41. Chapter 41
Chapter forty-one
Fynn is as shocked to find me standing in his doorway as I am to be standing here. So much so that neither of makes a move for several moments.
Fynn doesn’t have makeup on and that scar I’d seen hints of…it’s prominent now. And he keeps trying to turn his head, tries to keep me from seeing it.
I grab his face in my hand and turn him to look at it. His eyes fall in defeat. I don’t ask about it. It’s not my business.
“Scars are sexy, you know,” I offer him a small grin.
He tips his head. “Not the ones right here,” he places a hand to heart.
Damn. That’s the truth.
Who broke this beautiful man’s heart? Who hurt him so much that he hides behind makeup and his devil may care attitude?
He and I are so much alike. In a million years, nobody would look at us side by side and think we have anything in common. But we are the same. We hide our scars in different ways. He hides behind makeup. He hides behind bravado, sexual power. Even when he is playing the role of the submissive…that’s his choice. That power he is giving over to the Dom, that’s power, too.
I unleash the fury that churns inside me. Fury at my father. Fury at the control he has over me and my half brother. Fury that he killed my mother even though the death certificate will never say that. I get to unleash that on the ice. Every time I drop my gloves. Every player I hit. I’m hitting him. And I get rewarded for it. I get rewarded for my anger.
We’ve both chosen sex as a retreat from the real world. We’ve both used it to fill some longing. And we both know it’s empty. It doesn’t fill anything. It keeps a barrier between our hearts and pain. But it also means we don’t feel anything. Anything at all.
“He ended it.”
“What?”
“He looked me in the eye and when I asked him to fight for us…well,” I can’t even choke out the words.
I look at my hands and the tiny tremble. I rake my hands through my hair.
“Do you want a drink?”
I haven’t had alcohol in I don’t know how long. I’ve never been a big drinker. My father. I’ve seen what it does to him. Seen firsthand what it can do to a family. A life. I should have sympathy for him. I tried that. Tried to get him help. He just went right back to his drunken ways. My sympathies are now reserved for people who really need it. Nandy? Rowen? Rowen doesn’t need my sympathy. He needs my strength. He needs to cling to that. He will be safe. Soon. That safety will come with some heartbreak, but we’ll be together.
It’s never been a conscious effort on my part not to drink. But in this moment…I think I want to take Fynn up on his offer. I stare out the wall of windows that are only slightly smaller than Nandy’s and, of course, his patio is covered slightly from the floor above him. His view is different too. Partial lake, partial city. Still expensive. Does sex really pay for all of this? Or does Nandy? I think about the club and the opulence there. The clients Fynn claims they have.
Who am I kidding? Of course, sex could pay for this. And based on what I witnessed, Fynn is good at his job. Very. I watched him expertly suck off a man I love. And I loved watching him do it. I’ve jerked off to that vision many times since. Imagined myself as part of it. My hands on Nandy and in Fynn’s hair, as we both bring Nandy to an explosive climax. I told Nandy I want Fynn to be part of us. Us . The us he says doesn’t exist.
That morning tangled up in Nandy seems so long ago. So much has happened since. So much. And here I stand, two floors down from where I want to be. From where I feel I belong without a damn clue how to fix it. Maybe I can’t fix it. But I meant what I told Nandy when I walked out. When he sent me out. He can give up on us, on me…. but I’ll never be okay with him giving up on himself.
“Bourbon?” I turn away from the view.
He raises his eyebrows, and heads to the well-stocked bar built in the towering book cases.
“Neat, please.”
He hands me the glass, then grabs another and pulls a bottle of vodka from the freezer and pours himself a glass.
I take a long, luxurious swallow. Mmmm. I relish the burn in my throat. The burnt caramel flavor lingering on my tongue. Wow, it’s been a while.
“Have you ever been in love?” I ask and look at Fynn.
He tips his head to the side in acknowledgment, but also diverts his eyes from mine.
“How’d it work out for you?”
He raises his glass. “Well, I am single.” He takes a sip of the vodka.
I meet his toast and take another sip of the bourbon. Fynn walks over to the couch. He seems slightly nervous. At my presence? Or maybe the subject. He and I are in love with the same man.
It would take someone very special to be in a relationship with Fynn. To be comfortable with his lifestyle and chosen profession. Would he give that up for the right person? Does he want that? Want to settle down, stop working? It has to be exhausting. If sex is your job, where is the pleasure when you are off the clock?
“I’ve never said those words to anyone,” I say. Fynn cocks a brow at me. Of course he knows I said them to Nandy. Said them over the phone, casually, as we were ending a call. Nandy was still in the hospital. I don’t know if Fynn was with him or not. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he told Fynn I said it.
“He never said it back,” I say. “I’m not sure he thinks I meant it. It wasn’t really perfectly timed or romantic or… I don’t know.”
