He tensed, but pressed a finger to my lips to stop me rattling on. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.” I released a sigh as I stared deeply into his eyes. “I have a feeling I’m going to spend forever with you, Devlin.”
“Forever can be arranged too.”
I smiled. “Good.”
Epilogue
Devlin
Three weeks later
In comparison to the UK, California was boiling hot, and because my British body had become accustomed to the damp of home, it was miserable. Which meant I was grouchy.
Even after sleeping off the jet lag in a five star hotel, I was grumpy, which was saying a lot.
I’d woken up with Micah’s lips around my cock, and I was still in a mood, but I knew that was probably forecasting how bad today was going to go.
It wasn’t just the weather, but the upcoming meeting.
I had to be strong for Micah’s sake, but after what he’d told me about his coming out, the lengths he’d gone to to protect himself, I couldn’t imagine this day ending with anything other than my knocking the bastard who called himself Micah’s dad out.
The drive to the house took place in silence.
City and Colour played on Micah’s playlist, and I thought it was fitting that the track, ‘Coming Home’ throbbed through the speakers as he veered out of Portola Valley and to the hills where he’d been raised.
We passed a half-dozen homes, each tucked away amid trees and sheltered to give the owners privacy, but the drive we stopped at was the largest of them all. Palm trees popped up everywhere, shielding any view of the main house from the road.
A small stand was at the side, just in front of the gates, and Micah pressed a button on it.
“Who is it?”
Micah sighed. “It’s Micah.”
There was a hesitation—I practically felt it coming through across the speaker.
“George, I’ll take the blame.”
The gates rolled inward.
“Who’s George?”
“He’s my dad’s assistant,” was the wooden retort as we drove up a pleasant drive that was reminiscent of a day trip into a jungle with the mass of flora that overtook the yard.
In the middle of it was a colonial house with bright blue shutters that was painted a blinding white. It was only two stories, but wide—the windows were all French doors, all leading out onto an upper or lower verandah that snaked around the house, and there were over twelve sets of doors on each floor.
"You grew up here?" At his nod, I said, “Must have felt like an adventure."
A ghost of a smile whispered across his lips. "It did. I had a treehouse over there." He pointed into the chaotic tangle of trees. "I loved it."
"I'll bet." I eyed him, aware he was under stress and not entirely sure why he was putting himself through this. But I'd be there for him, with him as we maneuvered this next obstacle together. That was all I could do, and it was, I knew, all he needed from me.
To be there.
Well, I was.
I always would be too.
As he pulled up to the house, switching off the engine, we just sat there.
Him staring up at it, me watching him and wondering what he was going to do.
Nothing about this felt like the right move, but it was his choice. His decision. And I'd stand by him.
His hands tightened around the wheel as he murmured, "You know that counselor I saw in London?"
He'd gone three times, but after the third, he'd returned home angry. I hadn't pressed, knowing he'd tell me in good time...
"Yes."
"It was strange. She wanted to talk about everything but the rape." His brow puckered. "It made me think about stuff that I didn't really want to."
"What like?"
"Random things, really. I called Cassandra, you know, Rhode's EA?"
Surprised, I asked, "Why?"
"I wanted to know why she was a bitch to me."
Snickering a little, I queried, "Did she tell you why?"
"She said she was sorry." He cut me a look. "I didn't expect that. I just felt I deserved to know why she was so horrible to me."
"What was her reason?"
"She said she was stressed. Remember I told you how she kept disappearing to the restroom all the time?"
"You thought she was pregnant," I confirmed.
"Yeah, I did. She isn't. She just went to the bathroom to cry."
My eyes flared wide. "Jesus."
He nodded. "Rhode made her so unhappy that she had to keep escaping to cry." His brow puckered. "Isn't that horrible?"
"It is." My jaw worked as I thought about all the changes I'd be forcing on HR when I returned to Astley Publishing. It was quite clear to me that we'd been letting down our employees for a long time. Only fuck knew what else was being brushed under the carpet. "Did you feel better for knowing why she was that way to you?"
"No. It made me feel worse. Rhode did a lot of damage to a lot of people. It made me think about how many toxic people I know who are just like her."
Warily, I eyed the house. "Your dad?"
He nodded. "That's why we're here. I want to see him one last time before I cut him out for good."
"Okay," I said slowly, still not sure if that was the best idea.
"You don't think it's wise?" Micah asked.
"Not really, but we'll do whatever you need."
His lips twitched, a smile forming for the first time today. "Who'd have thought you could be so supportive when, that first time I went to your place, all you could do was talk about soup, fruit, and the Stock Exchange?"
I grumbled, "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"
"Nope," he agreed, and I had to laugh because he sounded so fucking cheerful that I was left with no alternative.
Though I didn't want to upset him, I was curious. "I thought you loved your dad?" I asked.
"I do. I did. But it was only with distance that I saw how he controlled Mom. Like, she wasn't religious when I was a kid. She only went to church because of him, because she thought it would help save her marriage." His brow puckered. "I wonder if it was worth it."
"Would she still be with him if it wasn't?"
"I guess not."
I cleared my throat. "You haven't heard from her, either? Not since—"
He shook his head. "No. Not since that last time."
"Maybe she agrees with him?"
"Maybe she does." He reached up and plucked his bottom lip. "I never liked leaving home. I was always happy to be with Mom, and every year, Dad made me go to Summer Camp. I hated it, but I had to pretend to love it because that's what you do, right?"
"Fake it 'til you make it," I agreed.
He nodded. "So, this one year, we started to learn how to use canoes. This prick, a kid called Joseph, he really didn't like me. I don't know why, but he just didn't. He tipped over my canoe and he and his cronies held me under the water. I managed to get out of the harness but I bobbed under water for a while, using the little air trap to breathe because I knew they'd just push me back under again."