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15
“Sterling?”Kat knocked on his bedroom door around ten the next morning. “You awake?”
She heard what might have been a groan. Slotting her master key into the lock, she let herself in. The room was still dark. Another low moan came from the direction of the bed, and she froze.
“Sterling?” she asked again.
“Whaddayou want?” came the reply.
She smiled. She knew that sound: a man who wanted to be left alone. He probably had a wicked hangover. Logan liked to ply newcomers with booze and wait to see what happened. It was a game to him, and Sterling appeared to have been his latest prey. Perhaps she should have warned him ahead of time, but he deserved to let loose a little and she trusted Logan not to go too far.
“It’s DIY Saturday,” she told him, perching on the edge of the bed. Her eyes had adjusted to the dimness and she could see the giant mound of blankets he hid beneath. “We’ll be getting started in half an hour.”
“DIY?” he asked, his head popping out of the end of the blanket burrito. He blinked at her blearily. “As in, work on the lodge? Handyman work?”
“Exactly. There are a few people who come in regularly to polish up their skills. Like Shane, who you might have met last night. DIY Saturdays are his bonding day with his youngest son.”
Sterling wriggled around until he freed a hand then massaged his temple, his eyes closed again. “Come back later. I’m not in the mood.”
She laughed airily, amused by Hungover Sterling. “Feeling a little off-color, are you?”
“I’m tired. It’s a weekend morning. I should be sleeping.” He managed to speak in whole sentences, but his voice was strained.
“Here.” She brought a couple of painkillers from her pocket and left them on the nightstand, beside his water bottle. “Have these. Drink some water, and shower. I’ll make you dry toast, then I expect to see you in the west wing, raring to go.”
“No.” He pouted like a sullen child.
She did her best not to laugh. “If Shane can go to the same poker night you did, get his two boys up and ready, ship one of them off to cricket for the morning and bring the other here in time to start, you can drag your sorry butt out of that bed, clean yourself up and give it a go.”
He scowled. “Don’t bring my ego into it by comparing me to another man.”
She smirked. “Don’t make it so easy.”
He came up on his elbows. “Fine, I’ll be there in ten. But I want coffee.”
“Done.” Who said men were difficult to manage?
He dropped back to the bed and stared at the ceiling, looking so hard done by that she couldn’t resist leaning over and dropping a kiss on his creased cheek. Then, before he could say a word, she bustled away. Maybe she was a wuss, but some things didn’t need to be discussed.
* * *
Sterling’s temples were throbbing,his mouth was dry, and there was a bad smell singeing his nostril hairs, which he couldn’t seem to escape. He suspected the odor was him. How much had he drunk? He hadn’t paid attention at the time because he’d still had his wits about him, but come to think of it, his cup had been full practically all night, and he wasn’t sure how many times he’d emptied it.
With a great amount of effort, he wrestled free of the bedclothes and hoisted himself from the mattress. His head spun, and his stomach threatened mutiny. He downed the painkillers Kat had left, refilled his water bottle and chugged it, then turned the shower as hot as he could handle and scrubbed himself until he smelled like citrus-scented soap. He dried, then dressed in jeans and a faded t-shirt that usually only saw the light of day when he was in his apartment, alone, during the weekend.
As he was brushing his teeth, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Transfixed, he stared. He barely recognized the scruffy fellow looking back at him. Red eyes, stubbly cheeks, messy hair, and none of the polished façade he usually cultivated. In fact, the man in the mirror looked so unlike Sterling Knight he could have sworn he was looking at a stranger.
The scariest part?
He wasn’t sure he minded.
Was this who he really was? If he dropped the pretenses, stopped working seventy-hour weeks and went on a journey of self-discovery, as Kat seemed to think he needed, was this who he’d find at the end? Perhaps a better question would be: is this who he would have been if his mum hadn’t died when she did, and if he hadn’t vowed to never be powerless again?
But there was no point asking questions like that. He couldn’t change the past.
He rinsed his toothbrush, and headed to the dining hall in search of the coffee he’d been promised. Ten minutes later, the coffee and painkillers had eased his queasiness enough that he was able to force down the dry toast. From the kitchen, Tione watched him struggle with barely disguised glee. Bastard.
When he finished, he wandered across the foyer into the west wing and immediately heard a cacophony of sounds that must have been blocked by the heavy door. Mechanical buzzing, people talking, and possibly an electric saw. The acrid smell of paint became stronger as he followed the noise to the end of the corridor and turned into the occupied room.
