Chapter 5
IGGY
He wasn’t unaffected by me.
I twirled the thought through my mind as I made my way down the long, hushed corridors of the train to the dining car.
Jon’s hands had trembled as he’d held my cuffs. His cheeks had flushed as they always did when he stood close. And the scent coming off his warm skin was the cologne I’d given him for his birthday last year.
He didn’t believe I wanted him. That was the problem. He thought I was tagging along on his adventure from a selfish desire not to lose my valet.
It still stung like a bastard that he could misunderstand me so badly, but I could be patient.
It wasn’t like I had a choice.
When I arrived in the dining car, I was taken to a table for two.
The uniformed server removed the extra place setting with a sympathetic frown—just in case I hadn’t felt pathetically lonely already, thanks very much—and I was halfway through my first martini when Jon walked past my table to the one ahead of mine.
I couldn’t help but drink in the sight of him, something I’d consciously tried not to do in the past. I hadn’t wanted Jon to feel uncomfortable, to see my longing for him and be unable to return it.
In fact, I’d made a conscious effort not to speak to him much at all of late, to distract myself with other things and people as much as I could.
I hadn’t wanted to give him a reason to leave.
See how well that’s worked out?
The server who sat him went through the same place setting removal and welcome spiel, leaving him sitting directly in front of me. Also alone.
“This is ridiculous,” I told his broad back. “Come sit with me.”
Jon’s body stiffened until his shoulders were by his ears. “No.”
“We’ve shared a thousand meals together.” A thousand easy conversations where we’d talked each other’s ears off, losing time telling each other stories or asking each other challenging questions about life and the world. “Why not one more?”
He stretched his head from side to side without responding.
“You know, Banks… I can help you with that tension problem of yours,” I said, unable to help myself. Wanting to get under his skin the way he currently lived under mine. “Anytime. Just knock on my door. Day or night.”
He didn’t reply. Meanwhile, my words conjured a vision in my head, and I knew I’d be up all night wondering how easy it would be to break the lock on Jon’s door and slide into bed beside him.
“Great, now you’re a creep,” I muttered to myself.
I took another healthy swig of the martini and wondered how long it would take for the server to bring the bottle of wine I’d ordered.
“If only I’d brought my phone,” I said a bit louder. “If only a certain arsehole hadn’t trained me that it was bad manners to bring my phone to dinner.”
“Live in the moment,” Jon had said. “Be present.” But I didn’t want to live in this moment if I couldn’t talk to him or see his face.
“Wonder what that arsehole would say,” I mused, “about the etiquette of not responding when someone is speaking to you.”
Jon sipped his water calmly, and the bubbling cauldron of want and need in my gut threatened to boil over.
“Fuck this.” I threw my napkin on the plate and shoved my chair back. I’d ask the server to send my dinner to my suite instead.
“Oh, for god’s sake, Iggy,” Jon said, turning around at last. “Come sit here, then, if you’re going to be an idiot about it.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him to fuck off and take his prim, judgmental attitude with him. But I was too desperate for his company. I was willing to beg for scraps.
I grabbed my place setting and moved to his table. “What a lovely invitation. Don’t mind if I do.”
He glared at me. “The condition of you sitting here is to stop this spoiled-brat routine. Understand?”
And now we were back to him being my guardian rather than my friend? “Yes, sir.”
Jon’s eyes roved over my face. “You haven’t been sleeping,” he accused. “Christ, Iggy, you know a night at home once in a while wouldn’t—” He shook his head once. “Why are you here?”
It took me a moment to find my voice. Jon cared. I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed that confirmation. “At your table? You invited me.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he did what he always did when he was unhappy with me. He waited me out until I started incriminating myself.
“I told you, I didn’t know you’d be here,” I began, dropping the fake cheer and sarcasm because it was exhausting.
“Truly. I came because I remembered you talking about this train, and I…” I twisted my tongue inside my mouth, forcing it to say the words.
“I wanted to be close to you. I missed you. Not the valeting. Not the managing. You, Jon. And I don’t know how I fucked things up or what I did to make you leave, but if you’ll come back with me, I’ll do anything—”
“Anything?” Jon looked down at the fork he was fiddling with. “Then tell me, why haven’t you had a serious relationship before?”
The question startled me, but I’d said anything. So, I’d be real with him, even if it scared him off. At least I’d know I’d given it—him, us—one last try.
I took a breath and laid my heart on the table between us.
“I have been in love with the same man since I was fifteen. I would say fourteen, but I actually hated you a little at first. My father’s spy.
The fun police. It wasn’t until I accidentally saw you with your shirt off that I realized how hard I could fall for a fun-killing prick. ”
Jon swallowed. “You hardly knew me.”
“Don’t,” I snarled low. I didn’t want to make a scene, but I wouldn’t allow him to minimize what I felt for him. “I knew you. I’ve already proven that. I know you still.”
His eyes widened, but he didn’t argue. I continued.
“You were happy to escape the army, get away from your family, lick your wounds where only a bunch of rich kids could see. I know you had nightmares from Iraq, saw things you wish you could erase from your memory. I loved you for that. For caring. For fighting. For being honest about it breaking you.”
I met his eyes. “Then I watched you come back from it. I knew you talked to someone when we moved to Cambridge. You became lighter somehow. You smiled.”
Jon looked back at the damned fork. “I shouldn’t have told you any of that.”
“Bullshit. You taught me that a man could define his own life. That I shouldn’t compromise. I came out because of you. Found my passion because of you. You helped me build a life worth living. How could I not fall in love with you, Jon, even if I thought you’d never love me back?”
Jon sucked in a breath but still didn’t meet my eyes, so I kept talking.
“I’ve been so terrified of scaring you off that I’ve tried my damnedest to put space between us.
Even put space between me and every person who’d ask me about you.
I’ve pretended to be carefree when I’m dying inside, to be sleeping around when I haven’t fucked anyone in months because none of them are you.
But you left anyway. And I realized it’s not a life worth living if I can’t be myself.
If I can’t have the man I love. So I’m not sorry that we’re both on this train.
I’m not sorry that I get a chance to tell you these things.
Because you should know that you have my heart, even if you don’t… if you can’t…”
Jon’s hand tightened around the fork, and I realized I was losing. Panicked, I blurted, “What would it take to convince you my feelings for you are real? That I know what I want?”
Jon looked up at last, and I was taken aback by the honesty in his eyes.
He wasn’t ignoring me. He was terrified.
“You would have to stay with me forever and promise me you would never leave.”
Tears simmered behind my eyes, threatening to fall. Could this be real? Was this happening?
After twenty fucking years, was Jonathan Banks finally going to give me a chance?