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Win made a sound and turned away, but Mathieu refused to let him go. He bear-hugged the other man from behind, bringing Win’s back tight against his naked chest, and spoke against his heated nape. “Forgive me. I’m so fucking sorry, Win.Souplé.” Please. His voice cracked on the plea.
Win trembled in his arms and Mathieu wanted to flay himself alive.
He’d done that. Standing there now with Win in his arms, he didn’t know how he could have done it. How he could have chosen Bishop over what he’d sparked and built with Win. They’d gone from not trusting each other to a tentative friendship to lovers, taking their time to learn each other, to be sure.
Then Bishop came along and Mathieu still couldn’t pinpoint the moment he decided that hurting Win was an acceptable risk to take. And after all the wreckage, it was still the two of them left standing.
It was still the two of them he wanted.
Win twisted in his arms, facing him. His eyes were solemn, maybe even wet, the tip of his nose red and swollen, with hints of blood remaining on his skin. A bruise had already begun forming on his left cheek and Mathieu wanted so badly to press his lips to that spot.
Win’s throat worked as he cupped Mathieu’s jaw. A tentative touch that didn’t last nearly long enough. “I could give you my forgiveness.” His voice shook. “Except you wouldn’t be asking for it if he hadn’t broken your heart like you broke mine. Would you be wanting forgiveness if he hadn’t stolen from you the way you stole us from me? I bet you wouldn’t be begging for it if he hadn’t destroyed your trust exactly like you destroyed mine.”
That wasn’t the truth, but Mathieu’s throat clamped down on the denial, refusing to release it. And Win kept talking.
“We wouldn’t be standing here now if he hadn’t done those things.”
Win’s eyes were red, definitely wet, and Mathieu ached to ease his pain. He would do anything, give his life, to go back in time and make a different choice, a better choice.
The only choice.
“You would be with him to this day and I would be alone. I would be the excess baggage you discarded because I was in the way, not important enough to keep.”
“No!”
“I am no one’s second choice, Mathieu.” Win’s voice trembled, but he held Mathieu’s gaze, a challenge in his eyes, in the lift of his chin. “You taught me that. I am no one’s consolation prize.” He jabbed Mathieu’s chest with a finger. “Especially not yours.”
“Win—”
But the other man held up a hand. “Contact me only if and when you have a plan to deal with the bodyguard issue. His name is Linc.” He gave a quick description of the man in question.
“I didn’t discard you,” Mathieu said when Win finally allowed space for him to talk.
“It no longer matters.” Win headed for the door.
Mathieu frowned, trailing after him. “Are you going to run from this discussion forever?”
Win met his gaze over his shoulder as he opened the door. “Why would I want to sit and go over the many ways you disappointed me?”
Mèd!“Win.”
“Goodbye, Mathieu.”
12
Jairo’s new hire,Win’s bodyguard, was everywhere. It’d been a week since Linc had officially started and more than once Win had to keep from screaming in frustration. The bodyguard took his assignment to heart, that was for damn sure. No matter where Win went, Linc was on his heels, a constant and immovable shadow making it impossible for him to do what he needed to.
He’d left the house only once in all that time, taking a short trip to the supermarket while Linc hovered in the background. Jairo hadn’t shared what was going on with the MC that made it so Win absolutely had to have a bodyguard and Win didn’t ask. He was too busy trying—futilely—to duck Linc and not think about Mathieu.
Neither of those things was working out great.
He came downstairs and blew out a breath, rolling his eyes when he spotted Linc at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of him, expression stony as ever. He didn’t know shit about the man Jairo had hired to protect him. And Linc didn’t do much in the way of talking. He wore a black suit again today, his thick hair in two braids hanging off his shoulders.
“Morning. Did Jairo already leave?” Win knew the answer, but hell, he might as well make conversation.
“Yes.”
Look at that, a whole word. He strode past Linc and over to the fridge, opening it and peering inside. “So, what are your plans for the day?” A joke because they both knew Linc’s plans were whatever Win’s were. Linc didn’t answer and it didn’t bother Win. He busied himself gathering stuff for breakfast then went about making his food. The silence was only broken by him chopping veggies or turning on the water. “I’m making some breakfast burritos,” he told Linc over his shoulder. “You want in on this or what?”
