Chapter One #2
Sweat glistened on Kirkland’s body as he took his frustrations out on the punching bag in front of him.
He bounced on his toes and threw rapid punches.
While he knew he would be happy later that he had wrapped his knuckles, right now, he wanted someone to bleed.
That someone was him. He shouldn’t have let his guard down with Fabrice.
Kirkland had said too much. Although he didn’t truly have anything to hide, except for one thing no one would ever know, Fabrice wasn’t serious about him.
He always saw the teasing in Fabrice’s eyes.
For some reason all his own, Fabrice liked to toy with him.
Maybe he thought Kirkland was a harmless game.
It was very possible, like Kirkland, he knew Kirkland was too old for him.
Those years had passed him by. He had lived like a monk for years for a reason.
Atticus wasn’t the only one who had needed to stay alive in that family.
While Atticus was his uncle Butch’s main target, Kirkland could never be off guard.
Any expression at all would have let Atticus’ uncle Butch know Atticus was like a son to him.
If Atticus had anyone Butch could hurt to get to him, he would do so.
Thankfully, Kirkland had played his part well, and Butch hadn’t seen servants as real people.
Kirkland imagined he didn’t think about them all.
Jobs were silently accomplished by unseen and unheard magic, apparently.
Whatever it took to ensure Kirkland didn’t end up dead, Kirkland could live with it.
Unfortunately, now all his best years were behind him. Someone like Fabrice could never be his.
“Damn. What did that bag do to you?”
Kirkland jumped in surprise. He had been so focused on releasing his anger, Kirkland hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone. He spun.
Tidy wore workout clothes. His features were happy-looking and youthful. Kirkland really wanted to punch him in the face. He didn’t respond to the question. Kirkland simply went back to his bag with renewed energy. Now he had someone to picture.
Sadly, Tidy didn’t take the hint and leave him alone. He moved to hold the bag, making it sturdier for every hit. Tidy wore a bright smile. “Now don’t accidentally slip and punch me in the face like I know you want to.”
The words stole a loud laugh from Kirkland before he could stop it.
Tidy’s smile got bigger. “Ha. I knew it.”
Kirkland kept up his workout.
Tidy didn’t stop pushing. His gaze swept down Kirkland’s body.
“Now that I see what you’ve been hiding under those stuffy old-man suits, I see what Fabrice sees in you.
” Before Kirkland could blast him the way he wanted, Tidy shocked him.
“His interest is real, you know, and no, we’re not actually sleeping together. We’re just great friends.”
Kirkland had a hard time swallowing even a word Tidy said. “Don’t treat me like a fool. I’ve seen you two together.”
Tidy’s goofy smile never dimmed. Asshole. “Oh, I never said I haven’t tried. Have you ever been with a Frenchman? Holy shit, they have passion. Fabrice is a pretty fiery guy. I imagine he would be one hell of a ride.”
Kirkland punched him. His knuckles colliding with Tidy’s face felt damn good. He felt young again. “Oops.” Kirkland didn’t even try to keep the malevolence from his tone.
The hit only made Tidy more obnoxious. He laughed like a hyena even as he held his eye. “I knew you were into him. You might be good at hiding your expressions, but everything else about you screams how much you want him.”
Now Kirkland was pissed off at himself. “You know nothing about me.”
Tidy dropped his hand. His eye was already starting to bruise, to Kirkland’s satisfaction.
“You’re right. I don’t, but I know Fabrice.
He’s a romantic, and he doesn’t give a fuck about your age.
If you really have no interest in the guy, you should just say that and stop acting aloof. His life has been hard enough.”
Kirkland didn’t know how to react.
“What’s going on in here? Did you start sparring without me?”
Relief poured through Kirkland when Atticus strolled into the room. He gave Kirkland a reason to ignore Tidy. “You’re late.”
Atticus smirked.
Kirkland knew that smile. Foster had delayed him.
Tidy headed for a different area of the gym.
Atticus closed the distance between them and bumped fists with Kirkland. They put on their gloves in silence. Kirkland had been the first person to teach Atticus how to box. He had gotten a good look at Atticus’ life and known Atticus would need to know how to defend himself.
Atticus didn’t say a word, which was unusual for him, until they bounced and sized each other up. Kirkland threw the first punch. Atticus dodged and swung. Kirkland barely got out of the way in time. Their dance lasted several rounds before Kirkland called it quits.
“I’m done in. You know I’m too old for this.”
Atticus snorted. “I know no such thing. You’re just distracted. Let’s talk about it.”
Kirkland hated sharing his feelings, and Atticus knew it.
But he taught Atticus to stand tall, proud, and dominate every room he entered.
An expensive suit and arrogant attitude got people much farther than being real or nice would ever be.
Then to come home and unburden himself with Kirkland.
For many years, they had only had each other to talk to.
Kirkland made a dismissive gesture toward the weight room in which Tidy had disappeared. “It’s nothing. I just dislike that guy.” As soon as Kirkland made the claim, he regretted his words. He forgot how close Atticus' husband was with Tidy,
Atticus nodded, taking him seriously. “Do you hate him? Or are you jealous of his friendship with Fabrice?”
“Can’t it be both?” Kirkland growled. “I don’t even know why I’m entertaining this. He’s too young for me anyhow.”
Atticus shot him a death glare. “It’s not like you’re marrying the guy. You have to stop playing the old man game. That life is behind us. This is a fresh start. Hell, just join me in therapy.”
“I am old.” Kirkland practically yelled the words.
“Fabrice obviously doesn’t think so. Trust him to know his mind.”
Kirkland rolled his eyes.
Atticus shook his head. “Fine. Throw away the rest of your life. But now I have a new thing to talk to my therapist about. You wasted your life on me. I have to live with that.”
Atticus walked away, leaving Kirkland alone with his anger. Atticus hadn’t stolen anything from Kirkland. His rage was the thief.