He tucks the photo back into his wallet, then slides it away.
Since he’s already in a sharing mood, I wonder if I should bring up his father. Maybe I can ask him about his Scottish roots? That feels a safer entry point than diving straight into the Alistair Fennbrae conversation.
I don’t know much about the guy, other than that he’s the man behind Fennbrae Technologies. My eyes drift to my Fhone 7.2 in the cupholder. It’s the latest version of a device that practically everyone in the world owns. It holds my entire life: my music, my notes, my photos, my conversations.
I swallow hard. The more I sit with it, the more it scares the living shit out of me. I need to know more about him. About all of it. Best to do that the only way I know how.
“So…Fennbrae? It all makes sense now.”
“What makes sense?”
“You must have Viking blood in you. I’ve got a Viking radar.”
First he gives me eyes like jar lids, then they narrow, studying me musing and curious.
“Oh? You have a Viking radar, McKenna? Explain that to me.”
“Nothing to explain.” I answer quickly.
His mouth spreads into a wide grin, sharp canines flashing.
“Okay, okay. Yes, I have a type. I’m into Vikings. Strong, muscled, long-haired Vikings. Now you know.”
“Hah. Who would have guessed. Lucky for you, I’m a descendant of various warriors.”
Heat creeps into my face. He loves it.
I nudge his knee. “The Fennbraes are from Inverness, right?”
He makes a low sound of disapproval and folds his arms. Just like that, I’ve pushed too far.
“I get we’re having this conversation, but please, don’t use my birth name. And don’t ever call me Joshua. That person doesn’t exist anymore.”
So it’s not just a name. It’s an entire life he’serased.
“Okay.” I raise my hands in surrender.
He points a finger close to my face. “I’m serious about this. Don’t ever search my name online. Promise me.”
A tense laugh almost slips out as I arch a brow. Telling me not to do something feels like a golden invitation on a silver plate.
I hadn’t even thought about it. But now? How can I not?
I’m pretty sure he’s already done his research on me, dug up every messy skeleton in my closet.
No. I should honor his wishes. That’s the only right thing to do as his boyfriend.
The silence stretches. I know I shouldn’t, but the question slips out before I can stop it.
“And your father? You still in touch with him?”
“There’s a reason I changed my name. I don’t want anything to do with him anymore.”
He turns away, shoulders tight. Chaos is having its moment of anarchy in his head.
With my fingers splayed on his face, I search for answers he won’t say out loud.
I need to know.
