The words rearrange themselves in my head like square pegs in round holes. Art coordinating fights through Benny. Art calling Percy “bait.” Art having “contacts” in Boston. Art knowing exactly who Bors is and what Myrddin sent him to do.
Art isn’t caught in this web.
He’s spinning it.
“Lance.” My voice sounds far away. “If Benny works for Art, and Benny’s been running the fights at the Lye since Freddy…”
“I know.”
“Then Art’s not just connected from owning the tavern.”
“I know.” His voice cracks on the second word, just barely, and the sound of it splits something open in my chest.
God, how selfish am I?I’m sitting here worrying that my boyfriend’s not telling me everything, and my dad isn’t pickingup the phone, and Lance is admitting that the boy he’s loved his entire life—the person he’s spent six years in a cage protecting—might be the one holding his leash.
I set the magazine aside and stand. Cavall huffs at the disruption but resettles on the couch.
“When did you start suspecting?” I ask quietly, moving to the kitchen island.
“I don’t know.” He drags a hand through his hair. “Maybe when he stopped talking to me, or maybe when he told me about Bors like he was reading from a briefing sheet. Maybe I’ve known for a while and just didn’t want—” He stops, pursing his lips.
“Didn’t want to see it.”
“Yeah.”
The last thin thread of benefit of the doubt frays under the weight of too many unanswered questions and too many convenient explanations.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“For what?”
That his best friend might be the villain of this story.
That loving Art might have been the most dangerous thing either of us ever did.
His eyes meet mine, and there’s something raw and unguarded there that he usually keeps locked behind that stonewall expression. And before I can second-guess myself, I’m moving toward him, rising on my tiptoes, and wrapping my arms around his neck.
He hesitates, his hands hanging at his sides.
“Lance. Hug me back.”
And that’s all it takes—he gives in, his arms coiling aroundmy middle and crushing me to him, his face resting in the crook of my neck. I hold him and he holds me, and his breath coasts across my skin, followed by something wet, and I could swear he’s crying, and that makesmyeyes burn, so I just wrap around him harder, like maybe if I hold on tight enough, neither of us will break.
Cavall whines and circles our legs, and eventually, we come apart.
“Thank you,” I say. “For telling me.”
“We said no more secondhand information.” He sniffs and wipes under his eyes.
The moment passes, but something between us has shifted. Not the dangerous thing that crackles when we’re too close, but something deeper.
Trust laid down like a foundation, brick by brick.
“I want to look into something,” I say, pulling my laptop from the side table and opening it on the island. “My dad’s firm.”
Lance moves beside me, my skin prickling when our arms brush. “What are you looking for?”
“Art said some of the people my dad represents have ‘ties’ in Boston. He said that Bors guy was sent to make sure my dad defended a case properly.” I pull up the website for DeGrance & Associates. “If my dad’s firm is connected to Myrddin’s operations, there should be a trail. Practice areas. Notable cases. Client names.”
