Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Grady
Working late isn’t an avoidance tactic. Not really. Not completely. Heading to Quinn’s after work instead of the house I share with Lake is also not an avoidance tactic. Quinn’s my best man for the wedding, and there’s probably something we need to talk about that we haven’t yet.
Quinn’s car isn’t out front, but Sebastian’s pretentious silver Lexus is. That doesn’t always mean anything; the five men who live here use each other’s vehicles whenever it suits them. Anyone could have been driving that today, and I didn’t see what Quinn parked at work.
The urge to scratch the paint as I stride past is strong, but I resist. Just.
Four pots are lined up beside the front door; I swear they weren’t there the last time I visited.
The entire place keeps transforming every time I come here, like the domestication is setting in piece by piece.
I might have been more disgusted by that if I hadn’t found Lake.
I never got it before, even with other relationships. I get it now.
The door opens before I can knock, and the last person I want to see is on the other side of it. “Oh, it’s you.”
Sebastian grins, with a hint of cocky attitude in it that never fails to make me want to punch him in the face. Just because he’s with my best friend now doesn’t mean I don’t still want to. Frequently.
“Funny thing, that,” Sebastian says. “I live here.”
“Where’s Quinn?” I should have called first. Assuming Quinn came here first without plans to be elsewhere is a rookie move. He could be anywhere in the city. I should have just gone home.
“Shopping with Will.” Sebastian’s head tilts, studying me like a bug. “You look like you need a drink.”
What does that look like? I always look like this when I’m dealing with him. And I’m not in the mood for it.
Before I can turn around and leave, he says, “You want to come in? We still have some of that shit beer you like from the last time you stayed for dinner.”
“Well, with that kind of invitation, how can I say no?” I respond with dripping sarcasm.
It’s not shit beer; he just has no taste buds.
“My beer is a locally sourced craft beer and the best thing you’ll ever taste.
” As if I’d buy anything but the best. Any alcohol I have is of the highest quality because I have discerning taste.
No fucking boxed wine in my house, not even when that was all I could afford.
Some idiots don’t have taste; I’m not one of them.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Sebastian leaves the door open and heads back into the house, which I assume means I’m to follow. I’d rather slam the door shut, get back in my car, and head home. I’m already late, and Lake will have noticed by now.
Except when I pull out my phone, there aren’t any missed calls or messages asking where I am. Just one from Lake that says, “Gonna be late getting home. Love you.” What the hell is he doing?
Sebastian’s in the kitchen, staring into the fridge. He glances back at me. “We have stronger stuff if you want?”
I don’t want to know what expression is on my face to prompt that question. “No. I have to drive.” Being stuck here for too long alone with Sebastian sounds like a horrifying psych experiment.
Sebastian pops the top off the beer using the edge of the counter and slides it across without another word. He does it again for a second one and winks at me before taking a long drink. What a fucking show-off.
I empty half of my own and then put it down, fiddling with the label.
“Are you here for something case related? Because don’t let Will or Peyton hear that; shoptalk isn’t allowed in the house.”
“Should we go on the porch, then?”
“There’s probably a radius attached to the rule. Not just in the house.”
“And you’re so domesticated, you just do what you’re told?” Wish that worked in the courthouse when he’s being a dickhead lawyer, trying to show us our asses.
“It’s been an adjustment since I’m used to working twenty-four seven, but you’ve never really been scolded until Will looks at you with sad eyes.”
“It’s not work related,” I say stiffly. I leave work where it belongs: at work.
I’ve seen better cops than me get burned out because they couldn’t switch off, couldn’t separate from it.
I plan on having a long career that doesn’t leave me a traumatic mess by retirement, no matter what I see on my shifts.
Having someone to come home to, someone like Lake, definitely helps.
His total acceptance of my job, and of me, is a pleasure I never expected.
“Relationship troubles.”
He doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut, does he? “No.”
Sebastian nods in that condescending way that people do when they don’t believe an answer. “This calls for food. I think there’s some—well, hello.” He pulls out a half-empty packet of Tim Tams. “That’s unexpected.”
“What is?” I stare suspiciously at the packet. Is it poisoned? It’s poisoned, isn’t it?
