Chapter Eighteen
Simon
I got to work making breakfast. It was mechanical, something to do with my hands while my mind raced with unwelcome thoughts. My hand squeezed around the knife handle as I cut up the peppers and onions. Green bell peppers, red onions, a little bit of sharp cheddar cheese waiting in the fridge.
He’d been gone all night, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wonder where he was.
I wasn’t expecting the call from Gary telling me Tony was at the club without me.
Though I’d be a fool not to expect the lecture Gary gave me afterward, his voice tight with frustration and concern.
It was the same as always, the same words he’d been saying for years now.
I deserved better. Someone who loved me proudly. Someone who loved me openly. Someone who wasn’t afraid to be seen with me in the daylight, not just in the anonymity of the club.
The sliding door creaked on its wheels, and I made a mental note to spray some WD-40 on the mechanism, though I knew I probably wouldn’t remember. Tony had a way of making me forget my own name.
The sound of his footsteps as he walked into the kitchen sent goosebumps over my skin, a physical reaction I couldn’t control even when I was angry at him. It was like that every time he was near me, like my body recognized him on some primal level.
He didn’t have to touch me for my body to respond to him.
All I needed was the scent of his cologne.
Or the sound of his breathing, slightly ragged like it was now, as if he’d been running or maybe just nervous.
Even now, I could feel him behind me, watching me as I prepared food for him, his gaze heavy on my shoulders.
It was so fucking domestic and the one thing I wanted so badly that my dick was starting to swell. This simple act of making breakfast, of taking care of him, of pretending we were a normal couple on a normal morning.
“I’m making omelets,” I told him as I cracked the eggs into the bowl and mixed them with a fork.
I tossed a generous pat of butter onto the flat cast iron pan heating on the stove.
My grandmother’s pan, the one she taught me to cook on.
It sizzled, and I grabbed an oven pad to hold the hot handle and swirl it around to coat the surface.
Automatic movements I didn’t have to think about while I focused on the man behind me.
The air changed as his feet shuffled closer, the energy in the room shifting into something electric. I held my breath, waiting to see what he would do. His heat warmed my back as he reached over and turned off the burner, his arm brushing against mine.
The pan clattered to the stove as I turned and looked into his eyes—those dark brown eyes that had captured me from the first moment I’d seen them.
“I thought you might be hungry,” I said, my hands curling around the counter’s edge, gripping it to keep myself steady.
“I am.”
His lips crashed against mine with an urgency that took my breath away, and my hands went to his waist almost instinctively, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as I pulled him closer, even though part of me knew I should push him away.
But I’d never been good at resisting Tony, not since the day we met, and I wasn’t about to start now.
Not when his touch set my skin on fire. Not when being this close to him felt like coming home and falling off a cliff at the same time.
His hands slid up my back, pulling me flush against him, and I opened my mouth to let him in deeper.
The kiss turned desperate, hungry, all the fear and tension from the night bleeding into something raw and needy.
I could taste the cigarettes he’d smoked, feel the scrape of stubble against my jaw as he tilted his head to get a better angle.
My fingers found their way under his shirt, splaying across the warm skin of his lower back, and he made a half groan, half growl sound that went straight through me.
“Fuck, Simon,” he breathed against my mouth, his voice rough and wrecked.
“Don’t stop,” I said, cutting him off with another kiss.
His hands moved to my hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, and he pressed me back against the counter.
I hoisted myself up onto it without breaking the kiss, spreading my legs so he could step between them.
The position put us at the perfect height, and when he pressed against me, I could feel exactly how much he wanted this, wanted me, despite his fucking fear.
“Tony,” I gasped as his mouth moved to my neck, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin just below my ear. My head fell back, giving him better access, and my hands fisted in his hair. “Jesus Christ”
The sound of a key turning in the front door lock cut through the haze of lust like a bucket of ice water.
Tony jerked away from me so fast he nearly stumbled, his eyes going wide with panic. “What the fuck?!”
“Shit,” I hissed, sliding off the counter and trying to straighten my shirt. My lips felt swollen, my hair was a mess, and there was no hiding the flush on my face or the bulge in my jeans. “Shit, shit, shit.”
There was only one person besides my sister who had a key to my house. And Sadie was still with Keys. The door swung open and my mother’s voice rang out, stern and demanding. “Simon? Where are you?”
“In the kitchen, Mom,” I called back, my voice only slightly strained. I shot Tony a look that I hoped conveyed both reassurance and a desperate plea not to fucking panic.
He shot me a look that said, I knew this would happen. His hair stuck up from where my fingers had slid through it only moments ago, and his lips were red and swollen. He looked thoroughly fucked, and my parents were about to walk in here and see him.
“Simon!” My mother appeared in the doorway, my father right behind her, both of them looking tired from the drive but relieved to see me.
“You want to tell me why we had to hear about this shit from Alex? Why you didn’t call us—” She stopped, noticing Tony for the first time. “Oh. I didn’t realize you had company.”
Tony stood there frozen, looking like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
I could practically see him trying to come up with an explanation that wouldn’t give us away, his lawyer brain working overtime while the rest of him was still clearly affected by what we’d been doing thirty seconds ago.
I opted for the truth.
“Mom, Dad, this is Anthony Gallagher,” I said, forcing my voice to sound casual. “My lawyer.”
