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“Yes.” A door slammed on Jairo’s end. “Just got in, but I have to head back out soon. Got a meeting.”
Tension coiled in Win’s belly, making it cramp. “Can you wait for me? I’m on my way. We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there.” He hung up and blew out a shaky breath. When he’d been on the streets selling himself, he’d longed for something better. For security. For love. For a home. When Mathieu rescued him, he’d given Win all those things.
Then he’d taken it away.
Win had learned then the valuable lesson of being strong enough, capable enough, to never have to rely on anyone else for those things. He’d taken control of his life and carved out his own future in the wake of Mathieu’s betrayal.
Or so he’d thought.
By the time Linc pulled into the garage, Win was already mourning. As he walked into Jairo’s office, his husband took one look at him and cut off whoever he was talking to on the phone.
“Let me call you back. Alright?” Jairo shoved the phone into his pocket and crossed the room, cupping Win’s chin. “What’s wrong?’ He searched Win’s face. “Are you hurt?”
Why couldn’t he be the one Win loved? Win took Jairo’s gloved hand and held it to his cheek for a moment before releasing him with a sigh. “I need to share some things with you and I need you to promise you’ll listen until the end.”
Jairo’s eyes narrowed.
“Can you do that? Can you promise?”
Jairo jerked his head in a nod. “I promise.”
Win pressed his lips together, touching a hand to his belly. He needed to sit but he also needed to keep moving, so he stayed standing, fidgeting. “I used to be a prostitute.”
Jairo’s eyes widened comically, but Win was too busy tasting bile in the back of his throat to find his reaction funny.
“I worked the street corners.” It’d been so long since he’d spoken of that life, since he’d given voice to who he used to be—someone he didn’t think he’d ever truly shed—that it felt surreal. “I did it because I had no other way out and I needed to live otherwise I’d starve.”
Jairo sank onto the edge of his desk, expression blank but his gaze heavy and scrutinizing.
“I’d become familiar with the ER, lots of beatings from johns who thought they had the right. Got up close and personal with a knife at one point, too.”
“Win—”
He shook his head, averting his gaze as he kept going. “One night, I got into a car with the wrong john and ended up hiding under the bed as someone shot him between the eyes.”
Jairo stood.
Win held out a hand, gesturing for him to stay where he was as he kept talking. “Then I was on my knees, begging for my life while the killer held that same gun to my temple.” He swallowed. “But I didn’t die, because he saved me.” Holding Jairo’s gaze, he said, “Mathieu Pascal saved me. And I loved him.”
18
The changein Jairo was immediate after Win’s admission. Like a storm gathering on the horizon, his expression got darker and darker. The air around them stilled. Then he moved toward Win.
One step.
Two steps.
Three.
And before Win had the chance to back up, Jairo was in his face. Win held his breath, staring into the other man’s eyes. Danger poured off Jairo in hot waves, sending warning bells ringing in Win’s ears, but it was too late now if he wanted to take back what he’d said. The cat was out of the bag and avarice and distrust stared back at him from Jairo’s once gentle gaze.
Maybe Win hadn’t thought this confession through. Maybe this would be the biggest mistake he’d ever made. God knew he’d made some doozies, but he couldn’t deny the relief that sparked in the deepest parts of him. Secrets as big as he’d been keeping did things to a person over time, they became a part of your very being, and extricating yourself from their talons proved impossible without drawing blood.
As he stared up at Jairo, Win didn’t doubt that he could bleed out right there, but not before he aired it all out. “I didn’t know who you were when we met and by the time I learned your identity, I was brokenhearted and needed an escape.” He licked his lips and tilted his chin up. “I took what you offered.”
