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He stood in his office at the house he used to share with Mathieu. The one where he did his forgeries nowadays. Phone to his ear, he listened to it ring and ring, silently begging Mathieu to pick up.
“You shouldn’t be calling me.”
He exhaled, eyes closing briefly when he heard Mathieu’s voice. “Mathieu.”
“Why are you calling me, Win?”
“Why have you been ignoring me?” he demanded. “I’ve been calling and texting—”
“What is there to say between us? You picked your side.”
Hurt bloomed hot and tight in Win’s chest. “Is that what you think?” he asked softly. “That I picked Jairo over you?”
“Isn’t that what you do every day?” He heard the resigned shrug in Mathieu’s voice.
Win parted his lips to remind the other man of just why they were where they were but held his tongue. Mathieu didn’t need a history lesson; he already knew full well why he and Win were in their current situation. Instead, Win bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you please stop what you’re doing? People are dying, Mathieu.”
“That’s what happens in a war. The casualties pile up.”
Win dropped into a nearby chair and stared unseeing out the window. “Is that what I will become, a casualty?”
Mathieu made a sound of denial. “Nothing will happen to you. I won’t allow it.”
“You can’t control that!” Win shot to his feet, pacing. “You have no control over what will or won’t happen to me, not if you don’t stop this war. Please, Mathieu. I’m begging you. Don’t do this.”
Mathieu didn’t speak for a long stretch and the silence arched and grew. “Jairo started this. I’m just finishing it.”
“Why are you really doing this?” Win’s voice rose as his anger grew. “Why? Is it because you think Jairo killed your father or is it because he has me? Because let me tell you something, I will never forgive you if you don’t stop—”
“I love you.”
Win’s mouth opened and closed at Mathieu’s declaration. What was he supposed to do with those words?
“I love you in ways I’ve never allowed myself to love anyone before or since, but this war?” Mathieu blew out a breath. “It’s been a long time coming and it has nothing to do with you.”
“He didn’t kill your father.” Win’s voice cracked. “I know this for a fact. He wasn’t involved.”
“Win.”
Eyes squeezed shut, Win pressed the heel of his free hand to his forehead. “I wish I’d never met you.” The words hurt so fucking badly to say—to think—but at that moment, he meant them more than he’d ever meant anything. “I wish I’d never trusted you. I wish I’d never loved you.”
His words rang out, echoing in the silence that followed. And it wasn’t his imagination that Mathieu’s pain filtered through him in that quiet. Mathieu’s own hurt. But Win couldn’t think about Mathieu, he had to think about himself. He had to focus on the things he could change. He couldn’t change Mathieu’s mind. Win had to do something before Miami became an actual war zone.
Mathieu had no intention of stopping it, so it was up to Win to try.
He turned around and headed for the door. “All the documents are ready,” he said when Mathieu still didn’t speak. “They’re here at the house in their usual spot. You can get them whenever you wish.” Then he ended the call and made his way downstairs to where Linc waited for him in the living room. He sat on the couch Win had bought for this place back when he and Mathieu first moved in.
Back when Win had been happy and hopeful.
Now, he was just jaded and used up. A feeling he was way too fucking familiar with. He’d come all this way, hidden the truth about his past, tried for something better, and still, he couldn’t escape that feeling.
He wanted to be a better man, but where would he even start?
“We’re going home,” he told Linc.
The bodyguard sprung into action immediately, heading for the door and exiting before Win—gun in hand—checking around before waving at Win to follow. At least he took his job seriously, even though it was clear he resented Win. Win didn’t blame him.
Once they were in the car headed back to the house, Win called Jairo. “Hey, are you home?”