“This isn’t a movie, TJ. Nothing is perfectly timed, or comes out right. Romance is overrated.”
“Well, he never said it back, so….”
“Have you said it since?”
I shake my head. I haven’t. I’ve been afraid. Embarrassed. Since he didn’t say it back, he doesn’t feel the same way. I didn’t want to ruin what we had by saying it again. By making him feel like he has to say something. But he said something today, didn’t he?
“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t feel the same way and, well, it’s over.”
Fynn’s eyes flash, like he is surprised? I’m not sure how to read him.
“Come on, I know you know more than I do about where his head is.”
“Not really. He can close that door pretty hard when he wants to.”
I drain my glass and walk to the bar and pour myself another. Fynn eyes me suspiciously.
“If I leave, then it really is over and I’m not sure I can bear it.”
“TJ, I wish I had an answer for you. I wish I could tell you don’t give up. It will all be okay, just like in the movies. Run back up there, declare your love…don’t let him shut you out. But I can’t tell you any of that, because…” he drifts off.
Because he’s already tried that. And so have I.
“How long have you been in love with him?”
He doesn’t deny it for a second. “From the minute he set foot in music class and picked up a violin and sat himself right next to me.”
“So the last thing you want is for things to work out for me and him?”
“You’re wrong about that.”
I finish my bourbon in one long swallow, put my glass down, and walk away from the bar. My head is already buzzing. And knowing this man in front of me is, in fact, my competition has my heart pounding, too. But there’s something else going on in my gut. I like Fynn. I’ve always liked him. Felt a bond with him. We’ve gotten close these past few months.
“I want him happy,” Fynn says. “I’ve seen him not. I’ve seen him make horrible choices when it comes to relationships…. but you—”
“Why not you?”
“Oh, let’s just go with the whole ‘I don’t want to ruin the friendship thing.’”
“Is that you talking or him?”
“Doesn’t matter, because it turned out to be the best decision we ever made. Keep it friends with benefits. Start the club together…then we can have sex without the problem of entanglements, of a relationship, of hearts being involved…win win.”
He tries to keep his tone cheerful, but it’s not working. I can see right through him. He is a worse lier than Nandy.
“You’re not okay with that.”
“I have to be.”
He swallows his vodka and walks to me.
“I have to be,” he breathes again. “He will not be willing to share you.”
Something about the way he says ‘you’ sends a shiver down my spine. Me. This is about sharing me? Nandy hinted at that. Hinted that he was unsure about a third. But we didn’t get to really discuss it and we haven’t all been together since.
“I’m not his,” I whisper. I want to be. So badly, I want to be. But I want to be Fynn’s too, and not just occasionally.
Fynn grins at me and presses a hand to my chest. “You’ll always be his.”
“He shares you.”
“I’m not his,” he says it wistfully, like it makes him so sad. A sadness he either can’t hide anymore or a sadness he no longer wants to hide. Denial is exhausting.
I wrap a hand around his wrist and hold his hand to my chest. I reach my other hand to his face and stroke the tips of my fingers across the length of the scar he goes to such great lengths to hide. Who did this to you, I wonder. Family? Bullies? Is this the same scar he wears on his heart? Or is the wound on his heart one Nandy put there? One he will never admit exists.
His eyes soften with my touch.
Share me . I think again. This is about me. They both have feelings for me? I find that less bothersome than I should and not just because of the powerful ego boost. I always thought Nandy was the tip of this triangle.
I’ve imagined Fynn’s pillowy lips on my cock, haven’t I? Imagined them with Nandy’s close by too, though. I’ve dreamt of them both, fucked my hand with visions of them both. I’m not sure I even realized how often my dreams are filled with all three of us until this moment. This moment where I face walking away from Fynn, too. But I have to.
“Please go,” Fynn says.
I nod and release my hold on his wrist. I’m buzzed enough…he’s beautiful enough…we’re both hurting enough…
I make my way to the door and he follows. I turn one more time and look into his eyes. So clear, and green and sad. My eyes dip to his lips and he parts them slightly. That mouth…I can’t…if I do, I know I won’t be able to stop. And neither will he.
I bend and plant my lips on the scar. He presses his face into the kiss and I think I hear a faint moan.
I hold my face next to his. When I walk out that door, I’ve lost them both. Anger and ache overtake me. So this is heartbreak. The telltale tremble flows to my hands. I clench my fists and turn away. Whether or not Fynn sees the shake in my hands, he is the one who reaches for the door handle.
“I will never be sorry yours were the first hands on me.” I run my fingers down his cheek and his eyes flutter closed. “You owe me a next time.”
His lips curve into the tiniest smile. “Come back, anytime.”
I wonder if he means it. What would he do if I take him up on that?
“But when, if, you come back, make sure it’s for me.”
My heart thumps harder. He opens the door. The door has barely clicked closed behind me before I get hit with the next blow.
I open the text from Rowan.
“She’s gone.”