Her jaw works. “But?—”
“Nothing,” I repeat. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You never did.” I press my lips hard to her forehead and hold them there for a moment, eyes closed. “I’ll be back tonight, after your shift.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“Sawyer.” I pull back just enough to meet her eyes. “I’ll be back tonight.”
She searches my face, giving me a small nod after she sees the certainty in my expression.
I grab my undershirt and sweats from the bedroom floor, putting them on. Then I pocket my phone and keys. I’m careful to breathe, to make every movement slow and deliberate so I don’t lose it completely. I refuse to do that here, in her space, with her watching me leave again.
I get to the door and pause with my hand on the frame.
“I don’t want to ever hear you putting yourself down in favor of him.” I say without turning around. “He didn’t deserve you.”
I don’t wait for her response.
I take the stairs instead of the elevator, needing the extra thirty seconds of movement, and by the time I hit the parking lot, my anger has subsided an inch. I still feel like punching something, though.
Owen, you selfish, hypocritical little son of a bitch.
I get in the car and sit there for a long moment, hands on the wheel, staring at nothing. How could the best night of my life turn into something so utterly fucked?
No, what Sawyer and I have is separate. It stays out of this. I have to keep it that way or I’ll fucking ruin everything before it’s even started.
My phone buzzes and my father’s name flashes across the screen. I answer it before I can think better of it. “What?”
“Where are you?” He sounds the same as always, like a dick with too much power.
“Out.”
“I need you here now, and you better not be smelling like booze and sex. Moretti’s on his way.”
My grip tightens on the wheel until my knuckles go white.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
I pullinto my father’s driveway twenty-three minutes later. Close enough, especially if he’s drunk, which I’d bet he already is at 10 AM. Only sober Richard Aldrich watches the clock.
Before I head into the study, I run upstairs to the guest bedroom to shower and get dressed in some extra clothes I left here. Even before the accident, my father would rather do business here than at the office. So that meant keeping spare clothes, paperwork, laptops, all up in the guest room.
If living with them in this house didn’t make me physically ill, I’d probably just move back in like Owen did. Save myself paying rent on a place I’m rarely at.
I steel myself for the bullshit I’m so not ready for. I’d much rather dig around in Owen’s room and on his laptop to find out the truth of what happened with Ella and him. Actually, scratchthat, what I really want is to be back with Sawyer, in her bed, with her naked body straddling mine, and my cock sunk deep inside her.
Reality fucking sucks.
The lights are on in my father’s study, which means Moretti arrived early to establish dominance. Something he’s done the couple times I’ve met him. Everything I know about Vince Moretti tells me he’s performative. He controls every detail, from the expensive suits, to the quiet voice that gives off a deadly calm, to the words he chooses to use. I shouldn’t let the guy scare me, but my rising pulse gives me away.
I find him exactly where I expect, seated in the leather chair across from my father’s desk, jacket unbuttoned, hands resting on the edge of the wood. He looks completely relaxed. Then again, I’m sure he’s a man who’s never looked nervous in his life. One of his guys leans against the wall near the door, looking less vigilant than I’d expect. Does that mean he trusts us? I can only hope.
My father’s back is turned, pouring amber liquid into two tumblers. I give the doorframe a small knock, before walking in.
“Knox,” my father says, turning around. He flashes me a look, something like relief. It only makes me more tense. “Vince was just asking about you.”
Moretti turns, giving me that shrewd stare. He holds all the cards and he knows it.
I hold out my hand, but he only looks at it. “Knox.”
