Page 87 of A Life Chosen

Mathias couldn’t help but smirk. He’d given Rayan a fortune. He could have picked anywhere, and this was what he’d chosen.

He shut the door behind him and walked idly through the room. Rayan had assembled a jungle of plants of varying sizes along the windowsill, some faring better than others. Mathias didn’t own a single living thing. He saw no point in having anything else rely on him for its survival.

Mathias shrugged off his jacket and threw it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He picked up a dog-eared textbook lying open on the table, its pages marked with colored tags.Evolutionary Epistemology.Mathias placed it back down, careful not to lose Rayan’s place.

He stepped over to the counter, opening cabinets at random, not entirely sure what he was looking for. Pulling open the cupboard above the sink, his hand froze midair when he saw the unopened bottle of Macallan. Mathias stood, struck by the yearning that had lingered since he’d last seen Rayan’s face. Despite being here, so close to relief, he found the feeling even more difficult to fight. He stared at the bottle, proof he wasn’t the only one who thought of the time they would see each other again.

Mathias took the scotch down from the cabinet and cracked the seal to pour two fingers into a glass tumbler. He raised the drink to his lips and took a measured sip. After placing it back on the counter, he continued his unfettered exploration of Rayan’s apartment. He stalked down the hallway, opening doors as he went. Finding himself in the bedroom, Mathias attempted to quell his growing sense of frustration. He was trapped in a world of Rayan without access to the real thing—the man of flesh and blood.

Then he heard the sound of a key in the lock. He turned, his feet moving on their own, and walked back through the hallway, stopping abruptly before he reached the living room. From where he stood, Mathias could see the front door swing open.

Rayan stepped in, a sheen of sweat on his face and dark hair falling across his forehead. His jaw was brushed with stubble. Over his shoulder hung a scuffed leather satchel that, coupled with the casual cut of his clothes, made him look likean innocent college kid—like a different person, someone whose path Mathias would never have crossed.

But Rayan still had his old instincts. His eyes snapped to Mathias in the hallway, his body tensing long before his hand left the doorknob. He hung there for the briefest of moments before dropping his shoulders, letting the bag slip to the floor as he closed the door quietly behind him.

“Nice place,” Mathias said. Neither of them moved. “Could have done without the trail of breadcrumbs.” But he knew that Rayan had understood how careful he needed to be.

Rayan’s lips moved from a smile to a grimace, finally settling in a hard line. “You’re here,” he said, his voice strained.

“I’m here,” Mathias echoed woodenly, the distance between them yawning.

Rayan was the one to approach. He stopped when they were close enough to touch and exhaled slowly, looking up at Mathias, his forehead creasing, eyes hiding nothing. “Christ, I’ve missed you.”

Mathias felt the warmth of Rayan’s mouth against his own—the deep jolt it sent through his insides. And then his hands were on the man’s shoulders, pushing him against the wall, desperate for all of him, any of him, as much as he could get.