Where he was. What he was doing. Whether he was being pushed as hard and tested as ruthlessly as him. If he needed help or something went wrong.
It was three in the morning, and Gage was still out.
Scar hated that it mattered to the point where he was unable to sleep, decompress, or focus.
The hospitality team had delivered his requested books, plus some. The various genres stacked neatly on the table—manuals, books on history, warfare strategy, biographies, murder mysteries, sci-fi, true crime—all sat untouched.
Instead, he was sitting there with the English Standard Version of The Bible—Meridian had delivered—resting in his lap.
Scar flipped page after page, seeing but unseeing the words. And it wasn’t until he landed on the story of a scrawny shepherd boy who’d killed a giant with a slingshot, that his mind had slowed— Until the elevator whirred to a stop on their floor.
He cracked his door just enough to peek out and almost swallowed his tongue.
Gage stepped into the hall like a vision, moving as if confidence had a sexy new walk.
He wore a long ivory trench that hugged his tight frame and brushed his thighs, with the hood pulled low enough to kiss the bridge of his nose. Underneath was an untucked, loose, cream-colored button-up, with the open collar relaxed in a way that made the expensive shirt appear casual. The pair of light-colored denims and chestnut boots grounded the entire look.
As if Gage wasn’t fucking hot enough, he had the audacity to have a cane gripped in his right hand, but it was unlike any mobility cane he’d ever seen.
Sleek white and silver with a matte-black grip and reinforced joints.
A weapon masquerading as an aid.
Gage walked with certainty, his back upright and shoulders squared. He held the cane like an extension of himself, not for balance or assistance, but for authority.
Scar’s pulse kicked hard in his throat. Self-assuredness had always been his weakness, and this— Gage was taking it to the next level.
He wanted to say something. Anything. But just like when they’d been on the block, his instinct was to scowl, lock it down, and keep the want from showing.
His vision blurred to a red haze when Mr. Can’t Keep His Damn Hands to Himself leaped out of the elevator before the doors closed.
He hurried up behind Gage, their relationship looking too damn comfortable already.
“Hey,” he said, reaching out and clasping Gage’s wrist. “You gotta get used to using the cane properly. You look like a pimp walking with it like that.”
Gage laughed.
Actually laughed.
The sound sliced through Scar’s chest.
He stepped farther into the hall, anger flaring hot and fast. The guy didn’t hear him, but Scar watched as Gage froze and his smile faded.
He turned and pushed his hood back, facing his direction.
“Adrian,” Gage said softly. “Thank you for today. If you’ll excuse us.”
That’s right, motherfucker. You’re dismissed.
Scar celebrated the small victory as Gage continued down the hall toward him.
“You’ve got class in the morning with Kiera,” Adrian said to Gage’s back. “So I’ll see you tomorrow at four.”
Gage nodded without slowing.
Adrian stared at Scar, not bothering to lessen his frown.
If a man had looked at him like that on the streets, he would’ve already blacked both of his eyes.
