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Disbelief and longing and want and anger. “You don’t have the right to miss me,” Win hissed. “You cheated. You fucking cheated, Mathieu.”
His chest cracked open. “I’m sorry.” He’d said those words a million times, but he already knew it would never be enough. “I’m sorry.” Win ducked away from him and darted away, but Mathieu grabbed his wrist. “Win.”
“I no longer need or care for your apologies, Mathieu.” Win glanced away, then back to him. “Keep them. Or maybe give them to the man you cheated with. You remember him; the one that nearly destroyed your business and left you feeling just a slice of the pain you inflicted on me?”
Mathieu didn’t need to be reminded of Bishop. But the vitriol in Win’s words left him frozen long enough for Win to wrench himself away.
“I’ll get started on Cesar’s project once I have all the information I need.” Win’s jaw ticked, tone turning brusque as he effectively switched over to business.
Mathieu swallowed, nodding slowly. “I’ll make sure you have everything ASAP,” he rasped.
Relief washed over Win’s expression, and he took a step back. “Goodbye, Mathieu.” Another step and then he spun around, giving Mathieu his back as he left.
Mathieu remained rooted to the spot long afterward, staring off into nothing, wondering why Win’s words felt so fucking final as they echoed in the hollow chambers of his heart.
9
Back at home,Win sat in his car in the garage. The trembling remained. From his head to his toes, he trembled. That was the effect Mathieu had on him, always had on him.
It’d been forever since they’d been that close. In such an embrace. Forever since Mathieu touched him like that, but it felt as if it’d been yesterday.
And his body remembered.
Missed it.
Perhaps even wanted it back.
It’d been almost a year after Mathieu saved him from Stavros’ bullet in that seedy motel room before they got together. Leading up to that, it’d been a steady push and pull with them. Win gun shy, Mathieu leaving him the space to make the choice. He’d given everything to Mathieu. There’d been no hiding, not with the way they met.
Mathieu knew everything about him and accepted him anyway. Loved him anyway. At least, Win thought so. Until Bishop came along and Win stopped recognizing the man he lived with.
The realization that Mathieu had betrayed their relationship shattered him. Having a front-row seat to watch while he and Bishop became what Mathieu and Win had been was torture. Slow, methodical torture. But he survived it somehow.
Except now he couldn’t breathe. Even sitting as he was, his knees were so weak.
Mathieu had always been too much. Too overwhelming. Win couldn’t think when Mathieu touched him, couldn’t find his senses. Had he ever thought himself immune to Mathieu?
Because he wasn’t. Not even close.
He blew out a breath and glanced around. Jairo was home. Win had pulled in alongside his souped-up Harley Cruiser. His husband hadn’t been at the house when Win got Mathieu’s call, which had been a relief. It meant he didn’t have to offer up a weak excuse about where he was going.
But obviously that reprieve didn’t last long because Jairo was home and Win needed an explanation at the ready. Jairo didn’t care about his comings and goings. They weren’t that type of people. But if ever he asked, Win wanted to have something plausible at the ready.
He shook his head, licking his lips. Jairo didn’t deserve any of this, but this was the hand they’d been dealt. It was too late to spill any of the secrets Win had dragged with him into this marriage. And he wanted peace.
“I can make you a widower within the hour.”
He didn’t doubt Mathieu for a minute. His ex didn’t bluff. And Jairo was a monster when he had to be, Win knew that. But he would lose when it came to Mathieu. His enemies weren’t something Jairo discussed with Win in great detail, but he also didn’t keep Win out of the loop when it came to important shit. So Mathieu’s name had come up a time or a million in their home. Jairo thought he could best Mathieu.
Win couldn’t even tell his husband that he was out of his depth.
He blew out a breath, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. They were glassy, damp. He wiped at them roughly, cursing under his breath. He didn’t like getting emotional with Mathieu; it served no purpose except to prove just how much Win wasn’t over him. Mathieu didn’t need any more ammunition.
After another moment of hesitation, he got out of his car and entered the house through the garage, which fed into the laundry room. He went directly to Jairo’s office and knocked on the closed door.
“Yeah, come in.”
He did, offering a smile at the big man who sat behind his desk. “Hey, I just came back from a walk down to the beach, and I—” Movement at the corner of the room caught his eye as he stepped inside. He stopped, barely managing to cover his gape at the stranger who stood off to the side. He glanced at Jairo. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”
