A boy promising to never drink because he was better than his father.
A boy walking me home every day to keep me safe.
That boy was not a killer.
And just because age had weathered him, hurt him, harrowed away at his heart, he was still that person.
I knew that.
I knew it in the way he kissed me so reverently in his shower. Knew it in the way he stared at me with history and hope in his eyes.
He had his secrets. He had his insecurities and problems and a complicated vein of mystery, but...he is not a killer.
Relief blanketed me with grateful warmth as my fingers tapped the screen.
Olin Moss: Gil is many things. But he is not a murderer.
“All right, everyone. Staff meeting in five!” Shannon yelled across the office floor. Employees stuck up their hand to signal they’d heard; others stood with pen and paper for note taking.
I went to turn off my phone, wishing I could delete the entire conversation and any sign of my doubt about Gil, but Justin sent one last reply.
Justin Miller: He’s had it rough, O. I don’t know what, and he refuses to confide in me, but something happened to him. Whatever it was did a real number on him. You only have to look past the cold exterior to see how much the guy suffers. His ability to keep people away is his coping mechanism, you know? You and me...we’ve been through stuff that changed us. But Gil...he’s been through shit that I can’t even imagine. Be nice to him. He needs all the friends he can get.
Chapter Twenty-Five
______________________________
Olin
-The Present-
CRADLING MY PHONE in my palm, I stepped from the elevator into the lobby. I hadn’t heard from Gil all day. I’d left his protection when he’d specifically told me not to, and I’d had no angry messages or inconvenient visitors.
I couldn’t unscramble how I felt about that.
“Olin.”
His gruff, sorrowful voice ripped my head to the comfy, velvet chairs by the security desk. Gil stood slowly, unwinding his powerful frame and standing on long, strong legs. Shadows decorated under his eyes, and his usual aura of tragedy hung heavier on his shoulders.
How could I ever think he was a killer? Even for the tiniest of moments. No killer would hold remorse and regret the way he did. No killer could look so full of despair.
I didn’t think.
I didn’t pause.
My feet broke into a run. I threw myself into him. “I’m sorry.” I hugged his firm waist, snuggling into his citrusy, earthy chest.
“Sorry for what?” He didn’t hug me back. His arms stayed by his sides. His hands balled tight and unyielding. “For leaving when I told you not to?”
I placed a kiss right over his heart. “For that and...other things.” Pulling away, I backed up and slipped my phone into my bag. No way did I want him to see the messages between Justin and me. I never wanted to hurt him in that way—to know my trust in him had wavered.
Gil didn’t move, his eyes narrowed and suspicious. “I expected you to run in the opposite direction, not into my arms.”
“Why?”
“Because I demanded you stay with me.” His spine stiffened. “Of course, my request was denied...and you left without a goodbye.”
“I didn’t leave because I was angry at you for forbidding me.” I fought the urge to touch him again. “I left because I have a job.”
His jaw clenched. “It wasn’t safe to go without me. If I knew you were that damn stubborn about menial labour, I would’ve escorted you.”
I ignored his deliberate zing. “I can take care of myself.”
He sighed, his entire body forlorn. “That’s the thing, O. In this...you can’t.”
My pulse picked up pace. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means...” He looked away, shedding off the truth. “Doesn’t matter. You’re okay. We’re together again.”
My heart flipped. “Are we?”
His eyes narrowed. “Are we what?”
“Together together?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Not in that way.”
Not yet.
I smiled weakly, doing my best to change the subject. “Would you believe me if I said I missed you?”
He scowled. “Not in a million years. Why would you? I’ve been an arsehole.”
In a crystal moment of absolute vulnerability, I murmured, “Would you believe me if I said I missed hugging you? We’ve kissed and connected in ways we never did as teenagers, but we haven’t hugged.”
He sucked in a breath.
I braced myself for a warning—a scathing telling-off. Instead, his knuckles nudged my chin, bringing my gaze to his. I froze as he stared into me, seeing my fears, my guilt, my endless need for him, and he closed his eyes as if he couldn’t survive what he saw. “I keep saying this, and you keep ignoring me, but...please stop. I can’t take much more.”
My lips tingled for his. My body warmed. My heart raced. “I can’t stop what I feel.”
“You shouldn’t feel anything for me.”
“I’ve always felt something for you.” A couple of colleagues walked past, reminding us we were in public. This wasn’t private. And yet, the intensity that’d sprung between us was visceral.
Gil sighed heavily. His knuckles dropped from my chin. “Just...don’t.”
I winced at the plea in his voice, the aching, quaking request not to tangle emotion with whatever physical chemistry we shared.
I’d asked him the same thing in the shower when he’d traced my tattoo.
Don’t.
Please don’t.
Don’t make me fall.
Don’t make me hurt.
The last thing I wanted to do was cause him more pain.
Clearing his throat, doing his best to return to callous and cold, he said, “You need to pack a few things. You’re coming back to my place. No arguments.”
“Eh, excuse me?”
“You refused to stay longer than a night—even though I’ve been explicit about the danger—”
“You haven’t told me anything—”
“Let me finish.” He scowled. “I get that I came off...overbearing. So, I’m asking you to stay with me until I can fix this.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighed, “And if you’re going to stay, you’ll need clothes.”
I blinked. “How long are you suggesting?”
“I don’t know.” His shoulders slumped. “I’ve failed in every way to resolve it quickly, but it has to end...soon.”
“Why?”
His face etched with shadows. “Because there’s only so much a person can tolerate before they’re pushed too far.”
I froze. The need to touch him overrode all other function. Moving closer, I cupped his cheek. “You can tell me what—”
Arching his face out of my reach, his forehead furrowed with impatience at himself, at me, at whatever he battled. “You’re living with me until I say otherwise.”
“And if I don’t like sharing a home?”
“You don’t really have a choice.”