy,” or that we hadn’t discussed any plans, or that I knew Sam would look out for him. Rene had askedmeto take care of him, to take charge, to decide what he needed, and I’d promised that I would.
