I stare at him. “Thank you, Graham.”
“Back in my day we’d call that chivalrous,” Lloyd says from where he’s standing to the left of us. “You’ve come a long way from the boy you used to be, Bull.”
I look into my husband’s eyes. “Bull? That’s your nickname?”
“Was,” he gently corrects me as he once again adjusts the jacket wrapped around me.
“We agreed that I’d stop calling him that around the office. I got used to that, but now that I’m retired, it slips out,” Mr. Abdon explains with a chuckle.
I want to get to the bottom of this, so I press on, “Lloyd, why Bull? Where did that come from?”
Graham’s index finger darts to my chin. He turns my head a touch until I’m looking at him again. “It’s a very long and boring story that’s not worth getting into.”
I glance over his shoulder at the few cars that are approaching us. “I think we have time. It doesn’t look like our ride is within sight.”
Lloyd clears his throat to gain my attention again. “It started when he was a lot younger.”
Whatever he says next is lost under the sound of my husband’s voice. “I played football in high school. I picked up the nickname then.”
“Graham,” Lloyd snaps out.
My gaze volleys between both men. It’s obvious that Graham isn’t telling me the whole story behind the name, but Lloyd wants to, so I focus on him. “How did you hear about the name if it was Graham’s nickname in high school?”
Lloyd glances at Graham. I’ve seen that look only a handful of times in the past, and it’s always been in the office when Lloyd has been primed to drop some juicy details about a business deal.
This isn’t a business deal, though. This is Graham’s past.
“Lloyd was in the stands for a few games,” he says in a rush as his gaze darts over his shoulder. “Where’s the damn car?”
“To watch you play?”
Graham looks at me again. “It was his alma mater. He used to play on the same team back in his day.”
I search Mr. Abdon’s face for some truth, but he drops his chin down. “That’s right.”
Graham breathes a heavy and very audible sigh of relief. “That’s our car. It’s time to go home.”
And just like that, the discussion about my husband’s past has come to an abrupt end, and I have way more questions than answers about the man I married.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Graham
“I’m sorry, Graham.”
I squeeze my eyes shut when I hear the emotion in Lloyd’s voice. I didn’t fucking want this to happen. My intention wasn’t to silence him in front of the restaurant, but I’m a huge proponent of letting sleeping dogs lie.
I don’t need or want Miss Shaw to gain insight into the person I used to be.
I left that guy behind when I graduated from college and started working an entry-level position at Abdons.
I’ve wished for a hell of a long time that Lloyd would drop the nickname I carried with me for years, but he’s still clinging to it. I know why. It’s part habit and part nostalgia.
Lloyd wishes his past was his present, but time can’t maintain that.
Life changes.
People change. I’m proof of that.
I turn and face him. “No need to apologize.”
He nods sagely. “You’re not comfortable telling Trina about…”
“No,” I cut him off before he gets the two words I hate the most out of his mouth.
The past.
“She’d understand,” he states as though life is that simple.
Maybe she would, or perhaps she’d judge me, but it doesn’t matter. I’m tied to Trina for three months, and then we’ll part ways. She’ll leave with more than a million dollars, and I’ll walk away knowing I gave Lloyd something he wanted.
That’s the chance to see me settled down with a woman he believes I’m worthy of.
I’m not, but I’m keeping that to myself in the same way I’ve kept my past to myself.
“At least consider telling her,” he says as he adjusts the collar of the pajama top he’s wearing.
I waited in a chair in the corner of the guestroom while he was in the bathroom getting ready for bed. I couldn’t leave things unsaid because what if this night is his last?
I’ve asked repeatedly if he’d like to see a heart specialist now that he’s back in New York. That’s been strictly selfish on my part because I don’t want the old man to leave me.
He insists that he doesn’t need a second, third or fourth opinion. He knows his fate.
I move to face him. “Lloyd, I appreciate that you believe in transparency in marriage, but this is different.”
“It’s not.” He places a shaking hand on my shoulder. “You’re assuming that Trina doesn’t have the capacity to understand who you once were. If a woman truly loves a man, she’ll see past his weaknesses to his growth and maturity. You’re not the same bull-headed kid I met years ago.”
I fight off a smile. “I sure as hell hope not.”
“Don’t get me wrong.” He brushes his hand over the front of my shirt. “You’re still just as stubborn now, but you only dig in your heels when you believe strongly in something.”
I see a path that will lead me out of this conversation, so I jump on it. “You’re talking about Kay?”
He huffs out a stuttered laugh. “I’m not, but I made the right decision about her design. It’s what the market wants right now, Bull.”
“You know how I feel about that.” I chuckle. “My opinion hasn’t changed, Lloyd. Her timepiece is dated. We’d do better with one of the designs I recommend.”
“I still have the final say,” he reminds me. “We are going with Kay’s design. You have the job of telling her that.”
“Trina’s going to handle it.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Her face lit up like the Eiffel Tower when I told her she could break the good news to Kay.”
He studies me as a slow smile creeps over his lips. “You’re already learning the pleasure of sacrificing for your wife.”
“Kay’s a friend to Trina,” I say to try and sidestep what he views as a romantic gesture. “It seems fitting that she should handle that discussion.”
“Sure.” He smirks. “Keep telling yourself that. You’re a good husband, Graham, whether you want to admit it or not.”
I’m a shitty husband.
I’ll admit that.
I’m paying my wife to be here. If that’s not as fucked up as a marriage can get, I sure as hell don’t know what is.
I close the doors to the guestroom softly before turning to make my way toward the small bedroom I’m currently staying in.
I don’t make it a few feet before I notice light filtering from a doorway on my left.
I quicken my steps. Old habits die hard, and I’ve never shaken the one that sends me to the light switch when leaving a room. In this case, I’m picking up Lloyd’s slack since it seems that he forgot to turn off the lights in the library.