“Don’t do this. Don’t shut down after opening your heart.”
Removing my hands, I swipe at an errant tear rolling out of one eye, horrified to discover it. “I was wrong,” I tell him, peering deep into his eyes. “I should’ve told them how much you mean to me. I should have told my dad no when he said I had to take Sydney on a date. I should have done so many things differently.”
“You should have,” he agrees. “And I know you have tons of inner strength. The Sawyer Hunt I know bows down to no one. He walks to his own beat. I had no idea you were letting your parents do this because you gave me no indication. I thought they were decent people, but they are fucking assholes. How could they treat you like that?”
“They don’t see anything wrong with their behavior. There are a lot of parents in our social circle who are the same. Plenty who don’t have the excuses of work and career when they hand their kids to nannies to raise them.”
“Thank you for telling me. I wish you had told me sooner. I have some experience in telling parents to go fuck themselves. Experience that might have helped, but you didn’t confide in me, and that hurts, Hunt.”
We’re back to Hunt, and I know what that means. He only calls me Hunt when he’s keeping me at arm’s length. I straighten up and stuff my emotions back down deep inside. For a few precious minutes, I thought I had a chance. That there was some way of salvaging things, but he’s preparing to let me down.
“I wish I had, but it’s too late now, right?” I say, getting in there first.
“You’re married.” He tugs on his lip ring, and my eyes lower to his mouth.
I miss kissing him. He always kissed me with so much passion, and I didn’t properly appreciate it. I’m ashamed that I took him for granted. That I made him feel like he wasn’t important to me.
“And you had sex with her. Next you’ll be telling me she’s pregnant with your kid.”
“How stupid do you think I am? I used protection. And I’m never having kids,” I blurt.
“Wow. Really?”
I nod, not supplying an addendum. If I was with Xavier, and he wanted kids, I’d be willing to try with him. I don’t say it though. What’s the point when we’re no longer together and it’s clear he has already drawn a firm line under our relationship. I thought there was hope, but there is none. Pain stabs me in the heart, like a multitude of tiny needles are being slowly pushed into the organ.
“I think I have learned more about you today than a year of dating,” he says, and that annoys me.
He’s making out like we never confided things in one another, when it’s not true. I told him stuff I haven’t told anyone else. Okay, I never fully allowed myself to be vulnerable, but to insinuate he knew nothing about me is fucking crap. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
“Is it?” His tongue darts out, wetting his lips. “We didn’t have meaningful conversations unless it was about work or elite shit or our friends. We never talked about us.”
“That’s not true. I think your memory is selective, and there were two of us in the relationship, yet I’m the one being blamed. You told me nothing about your family either. If you wanted me to open up, why didn’t you ask me stuff?”
He shakes his head, looking torn between anger and sadness. “No one should be forced or coaxed into opening their heart. It’s what happens when a couple is in love. They want to share every part of themselves with their partner. Even the scary parts.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know.” He tugs his lip ring between his teeth. “Maybe you’re right. It wasn’t just you. Maybe our relationship was completely different from the vision I had in my head. Maybe we just weren’t right for one another.”
“Wow. Way to shit all over every good memory I have of us.”
“The truth hurts, Hunt. You should try to make things work with Sydney, because there is no future for us.”
And he drives the final nail in the coffin. I’m an idiot for continuing to hope. My head and my heart hurt, and I can’t do this. “I’m not doing this with you now. We shouldn’t even be talking about it.”
“No, we shouldn’t.” He looks at the clock on the dash. “We need to get back on the road. Drew will bust our balls if we’re late.”
I turn the key and start the engine. “Let’s just keep all conversation strictly professional and leave our personal lives out of it from now on,” I suggest, driving back out onto the highway.
“I agree.” He folds his arms and purses his lips, staring straight out the window, and we don’t talk for the rest of the journey.
17
Sawyer
“Wait here. The prisoner will be brought to you shortly,” the portly prison guard says, ushering us into a small square room. Xavier and I claim the seats in front of a small table, waiting for Techxet’s disgraced ex-CFO to be delivered.
“The camera just died,” Xavier says, his eyes flicking to the wall-mounted device in the corner of the room.
“Drew said he’d arrange that,” I explain, glad he came through for us.
“I’m going to check for bugs or other listening devices.” He removes one of the latest Techxet security gadgets from a hidden panel in the side of his bag. I extract the paperwork from my messenger bag as Xavier scans the room.
“It’s clean,” he confirms. “We have privacy.”
“Good.” I smooth a hand down the front of my suit jacket and wet my lips.
“Drew seems to have some powerful contacts.” Xavier drops back into the seat alongside me.
“He’s elite. Are you really surprised?”
He rummages in his bag. “He’s acting more cagey than usual.”
“He’s always kept his cards close to his chest,” I say, holding my hand out. He drops two small silver chips in my palm.
“Like someone else I know.” Xavier lifts a brow as he stares at me while I press the egg-shaped chip into my ear and the circular one just under the collar of my shirt, out of sight. I don’t dignify that with a response because I don’t want to start arguing with him just before Murtagh arrives. I press in on the circular chip, and it’s warm against my skin as the recording-slash-listening device powers on. Xavier does the same.
These new Techxet devices, part of the security products Dad developed, that will be sold on the market next year, have come in handy in recent times. Our friends aren’t listening in, because they are outside the range, but this entire conversation will be recorded and stored in the cloud.
“Let me take point, and follow my lead,” I caution him, just before the door is opened and the prisoner is led into the room.
I have seen pictures of the man, and he has aged considerably in the years since his confinement. His hair is now fully gray, cropped tight to his head. He’s sporting at least a few days’ growth on his chin and cheeks, and the lines around his mouth and his eyes are more pronounced. He says nothing, watching us with wary eyes, as the guard removes his handcuffs and pushes him down into the chair across from us. “Don’t cause any trouble,” the guard warns before tipping his head at me and leaving the room.