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They had to protect Scotty because it wasn’t a good thing to be the subject of Syren’s attention. Vince knew that much. Of course all of this was his fault. He wouldn’t be here worrying about Syren Rua’s next move if he hadn’t fucked up way back when.
“…the monsters? …you just hope there’s someone around capable of reining them in.”
Would it be out of line to reach out to Kane? Clearly, he was the only person capable of making his man see reason. But Vince didn’t want anything to do with either man; he just wanted this slice of life he’d somehow managed to scrape together for himself, with his men. In their house. But he would do anything, endure any hardship or embarrassment, in order to keep Scotty and Zander safe.
Still, he had to be careful. Syren wasn’t an enemy to be taken lightly or to underestimate.
Arms slid around his waist, startling him, almost making him drop the jar of pickles in his hand. He put it down on the counter, melting into Zander’s embrace, shivering when lips touched his nape.
“Hey.”
He couldn’t help the smile, eyes closing in bliss and relief and all the million other things—such good things—he felt on a daily basis nowadays. “Hey.”
Nothing else was said. They just stood there in silence.
Life was a funny thing, wasn’t it? With the help of his men and his therapist, he was learning to just let it be. Learning to accept that this was his, all of it, both of them, his.
He couldn’t allow Syren Rua to taint it.
“You’re making dinner?” Zander asked after a while. His voice rumbled in the quiet of their kitchen, twisting up Vince’s insides.
“Yeah,” he answered softly. “Found a recipe that was easy enough to do without messing up.”
Zander kissed his nape again, soft lips just skating over his skin, barely-there touches that had Vince sighing and dropping his head forward. Giving the other man permission and more room to work.
“Heard you met up with a friend at the supermarket.”
Vince stiffened at the words Zander whispered in his ear. Shit, he’d wanted to be the one who shared the news, but judging by Zander’s nonchalant tone, he already knew the identity of said “friend.” He tapped on Zander’s hands that were locked around his middle and when they loosened, he turned in Zander’s embrace, meeting the other man’s eyes.
Zander’s head was cocked, watching him carefully, expectantly.
“Which one of them told you?” He didn’t know if he liked the idea of his bodyguards giving Zander a play-by-play of his every move.
“Neither,” Zander told him. “Got a call from the man himself.”
That had him blinking. “Syren called you?” What the hell was he up to? “Is that why you’re home earlier than expected?” When Zander just kept watching him, Vince sighed. “Okay, fine. What did he say?”
Zander shrugged. “He said a lot of shit, but what I heard was that he’s way too interested in Scotty.”
“Right? That shit is not good.” He grabbed Zander’s arm. “What do we do?” Because it scared him, the very idea of Syren having anything to do with Scotty. “How do we protect him without him feeling smothered and resenting us?”
Zander cupped his chin, forcing Vince to hold still, to stare into his eyes. “I already called his guards; they’re bringing him home now.” He brushed his lips against Vince’s. “We’ll figure it out, but I need you to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Blaming yourself.” Zander studied him. “Feeling guilty. Living in the past.”
Living in the past. “I—I’m…” He didn’t know where to go or what to say to that.
“We’re not letting anyone fuck with what we have going on here,” Zander told him, both voice and expression fierce, sure. “We’ll handle Syren Rua. We’re not letting him throw us off our game or knock us off our square. You’re not the man you were back then, so don’t bring his thoughts, his fears, his worries into our present.”
Vince forgot to blink, too busy staring into Zander’s eyes, drowning in them. He tried to think about where he’d been, all he’d done, both right and wrong… All of it that brought him to where he now stood in the arms of a man who loved him so much it poured out of Zander in a steady, never-ending river.
In his former life, there’d been rare moments of Vince daydreaming of what he wished he had, of what he wished he could be. He hadn’t bothered to dream about having love. Never thought he could have it, could deserve it, could be worthy of it. But if he’d allowed himself to dream about that love, it still wouldn’t come close to what he had because he hadn’t known what kind of love he wanted.
But it was this kind.
This one that felt as if it’d been tailor-made just for him.
