3. Royce
A Few Months Later
Stuart: Hey, buddy. Where are you?
Iignored the message. Before I even got to put my phone away, it buzzed again.
Stuart: I’ll never be able to repay you for introducing me to Willow.
I gritted my teeth.
Stuart: I have some news for you.
I clenched my jaw and glared at the message from my best friend’s boyfriend. Stuart Harris, heir to the distinguished Harris family empire and an old friend from my combat days, was an alright guy until he started dating Willow.
Hypocritical? Fuck yes. Did I care? Fuck no. Why? Because I knew he wasn’t good enough for Willow.
I didn’t know it then, but when I picked her up from that frat party ten years ago to this very day, it marked the beginning of our close friendship. I refused to let her temporary boyfriend—and he would be temporary—ruin my day. In regards to dating, Willow and I were very much the same. The lifespan of our relationships matched that of mosquitos—a week or two, tops. In fact, we often joked that our relationship was the longest commitment either of us had ever had with the opposite sex.
“Are you fucking listening to me at all?” Byron, my newlywed brother, shouted, pulling me out of my thoughts. We were seated in his home office in D.C. while he talked about his future plans in that new, blissfully content tone of his. And that was pretty much when I stopped listening to him.
“I’m trying to tune you out,” I said flatly. “But your voice resembles that of a high-pitched opera singer, so it’s fucking hard. Take pity on me and shut up.”
The look he gave me told me he wasn’t amused by my comeback.
“I have no fucking idea how your investments make you so much money,” he muttered. “A two-year-old’s attention span is better than yours.”
That was where he was wrong, because a two-year-old wouldn’t be waiting with bated breath for that breakup text notification from his best friend. It had been weeks—months—overdue, and with each passing day, the same uncomfortable feelings coiled in the pit of my stomach.
I delayed my trip to the Himalayas, my off-grid outings to Africa, and even refused a few find-and-rescue assignments with Byron’s buddy River, all because I’d been waiting for that call or text from my Willow.
River served in Afghanistan with my brother, although I had crossed paths with him a few times during my military days as well. He, along with his buddies, owned a security company in Portugal. It wasn’t advertised, but sometimes they did bidding for the mafia, and I’d never been so tempted to use him in the same capacity.
However, I was quite capable of handling my own dirty laundry. Not that it would come to that though, because Stuart would not last. He better not.
Stuart had better become history, and soon, otherwise I’d lose my goddamn mind. Willow was mine, and that fucker couldn’t have her.
Mine?
A storm raged in my chest so violently and suddenly, it would’ve brought me to my knees had I been standing.
“What?” Byron questioned before a frown touched his face, studying me with a puzzled expression. I quickly masked my emotions, not ready to go there with my big brother.
“I just realized something.”
“What?”
That Willow is mine.“That you’re annoying.”
My pulse drummed in my ears as warmth spread through my veins and toward my heart, intent on conquering it. I rubbed at my sternum, hoping to massage this unfamiliar feeling away. What was happening to me?
“You’re an ass, Royce.”
I ignored him and said, “I have to go to Portugal,” already typing a message on my phone.
“What? Now?” Byron looked shocked. “The meeting with our shareholders is about to start.”
I stood and adjusted the sleeve of my suit. I fucking hated wearing these, preferring leather and jeans to this stiff attire. Byron, on the other hand, was probably born in a suit.
“Yeah, you got this. I have to handle some other business.”
I held my brother’s stare, challenging him to say something. He didn’t disappoint.
“Can’t that other business wait?” he gritted.
“No,” I said coldly. “This is a matter of life or death.”
My brother rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure it is.”
Maybe not in his book, but in mine, it was. Willow was visiting her parents in Portugal, and I couldn’t wait another day before seeing her again.
Because if I did, I might fucking die.
“Royce,” Willow cried, spreading her arms wide the instant she saw me, uncaring that her parents were in the other room. “I couldn’t believe my ears when I got your message. What made you decide to visit me on a whim?” My mood always lifted under her beaming light, and I let her wintergreen scent wrap around me as she hugged me tightly, her short frame barely reaching my chest. I soaked in her glow, relaxing instantly. “You seem to be slipping too. Nine hours to get here,” she reprimanded with a teasing grin.
I slipped an arm over her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. She let out a little hum, and we headed into the small bungalow Willow’s parents owned on the outskirts of Lisbon, my troubles already fading away.
It had been ten years since we’d made our friendship pact, and it had always felt like the right choice. She was the only woman who accepted me as I was, not trying to change me or use me. I wasn’t perfect, and neither was she. But when we were together, we were absolute fucking perfection.
“Was the flight delayed?” she murmured again as she pulled away to look up at me, her small hands on my chest doing all sorts of things to my heartbeat.
Fuck!
What was I going to do? I needed to tell her Stuart was all wrong for her. How could I have been so blind all these years? I realized that the timing to confess my feelings wasn’t exactly right, and it might come off as wanting something you could no longer have.
“My damn pilot is adamant about aviation rules and regulations. Snore. I’ll have to fire him,” I said just as her parents appeared from another room, dressed to go out. “Mr. and Mrs. Auclair. Looking fancy tonight. All that for me?” I teased.
“Mr. Auclair is taking me on a date,” said Mrs. Auclair, clucking her tongue and winking at me. “You two enjoy yourselves. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Willow laughed, leaning forward to press a warm kiss to her mother’s cheek.
“M?e, I swear your subtlety improves with age.”
