Chapter Five
Lionel
The phone dinged three times in quick succession.
Lionel, who was sulking and buried under his blankets, flung one of them back, glaring at the offending object that was sitting on his bedside cabinet.
He pointed a finger at it. “I’m not doing anything today,” he snarled at the innocent object, “and you can’t make me.
” He disappeared under the blankets again.
Yes, it was after ten o’clock in the morning.
As a rule, Lionel got up no later than six in the morning on a weekday, showered, dressed, and was busy working no later than eight.
Except, as far as Lionel was concerned, working for himself had to have some perks, and one of them meant that if the boss was having an existential crisis, then he was allowed to stay in bed.
Not that staying under the blankets was doing him any good.
Admittedly, Lionel loved his bedroom. He’d had a custom-made four-poster bed with ornate carvings, but the highlight as far as Lionel was concerned, was the mattress.
It was deep, soft, with just enough pressure so he didn’t suffocate himself by sinking into it.
The space was warm and never fully dark.
In other words, it was his safe space. Lionel knew where everything was, and between the cushions on the bed and the rugs on the floor, he’d designed it with comfort in mind. I need some of that comfort right now.
After his escape from the ghost hunt the night before, Lionel had gotten barely any sleep.
Not even his amazing bed could soothe his shattered nerves stemming from the fears that had risen the moment he’d realized the event was being held at a place with no streetlights.
When he did finally fall asleep, his dreams were filled with haunting images of huge groups of faceless people all pointing their fingers and laughing at him.
I should try to sleep some more , Lionel thought with a sigh.
The phone dinged again. Grunting in annoyance, Lionel flung back his blankets and strode into his bathroom, scratching at his lower belly as he went about doing what he’d typically have done a couple of hours before.
After a quick shower, he walked back into the room naked and grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. Lionel had already decided to take the day off, and he wasn’t planning on going anywhere. Padding in bare feet, he went over and picked up his phone, checking his notifications.
There was a missed call from Ian and a follow-up text. Maisie had the baby—a little boy who weighed in at eleven pounds six ounces.
Lionel wrinkled his nose. That sounded big for a baby.
Lionel quickly opened his browser, finding the gift basket site he’d used before.
Clicking quickly, it wasn’t long before a huge celebration basket would be on the way to the hospital.
As an honorary uncle, it was the least he could do, and Lionel knew Maisie would appreciate it.
Ian would be working, and Lionel made a mental note to text him later.
Morty had sent three messages.
How did it go?
Did you have a fun time?
Did you meet anybody interesting?
Lionel groaned and then quickly swiped the notifications aside.
There was no way he could deal with Morty’s bouncy good humor in his current mood.
Morty had probably already heard from the construction worker, who apparently was attending too, about the cowardly lion who’d run out because he got scared of a few spooks and spiders. Lionel shivered. Nope. Not answering.
There were a couple of work-related messages. Again, nothing important. Lionel was an investment broker—mostly dealing in mortgage finance. None of the messages related to any deals currently in the pipeline, he could deal with them later. He quickly swiped those notifications away, too.
The last message was from an unknown number, and the fact that it didn’t show as being from anyone in Lionel’s extensive contact list was unusual enough for Lionel to open the message.
He frowned as he noticed it was from Remy, the Bucket List Buddies organizer. What do you want? Are you just texting to let me know I made a complete ass of myself?
Lionel rubbed his hand over his face as he quickly scanned the rather brief text.
“Someone wants my address? They said that I had something of theirs and they wanted my address?” Lionel ran his fingers through his hair.
“What the fuck? I wasn’t there long enough to have gotten anything from anybody.
And the only thing anybody got out of me was a damn good laugh.
” Figuring it was somebody playing a joke, most likely so they could come and laugh to his face in person, Lionel flicked that message away as well.
Slipping his phone into his pocket, Lionel made his way through the quiet house to the kitchen.
He groaned as the smell of burned coffee hit his nose.
“Damn it,” Lionel muttered as he quickly rescued the scorched pot, throwing it into the sink and flicking on the tap and running water in it.
Steam rose with a hiss, and it was a wonder the coffee pot didn’t crack.
“I should’ve expected this.” Lionel reached under the sink for a pot scrubber. The coffee pot was always on a timer, set so that Lionel could enjoy a hot cup of his favorite beverage no later than ten past six. Not—Lionel glanced at the clock on his wall—at quarter to eleven.
After scrubbing out the pot, Lionel got a fresh brew organized again, the water dripping with agonizing slowness through the filter.
Lionel leaned his butt against the counter, his eyes closed as he focused on the subtle sound.
It could’ve been two minutes, maybe five, but at last the coffee machine let out a discreet beep, and Lionel quickly poured his first cup for the day.
