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I narrow my eyes at him and reach for the paper weight on my desk, the same one Landon got me the first Christmas I worked here. It’s gorgeous and one of my most prized possessions because it is handmade millefiori glass done in cool colors where you can see the canes trapped inside of a solid glass bubble.
As much as I wish I could throw it at Remington’s head, I know I can’t. I know I won’t. Destroying something Landon gave me might make me feel good for about a second, but it won’t last. I know it. I hate it.
“Then stop walking around here like I’m going to have a breakdown at any moment and doing things which are not within your job description,” I growl.
Remington holds up his hands and backs away slowly. Too fucking slowly. It makes my hackles rise and it makes me want to fucking scream.
I’ve never had a problem keeping my emotions under control, but right now I feel raw and on edge. I feel like my skin is one big wound and everything is poking it, reminding me it’s not healed, reminding me just how delicate it is, how I’m barely holding on.
When he’s gone, I drop down into my chair and force myself to look at the mail he brought up. I put the paperweight down gently on my desk, hating the way my heart stutters when I look at it. I’ve loved it since the moment I opened the box from Landon. I thought…I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought because the last three days have proven to me how wrong I was.
About everything.
Landon is a coward and I never imagined that would be something I would think about Landon.
From the moment I met him, I thought he was a hero, so brave and capable. He might still be those things, at least to those who need him. But to me? Right now? He’s a coward. He’s been hiding from me.
I know he’s mad, but he could have, at least, listened.
Three days ago, after our horrible start to the day, I tried to corner him in his office to talk to him. I even took a cup of coffee with me as a peace offering. I was going to tell him the pictures weren’t what they looked like. I was going to tell him how Ezra and Celeste are two of my oldest friends and he’s never been anything other than a brother to me.
I was going to spill all my secrets and bare all my scars.
He never let me get the chance. When I placed his coffee down, he looked at it like it was a real possibility I had poisoned it. Then his eyes found mine and what I saw there stole all my words and my breath.
It wasn’t anger. I wish it was. It was pain and betrayal, so deep and real and true that I didn’t know how to process it.
I sputtered and choked on air, unable to form words, unable to be brave in the face of the crushing weight of his emotions.
“I’m sorry,” I said weakly, but it was all I could get out.
When his cell phone rang, he practically dove for it. I took the opportunity to make a hasty retreat. Since then, he’s been effectively avoiding me.
I know I don’t owe him any explanation, but it feels like I do. In my heart I know I need to explain everything, but it feels like we’re on two sides of the globe without the means to do anything other than stand still.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath as I go through the envelopes, junking a few things because we’re very happy with our insurance, thank you very much.
When I get to the largest envelope, I’m surprised as fuck to find it addressed to me. It’s unusual and it has all my instincts revolting, but I guess it’s not too surprising. A lot of our clients know who I am and my position here. I suppose they thought they might curry some favor and I could get the guys to attend some function if they address the invitation to me.
As if I would want to spend more time with Landon than I have to.
Maybe a week ago this would have worked. But now? Not a chance in hell.
Not even the thought of getting to see Landon in a tux, which would be hot as fuck, would be enough for me to go to bat about an event right now.
I slit the envelope using my opener with a flick of my wrist. When I pull the card out, I realize instantly it’s not an invitation. No. Not at all.
The card is covered in embossed lettering with delicate flowers in the corners. It’s pretty, but there’s something off about it.
The front reads:
Our condolences on your loss. There are no words to express grief and pain, but you can still hold the memories of the person you loved and lost close to your heart.
I open the card, my hands starting to shake as I do considering no one I know has died recently. I shouldn’t be getting a card like this. I don’t think. I would know, I think. I’m pretty sure.
The only thing taking up the inside of the card are pictures from my dinner with Ezra and Celeste, but these aren’t from the newspaper. These are on photo paper. I gasp and snap it closed because of the message scrawled across the inside.
Soon, I’ll be sending these cards to everyone you love. He is mine.