“Sim,” she agreed gravely, eyes sparkling as she looked between the two of us. I’d always found it amusing when Mrs. Auclair alluded to the nature of our friendship, but it meant so much more today. Because now, I feared I was too late. “I can’t help it.”
Before she could say anything else, Mr. Auclair tugged her arm gently, urging her past us and out the door. “Royce, you know where everything is. You two have a great night.”
“You as well, sir.”
The door shut behind them and I laughed, letting Willow pull me farther into the small kitchen.
“Help me finish cutting up the veggies for our salad,” she demanded, then handed me a knife. “Everything else is ready for us.”
“First let me give you your gift.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small package. Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, and I couldn’t help but chuckle as she reached for it greedily. “What is it?”
“Open it.”
She ripped the package open, and the moment she spotted it, she gasped. “Oh my God.” Her eyes found me, looking at me like I was her God. “What? How?” she squealed.
“I’ve got my ways,” I drawled.
“But it’s been discontinued.” She twisted the bottlebetween her fingers as if she held a precious diamond. “This is… You…” Her eyes glowed with soft appreciation. “Thank you.”
I’d learned over the years that it was the little things that Willow appreciated. Give her jewelry, fancy cars… She remained unimpressed. But when it came to a cherished shade of nail polish named Willow Green, she was under your spell. Not that I completely understood her obsession with nail polish.
She placed the bottle on the side table and turned to me with a wide smile. “Thank you so much. It’s my favorite color.”
“I know,” I said, sliding my leather jacket off and hooking it over the chair. “Let’s do this, then.”
I took the knife and began cutting the vegetables, following her orders on slicing and dicing.
“You know, you’re the only woman who orders me around,” I teased, bumping my shoulder against hers. “Why do I keep hanging out with you when you put me to work every time I see you?”
I thought back to two months ago, when she had me grating cheese and washing lettuce. Then how she made me sit through a torturous meal where I watched Stuart sweet-talk her into seeing him again.
“You must be a masochist,” she retorted jokingly, pulling me back to the present.
I laughed again. “Not exactly.”
She nodded, then shot me a sidelong look. “No stalker ladies to rescue you from lately?”
I scoffed.
“Hell no. I’m done with that.”
Willow only hummed.
I paused my knife work and turned to her. She looked gorgeous in her simple black leggings and a bloodred, loosely fitted T-shirt that came down to her mid-thighs. “Are you missing our routine?”
Willow was my go-to whenever I had to get rid of a particularly clingy girlfriend. It worked like a charm every time, and it helped that Willow could be like a little pit bull when she wanted to be.
She just looked at me, shaking her head. Something felt off.
“I haven’t known you to keep silent when something’s bothering you,” I reprimanded. “Don’t start now.”
She hummed again. “I’m just surprised women can resist all of your six feet five inches of muscle, your sparkling personality, and your charisma.”
“You’re resisting it,” I noted grumpily.
Willow laughed under her breath. “Ah, but we’re just friends.”
“We’re more than that,” I said instantly. “We’re best friends.”
We should be more than friends, I wanted to say, but it seemed like the wrong time. It might come across like I wanted her only because she was unavailable.
She sighed wistfully, then resumed chopping her vegetables, her eyes trained on the bowl in front of her. “Stuart proposed.”
My heart stopped. Full-fucking-stop.
“He… W-what?” Fuck, stuttering was a first.
“Stuart proposed,” Willow reiterated, bumping me softly with her hip as she blew a lock of auburn hair from her face. “And I accepted.”
I swallowed, then swallowed again. A knot was forming in my throat, and that same feeling that came over me in Byron’s office yesterday was ever-present.
“You… he… I…” I failed to find the words as my heart gave a painful thud. Ten years ago, I rejected her. I stood by it being the best thing for her, even now. She deserved better than what I had to offer back then. Was too pure for my sexual desires. Yet, as I stared at her now, I battled with the realization that I’d made the wrong decision.
For the first time ever, I wasn’t sure how to get what I wanted. Her.
Her beautiful eyes flicked to mine before she returned them to the spot in front of her.
“Don’t do it, Willow,” I finally whispered, my heart clenching. “You’re too good for him.”
“Royce, that sounds dangerously close to what you’ve said before, if you can remember that far back,” she warned with a groan, referring to the night she kissed me—the same night I relived over and over in my head. If only she knew. “I’m almost twenty-nine.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “And I’m thirty-nine. What’s your point?”
Acid ate at this organ in my chest, turning it into a corroded battery.
“Are you happy?” I forced myself to ask around the bitterness on my tongue.
Something flickered across her expression, but before I could zero in on it, she whispered a barely audible, “Yes. But I don’t want to lose you.”
I lowered my head and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Your happiness is all that matters. If you need me, I’ll be here. We might not see each other all the time, but you’ll always have me. From a distance. From the shadows. Forever.”
She lifted on her tiptoes and brushed her lips over my cheek, then whispered softly, “Thank you, Royce.”
Turning back to the counter, we worked silently for a bit, the scent of fresh vegetables, olive oil, and wintergreen perfuming the air around us. I wanted to open my heart and tell her not to marry Stuart. To give the idea of us a chance.
But deep down, I knew I was too late.
So I resolved to be the best friend I could possibly be. Once the salad was made, we turned at the same time, facing each other, and I took her in my arms, salad bowl and all.
“Husband or not… If he hurts you, I’ll end him,” I vowed, holding on to her just a bit longer.