The smell of burned coffee still hung in the air, and Lionel went over to his kitchen window, opening it, and letting in a welcome breeze. He sipped slowly, staring at the familiar layout of his backyard without really seeing it, his mind still reliving the mortification of the previous night.
I made such a fucking fool of myself, and in front of that gorgeous little cutie as well.
Lionel dwelled on the memory of that face for a moment.
Fueled by fear and anxiety, some details were fuzzy around the edges, but leaning into his lion’s recollection, he remembered the eyes. Not the color, or the shape…
They were filled with confidence and compassion.
You thought he cared about me? An idiot who couldn’t hold himself together in an empty warehouse. Lionel wasn’t so sure.
He was worried about you, trying to help.
Lionel sighed. His lion was probably right.
Neither you nor I was thinking clearly at the time.
Although that’s a bit of a shame, if he was interested.
Any chance I had with him got blown out the window by the time I’d run out of the warehouse.
I don’t remember seeing him at any clubs or anywhere else around town. Maybe he’s just traveling through.
Or he could’ve just moved into town. His lion was trying to cheer him up, and Lionel appreciated the effort. It wasn’t easy for either of them, hiding the fears that seemed as ingrained as the need to shift.
I guess it doesn’t matter now. I made a fool of us, and there’s no way a cutie like that is going to want anything to do with a laughingstock.
Lionel had carefully crafted his image for years. Making a fool of himself terrified him as much as spiders and rats. His mom—a woman Lionel adored—had let him make his own mistakes and often laughed at him for them.
She hadn’t been mean. She genuinely believed he would only learn by making mistakes.
Only when Lionel knew people were laughing at him, it made something deep inside of him curl up and weep, not that he’d ever show that on his face.
He’d worked hard for years to be seen as a confident, sexy, charming alpha-around-town and someone everyone enjoyed keeping company with.
And in one night I’ve blown my whole freaking image, he thought grimly. My mom will die laughing when she hears what I did.
Disgusted. That was the word. Lionel was disgusted with himself. As he sipped his coffee, he thought over every step he had taken the night before again, wondering if anything he could’ve done differently would’ve made a difference.
Not going in the first place would’ve been the sensible thing to do. In his defense, Lionel had genuinely thought Ian would be with him. They could’ve laughed and joked between themselves about how silly ghost hunting was, and it would’ve been fine— maybe even fun.
This is all your fault, Hector , he thought, staring out at nothing. If you hadn’t gotten those tickets…
Just as quickly, Lionel pushed those mean thoughts aside. The tickets were a sweet gesture. Hector and Morty were so happy, they just wanted to share that happiness with their best friends.
Lionel hadn’t confided in Hector about his fears or what had happened to him as a child. Hell, even Mom didn’t know how the trauma of being in that well had lingered well into adulthood. Morty and Hector were just being nice.
What am I going to do now? Lionel couldn’t stay holed up at home forever. As if to reinforce that point, he heard another ding. Pulling out his phone, he saw it was another text from Morty.
I made you some éclairs just the way you like them. Why aren’t you answering the phone? Did you meet somebody interesting?
éclairs. Lionel’s mouth watered, and his stomach rumbled. Nobody made éclairs like Morty. It was instinct, clicking into the response section and typing out I’m on my way. Except he caught himself before hitting send.
“What are you doing, you idiot?” Morty’s bakery was another place Lionel had always considered safe. Hector was there. Morty and his young friends were fun and always pleased to see him. The place smelled incredible, and Lionel loved to pop in there a couple of times a week.
Admittedly, since the construction work started, the place had been too hectic for Lionel to enjoy hanging around like he used to.
It was the construction work that had Lionel second-guessing his response as well.
One of the builders was supposed to be going to the ghost hunting event.
Was he one of the big alpha types in jeans and boots Lionel remembered seeing?
One of them was probably the person Morty was referring to. Had to be?
Lionel groaned aloud. He could imagine it as clear as day.
The burly alpha having his morning coffee with his worker buddies, sharing the story about that cowardly lion from the night before.
They’d all laugh and make jokes about him…
I can’t go. The moment one of them sees my face, they’re going to know it was me. I can’t do it.
Scrubbing his last message, Lionel typed instead, Sorry, can’t make it in today, but don’t want those éclairs to go to waste.
Can you throw them in a box along with four steak pies too, please?
I’ll send an Uber for my order. Thank you so much.
Look after yourself. Reading it over one last time, checking it for tone, and making sure he hadn’t incriminated himself in any way, Lionel hit send.
“I’m not going without those éclairs,” Lionel said as he finished his coffee, his mind occupied.