My mother’s face softened with gratitude. “Oh, of course, Alex mentioned you had a babysitter.” She turned and mouthed, He’s hot, causing me to roll my eyes.
“It’s no problem, ma’am,” Tony said, and I had to give him credit; his voice was steady even if his hands weren’t. He shoved them into his pockets, probably to hide the trembling. “Just doing my job.”
It shouldn’t have hurt the way it did. The way he so casually dismissed me, as if I were nothing more than another tedious item on his to-do list, just another obligation tied to his job. I’d lived with it for years.
“I need to go to the office,” Tony said, then turned to my parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Nelson, would one of you be able to be at the salon with Simon today?”
“Of course, we’ll be in town until after the trial,” my father said, extending his hand. “We really appreciate everything you’re doing for our son.”
Tony shook his hand, then my mother’s, and I walked him to the door because that was what you did when your lawyer was leaving, not because I wanted one more moment alone with him before he disappeared back into his closeted life.
At the door, he turned to look at me, and for just a second, I saw everything he was feeling written across his face.
Desire.
Frustration.
Fear.
Then it was gone, replaced by professional detachment.
“We need to talk about Sadie,” he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
“I know,” I said, matching his tone.
His jaw tightened, then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click that felt far too final.
I stood there for a moment, my forehead pressed against the cool wood, trying to get myself under control before I had to face my parents and their inevitable questions.
Back in the kitchen, I found my parents sitting at the small table, my mother pouring coffee into three mugs as if this were a normal morning visit and not the aftermath of me getting arrested for murder.
My father studied me through his reading glasses, with that look he got when he was trying to solve a problem. The same look he’d had when I was sixteen and came home with a black eye I wouldn’t explain.
“Sit down, sweetheart,” my mother said, pushing one of the mugs toward the empty chair.
I sat, wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic, and waited.
“So,” my father began, taking off his glasses and setting them on the table. “How long have you and your lawyer been together?”
I almost dropped the mug. Coffee sloshed over the rim, burning my fingers. “What?”
“Simon.” My mother’s voice was gentle but firm.
“He’s my lawyer,” I said, the words automatic, defensive. “I told you; the judge made him responsible for—”
“Your hair’s a mess,” my mother added, not unkindly. “His was too. And you both looked like we caught you doing something you shouldn’t. Which, technically, you were.”
“We weren’t—” I started, then stopped, because what the fuck was I supposed to say? We weren’t doing anything? We were just kissing in the kitchen like teenagers? “It’s not what you think.”
“What do we think?” my father asked, leaning back in his chair.
I stared down at my coffee, my mind racing. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Tony and I were careful. We only met in Denver, at the club where nobody knew us.
“Simon, look at me.”
I raised my eyes to meet my mother’s, and the loving, concerned, completely free of judgment expression on her face made something crack open in my chest.
“He’s...” My voice caught. “It’s complicated.”
“Is he married?” my father asked sharply.
“No. Jesus, no. He’s just...” I ran a hand through my hair, the same hair that had apparently given us away. “He’s not out. To anyone. And he’s not planning to be.”
My parents exchanged a look, one of those wordless conversations that came from thirty years of marriage.
“That must be hard,” my mother said. “For both of you.”
“It’s fine,” I lied. “We’re not... it’s not serious. We just—”
“Simon.” My father’s voice was quiet but cut through my bullshit like a knife.
My throat tightened, cutting off whatever excuse I wanted to offer.
“You know,” my father said, picking up his coffee, “you weren’t fooling Alex either.”
My head snapped up. “What?”
“Uncle Alex,” my mother clarified. “He’s known you since you were in diapers, Simon. I think that whole ‘babysitter’ arrangement in the court order was his way of giving you two a legitimate reason to be seen together.”
I sat back in my chair, my mind reeling. Judge Markham, Uncle Alex, who’d been at every birthday party, every graduation, who’d taught me to play poker and let me win until I was twelve, had looked at the situation and decided to help.
I closed my eyes as King’s words ran through my head. “Give him time, Simon. He’ll come around.”
“So everyone knows,” I said flatly.
“We know,” my mother corrected. “And Alex suspects. That’s not everyone. That’s family.”
Except I was now sure that King knew. The one person Tony was adamant could never find out.
“And we’re not going to say anything,” my father added. “To anyone. That’s Tony’s choice to make, when and if he’s ready. But Simon...” He leaned forward, his expression serious. “You deserve better than being someone’s secret. You deserve someone who’s proud to be with you.”
“He is,” I said, the words coming out fiercer than I intended. “When we’re alone, when it’s just us, he—” I stopped, not sure how to explain what Tony and I had. “He’s just scared. And I get it. I do. So I don’t push.”
“Maybe you should,” my mother said quietly.
“And maybe I should mind my own fucking business and let him live his life the way he needs to,” I shot back, then immediately felt like shit. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I just—”
“You love him,” my mother said. Not a question.
I opened my mouth to deny it, to say it wasn’t like that, that we were just fucking around, that it didn’t mean anything. But I was so fucking tired of lying, and these were my parents, and apparently, they already knew anyway.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice rough. “I do. For all the good it does me.”
My mother reached across the table and took my hand. “Then we hope he figures out that he loves you too. And that being with you is worth more than hiding.”
“And in the meantime,” my father said, “we’re here. Now, what the fuck happened and where is your sister?”