“If something’s already open, Will makes it his life’s mission to finish it off. Sometimes he has midnight snacks. Leftovers rarely survive the night.”
Quinn’s said as much at work. I don’t want to think about the cost of keeping their tactical officer fed. “I don’t want any food.”
“It’ll help soak up some of that alcohol so you can leave sooner.”
He makes it sound reasonable, but we both know a couple of Tim Tams aren’t going to make any difference whatsoever. I reach for one anyway. Taking a sip after the bite is a mistake, however. Fucking gross. Those two flavours don’t mix.
I finish two of them, gathering courage. Maybe I’ll be too disgusted by the food to be disgusted by the conversation. “With four boyfriends, there are a lot of exes, right?” There’s a lot of coverage.
“Not as many as you’d think,” Sebastian answers easily as if it’s not an out-of-the-blue, completely random question.
Asshole thinks too well on his feet. “Peyton and Will were only dating each other before us—even if they didn’t realise it was dating.
Jericho… he doesn’t like to talk about it, insists none of it matters.
Quinn…” Sebastian shrugs, though there’s a flicker of pain that crosses his gaze, disappearing from one second to the next. “I don’t think about it.”
“At all?” There’s no way I believe he doesn’t overthink everything.
“At all.” Sebastian’s lopsided grin is as annoying as ever. “That doesn’t really answer your question, does it?”
“No.”
“This is about Lake, right? Because he was straight before you?”
Intuitiveness is so unattractive. “Yes and no.” I don’t need to rehash how much I’d pushed Lake about his sexuality when we’d been…
whatever we’d been doing before this. He doesn’t deserve for me to question that again.
That’s not what this is about. We’re getting married, for fuck’s sake.
If Lake were playing gay chicken, he’d have ducked out by now.
Though that line of inquiry isn’t a certainty given who Lake is. But the point is that it’s not part of the equation. We’re past that.
“An ex?”
“How’d you deduce that?” I ask dryly. Lawyers are the fucking worst.
“I’m pretty clever.”
“Is that what your mum told you?”
“Sweet-talking me in order to distract me isn’t going to work. Not today, at least. Did something happen with one of Lake’s exes?”
“I’m not talking to you about this.” Not with anyone but especially not with this man. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.
Sebastian dumps the empty chocolate packet in the bin and grabs out two bottles of water from the fridge, tossing me one. “You were around when Quinn was dating that cop, right?”
“Quinn’s a cop,” I choose to point out because I like pissing him off. “Also, yes.”
Sebastian waves me off, not taking the bait.
Today is just full of disappointments. “I saw them together a few times. I hated every second of it. Every time he touched Quinn, even an innocent brush of fingers, every time Quinn smiled at whatever the fuck he said, I wanted to murder someone. Him, specifically. Will admitting that get me arrested?”
“I’ll use any excuse to arrest you, but my cuffs are in the car.” And the only reason I’m going back out there is to leave.
“A real shame.”
It really is. I couldn’t think of anything more professionally satisfying than arresting his smug face. “Why are you telling me this?” I don’t care about his previous or current relationship with my partner. Quinn’s terrible choices are his own.
“If I saw him today, or tomorrow, or a year from now, next to Quinn, touching him, I’d still feel the same.
Quinn is mine now, and I’ll never doubt that.
Not his love for me, or for Will, Peyton, and Jericho.
His devotion, his loyalty, any of it. That wouldn’t stop me from hating it or wanting to get Quinn as far as humanly possible away from him. ”
That feeling is familiar. It’s less about Lake and more about her.
Which I’m perfectly aware is irrational and unfair on so many levels.
Not only is she engaged to someone who isn’t Lake, but I’ve never been like that.
I’ve never worried that a partner will stray or cared if they were close friends with an ex.
I obviously should have, considering how both of my relationships ended, but I chose to trust the people I’d invited into my personal space.
A mistake, but I don’t believe for a second that Lake is like them in any way.
So I don’t know why seeing her hands on Lake had dread curling in my stomach and anguish squeezing my chest. It’s still there, sitting under the surface like a dull ache.
In that moment, I felt like if I didn’t hold tight enough, then Lake would slip through my fingers like fine sand.
I’m not that person, and I don’t want to be that person.