51 - Monty
51
Monty
—
The chill of drizzling rain soaks through my tailored suit as I step out of the Bugatti, gripping the wrapped picture frame in my hand.
After the conversation with Kody two days ago and the first session with my psychiatrist this morning, my thoughts are swirling up a storm, leaving no corner of my mind untouched.
But I push it all aside and focus on the task ahead.
The seaplane base sits before me, the dock, hangar, and facilities barely visible in the gloomy mist.
Leo’s new venture.
Taking my advice, he decided to start his operation with a float plane service and was able to lease a few old planes to get him going.
It won’t be long before he’s operating tours out of Sitka and making a killing doing it.
Success runs in his blood.
My shoes crunch against the gravel as I weave around the buildings, peering into the windows. My bodyguards arrived in a separate car. I barely notice them as they spread out around me.
I find him in the hangar, busy with a task I can’t quite make out.
“Give us a minute,” I say to his guards and mine.
Everyone steps out, leaving me alone with him.
Standing on a ladder, he drills screws into the eaves. Buckets of water scatter the ground around him. He must be repairing leaks in the metal roof.
He moves with purpose and intensity, his muscles rippling beneath his oil-stained shirt as he works. The sight of him, so absorbed in his task, sends a pang of something—regret, maybe?—through me.
I step out of the rain and approach the ladder. He doesn’t acknowledge me, but I know he senses me.
The tension between us lives and breathes, refusing to be ignored. It’s been two weeks since our confrontation with Frankie, but the anger and hurt still simmer. We haven’t seen each other, and our texts are limited to conversations about Frankie’s security.
I’m here to change that.
“Leo,” I call out.
He doesn’t glance at me, his focus unwavering.
I step closer, the picture frame heavy in my hand.
He continues working, not even a twitch in my direction. That stubborn set of his jaw…it’s fucking maddening. But I understand it. Hell, I feel it, too.
When he finally speaks, his voice is gruff and strained. “Do you have news on the investigation? Any word from Wilson or…the other thing?”
The Ghost. He knows not to say that name out loud.
“No updates. We’re at a standstill. But Frankie’s security is tight. No one can get to her at the hospital.”
He pauses, glancing down at me.
His face is bruised, beard grown out, stitches crisscrossing his forehead. He’s been in more bar fights than Frankie knows about, and it shows.
“What is that?” He nods at the wrapped frame in my hand.
“Something I wanted you to have.” I set it against the wall and straighten the cuffs of my sleeves. “Look, I…”
I want to back away slowly and rethink this whole thing. I don’t know what to say to him. I only know that I need to say something, do something, or I’m going to lose him.
I’m the patriarch of this family. It’s my job to fix this. That’s why I’m here. I’m going to fucking fix it.
But to do that, I must open myself up. Might as well take a knife to my chest and split the skin and bone. It would be less painful.
“Kody wants us to reconcile.” I inwardly cringe, wishing I hadn’t started with that.
“Reconcile?” He snorts, a bitter sound. “What does that look like? Will you invite me over for Christmas dinner? Will I be a third wheel on your date nights? When your kids are born, will I be Uncle Leo? Or Cousin Leo? Will you ask me to watch your house while you and Frankie travel the world together?”
“If you’re going to be a dick, come down from there and be a dick to my face.”
“I’m not trying to be a dick.” He gathers his tools and descends the ladder. “I’m being realistic. You want her to be your wife, and you want Kody and I to be your family.”
“You are my family.”
“I know you talked to Kody. What’s his stance on this?”
“He’ll do anything to get Frankie back. I met with a therapist this morning. Kody starts his sessions tomorrow. We’re trying to sort through our issues.”
I pull Dr. Thurber’s business card from my pocket and hand it to him.
He looks at it and tosses it on a nearby workbench. “I can’t talk about my past, Monty. It’s over. Done.”
“What about your future? Will you talk about that? With me?”
“My future is with her.” His blue and gold eyes bore into mine. “If we’re not talking about that, we have nothing to discuss.”
My pulse thrashes in my ears.
He wants to fuck my wife and expects me to go along with it.
How can I do that? It goes against every possessive, selfish fiber of my being.
Even if we could all agree to a polyamorous relationship—which I can’t envision happening—how would it work?
I’m controlling, dominant, especially in the bedroom. An alpha doesn’t share his bed with another alpha, let alone two.
I watched them fuck. They aren’t bottoms.
And the bond she shares with them? It’s stronger than her feelings for me. I know she loves me, but not the way she loves them.
I should walk away. Let them have her. That would be the selfless thing to do.
But I can’t. I’ll fight for her until my last breath.
Leo sees his future with her, and for me, that means a future of fighting and anguish.
“That’s what I thought.” He grabs the drill, climbs the ladder, and resumes his work with renewed vigor.
This was a mistake.
I stand there a moment longer, swaying beneath the enormity of everything left unsaid.
Then I turn away and walk back to my car with my guards.
Halfway there, the drizzle grows heavier, harder, intensifying into a downpour.
I came here to fix this.
I didn’t even fucking try.
Fuck.
Halting in my tracks, I lift my face to the sky and let the cold rain wash over me.
Then I pivot and come face to face with Leo.
He stands a few feet away, arms at his sides, unblinking in the deluge.
“You look like shit,” he says.
“So do you.” I swipe a hand down my face, uselessly clearing away the rain.
“I appreciate you. Everything you’ve done for me. The support and encouragement, the opportunity to pursue my dreams, and every basic necessity I could ever need or want. I’m indebted to you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“What did you come here to say to me?”
My chest tightens. My stomach hardens. My throat closes up.
One session with a psychiatrist, my first genuine attempt at trying, and I’m ready to puke my feelings all over the cement.
Here it goes.
“I’m scared.” I rub my chest, and a shiver runs through me. “Scared of losing her for good. Scared of losing you and Kody.”
“What are you going to do about it?” He crosses his arms, seemingly unfazed by the rain.
“You didn’t want to share her with Kody. I read about all the fighting in her journal. What changed your mind?”
“Fear. She and Kody were gone for a month. I didn’t know if they would return. The odds were against them, and I was in that cabin, alone and fucking terrified.” He licks his rain-drenched lips. “Fear has a way of putting things in perspective. From where I’m standing, you’re not scared enough.”
“I don’t solve my problems with fear. I take action, hire resources, and make plans. I execute.”
“How’s that working for you?”
“Are you willing to let me take the lead? Call the shots? Do this my way, no questions asked?”
He huffs a laugh. “Not in this lifetime.”
“Then this will never work.”
“Could’ve told you that.” He turns and walks away, throwing a glare over his shoulder. “Good luck with those plans.”