He stepped into my space, laying the stench of gin and sweat over me like a shroud. The guilt that accompanied it was the heaviest to maneuver under. He was right. He was in pain because of me. I had been driving that night. The night that had changed everything. But he couldn’t talk to me any way he liked and get away with it.
He’d never put his hands on me. He must have known that would be my limit. But he did like to wield the guilt like a weapon.
My mother had really liked Dex. He liked to invoke her name when I was on the verge of giving up on him. But she’d often told me how happy she was that I had him so I wouldn’t be alone when she died.
In the last six months, there had been moments daily that I’d considered walking out. But her last words to me haunted me. We all need love. Don’t throw it away.
She was right. We all did need love. And I tended to self-isolate. Without Dex and Telly, I’d go ages without socializing. So I tried. Relationship work was a lot of effort, but this was Dex. We loved each other. And thankfully, therapy was working… mostly.
“I do want that. I’m sorry. But I need you to do this. I have work.”
“So do I, Dex. Not to mention I’m working on the book.”
He rolled his eyes. “But my job is important. Actual high stakes. No one is going to lose their life savings if you don’t get Kennedy’s coffee. And you need to be realistic. You’re not going to win a Pulitzer with that book.”
The double whammy made my hands twitch to throw something. If I’d had the energy, I’d have screamed. I’d have let the rage nestled behind my sternum explode and consume everything in my path.
But I had nothing left to give. “Nice, Dex.”
Before my mother died, she’d been working on a true crime book about the disappearance of one of her friends. When she’d died, I’d taken on the book. It helped me feel closer to her and acted as excellent grief therapy. And I’d come to find I loved the storytelling. I felt alive when I was writing. I could see the pieces fit together in my mind, like a movie. Dex didn’t understand why I needed to finish the book so badly. He saw it as another thing that dragged focus away from him and us.
He frowned as if suddenly seeing me for the first time. “Where were you? And why are you so disheveled?”
“Gee, thanks, Dexter. I’m all right, thanks for asking. Nothing that a hot bath and a soak won’t fix. After all it was only a light mugging.”
His face fell. “You were mugged?”
“Yep. A stellar end to a stellar evening.”
He recoiled. “Oh, so this is my fault?”
“You vanished on me.”
“Well, I needed to unwind, so I went up to the balcony for a smoke. And for the record, I didn’t abandon you. I was talking to Mills and lost track of time.”
I frowned at his lie. Doubt crept up my spine like a huntsman spider stalking its prey. He could well have been embroiled in a conversation with Mrs. Mills when I’d been looking for him, but he’d clearly tried to imply he’d been caught up with his boss.
In the morning. You can deal with this in the morning.
I was halfway up the stairs when I paused, remembering we were meant to go out on Thursday. “Don’t forget, Thursday night is the thing for my mother—to spread her ashes.”
He sighed as if I was asking the world of him. “You sure you don’t want to take Telly? It’s not really my thing. I think I have physical therapy that night anyway.”
For fuck’s sake, was he really doing this? “Can’t you move it?”
“Not really. I want to get better as quickly as possible. You want that too, right?”
I did want him to get better as quickly as possible, but this was for my mother. She’d been his biggest champion. “You’re serious?”
“Look, let’s chat about it later. Head on up for a bath. You look a wreck.”
As I trudged up the stairs, I couldn’t help but wonder if my mother was wrong about relationships. Surely, I was better off on my own.
Ben
The three of us convened in East’s suite at the hotel. He’d taken one of the penthouse units as his own. At one time, we’d all lived in the hotels.
Eventually, Bridge had left bachelorhood for Belgravia Square. And when I’d become engaged to Lila, I’d bought two townhouses down the road from his and spent a million quid to renovate them into Covington House. But then my life with Lila had blown up, and I’d come back to the anonymity of bachelor life. I still had a staff to keep up that place, and every now and again I got it in my mind that I needed to make it a home… but then I didn’t. What was the point when there was no one to share it with?
I didn’t occupy a penthouse, though. I had one of the corner loft units. Besides, it was more convenient to stay at the hotel. East’s penthouse was fully lived in, unlike my loft. There were flashes of color everywhere. Art on the walls. Photographs by Xander Chase and Z Con. We’d gone to a Z Con exhibit in New York two years ago.
East was the sort of bloke who had colored pillows and candles and things. I’d never understood how he even knew or cared about that shit. On the shelves, he had photographs. So many of us, Drew, and Toby that I couldn’t count them all. There were several of his mother and sister but none of this father. His place looked lived in.
My place was where I slept. His place was where I came to watch a football match or to hang out. It never even occurred to me to host football viewing parties at my place. I knew it was sterile, but I liked it that way. Minimal. Less to get attached to.
When we walked in, East tossed his keys onto the mantle and we all took up our usual positions. East grabbed his laptop and plopped himself dead center on the couch. I always picked the massive oversized leather chair, and Bridge always seemed to like the chair by the fireplace. But this time, he stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out over London.
East tapped away at the keys. “Okay. Let’s see about the security cameras.”
From the window, Bridge said, “I remember a woman in a red dress. There were a few people wearing red, but she was noticeable. Bloody thing was backless. Sexy as hell. Great arse.”
I glowered at him. I didn’t want him thinking about her arse.
Why not? You did.
And it was true. She had a phenomenal ass. Like a peach. I wanted to take a bite— No. No. No. No. No. Get the drive and move on.
Likely easier said than done. The chances that she wouldn’t get nosy were slim, and it was going to get dangerous. The guilt ate at me, knowing she’d ask a good deal of questions and I wouldn’t be able to give her answers.
East tapped away. “She didn’t give you anything to go on?”
I shook my head. “Not a thing.”
“Okay, there, I see her. She is talking to Fenton Mills and someone else. One sec… let facial rec do its thing. She’s linked arms with Dexter Ford. He works for Mills at Mills and Crawford Investments.”
I snorted at that. “What kind of name is Dexter Ford? Sounds like a git we might have gone to school with.”
And then Bridge reminded me why we’d been mates all these years. He turned to me and nodded his head. “That’s a knob’s name if I ever heard one.”