Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
WYATT
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Julian asked, slowly trailing a finger up my thigh.
We lay amongst the sheets in the blue neon that filled the room. A reminder of what we were. What I was. Julian wore a pair of dark blue boxers low on his hips. There was less tension in his jaw, fewer shadows under his eyes.
“Cass.”
No matter how softly he said that name, it felt dirty.
It was also a reminder of what I was. “I’m supposed to go home.
I mean, I’m going home.” I hadn’t been back to Deadwood since the Fourth, and that had been part of my trip to New York.
I was there long enough to fight with my sister and realize I no longer belonged there.
“You don’t want to?”
“It’s complicated.” And it was. I had to be the Wyatt my father believed in. Not the Wyatt sitting in her underwear, talking to a client. “My father doesn’t know what I do. He thinks I work in the back office of the casino. My sister is angry with me because she’s stuck with…”
“With what?” Julian pushed himself up on his elbow.
I had to stop this. He was a paying client, and I needed to remember that.
But god, he made it hard. There was something about him that didn’t just make me want to cross the lines—I wanted to erase them.
Maybe it was the blue of his eyes or the sharp cut of his cheekbones.
Whatever it was, I hadn’t felt it with anyone else. “Julian, that’s not why you’re here.”
“I’m here to spend time with you, and that’s what I’m doing.”
He was here to have sex with me. Anything else was the lead-up to that sex.
He wasn’t my boyfriend. Or even a friend.
“You are not here to listen to me talk about my fucked-up family. You deserve better than that.” I touched his cheek; he needed to shave, but I kind of liked the rougher look facial hair gave him.
“I am getting what I deserve.” He leaned into my touch, kissing my hand.
“No, you’re not.” He deserved better than what I could give him. I wished I were some girl he met after a game and we were a normal couple. But wishes in Las Vegas held no value.
“Yes, I am. And it’s my four hours and…” He looked over at the alarm clock. “And I still have one hour and thirty-five minutes. So tell me, please.”
“Don’t you see how fucked up this is?”
“No, and I don’t want to talk about that. I want to talk about you.” He moved closer.
I loved the way he looked amongst the sheets and blankets.
I had decided my favorite part of him was his shoulders.
Actually, the spot before the curve of his neck.
Muscle stretched over bone. It was that spot where he carried everything.
The stress of the game and being Julian.
It was my favorite spot because I knew if I pressed a kiss to that spot or rested my head on it, I eased some of that weight.
“There isn’t much to talk about. My father doesn’t know what I do, end of story. What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
“Eating. You haven’t told me the story, so how can it be the end?”
I played with a loose string on the shirt of his I was wearing.
I knew what he was getting at. He wanted to know how a girl like me ended up here.
Everyone did. There wasn’t one moment I could point to and say if I had done that differently, I wouldn’t be here.
There were nineteen years of moments that led to me being here.
“I wasn’t abused. Not forced to do this.
I’m a stupid girl who got in over her head.
” I waited for his reaction. “How’s that for a story? ”
“You skipped a couple parts. Las Vegas is a long way from Deadwood.”
“So is Warroad.”
“I got traded here. I didn’t have a choice.”
“Would you go back?”
“To Warroad? No, there’s nothing left there for me.” Julian inhaled, his features softening. “Why won’t you talk to me?”
“Because that’s not what we are.” I moved from the bed.
“Then what are we?” He sat up.
“Not this.” I motioned between us. “At some point, you are going to realize how fucked up this is.” I rubbed my brow, trying to catch the thoughts that spun around in my head.
“This. What we have right now is hormones. Sex does this. It complicates things.” I struggled to put this into words that would make him see the truth.
That at some point, the shine of paying for sex would wear off and he’d move on.
“It makes us think things that aren’t true. ”
“Like what?”
“Like…” I couldn’t get the words out without tears following close behind. I didn’t cry over shit like this. It was just sex.
“Say it.” He stood and walked over to me. “Me. Right? All of this is too much. The schedule, the games, the everything. Say it. I’ve heard it before.” He grabbed his pants off the floor.
“No. This has nothing to do with you being a hockey player.” I grabbed his arm.
“It’s me.” Without this job, I had nothing.
I was nothing. I had no back-up plan. My life hinged on my career.
My entire life was paid for by sex. I couldn’t give this up any more than I could ask Julian to ignore the fact of what I did to afford this life.
I would not end up like my parents, struggling for every nickel and dime.
And that, not the cruel words Maverick had spoken, was the truth that hurt me. I was the reason we would end.
“This isn’t fair to you. I can’t…” I didn’t want to hear my selfishness put into words.
“Unfair to me? What about you? Look at me. I have a black eye, I’ve broken my nose twice, I can’t put my fucking pants on tonight because my shoulder hurts so bad.
Not to mention my schedule and the fact I have to leave you again.
The ups and downs of this life. None of which you asked for. How is that fair to you?”
It was fair because he paid me to put up with those things.
And in truth I’d put up with all of that for the freedom to be with him.
But that didn’t change the reality of us.
People broke Julian. They stepped all over him and cut him down.
And I didn’t want to be another person to do that.
But my career would. Which was why I had to let him go. “I like your nose.”
“It’s crooked.”
I stepped closer to him, running my finger down the bridge of his nose. “It makes you look dangerous.” I couldn’t imagine what he would look like without it. “And I like the scar here.” I traced his brow. “And here.” I lightly touched his cupid’s bow. “They all make you who you are.”
“But it’s not enough?”
“I take money for sex. I take your money. That makes me a—”
“And Anders pays for Teigen’s cell phone, her car, health insurance, tuition, and anything else she may need. Cole pays rent here in Las Vegas for himself and in Toronto for his girlfriend. Ivan pays for his girlfriend’s place in Finland. Do you want me to keep going?”
“Those are the people they love, not the people they’re paying to fuck. They are in a relationship, not a business deal with an NDA and STD testing. And I doubt Anders’s girlfriend has to fly to New York to give some guy head.”
“I don’t know that.” He shrugged.
I laughed at how stupid this was. “I do.” I flopped down on the bed.
“Can you let me worry about that?” He stood before me.
I looked up at him, and for the first time in nineteen years, I regretted every decision I had ever made.
I regretted going to LA. Regretted letting Maverick move me here.
For me, always wanting more. More money.
Always chasing something I could never have when I could’ve had a man like the one standing before me. “I think we—”
“Don’t do this.” He sat down next to me. “Please. I’m not ready for us to be over. I’m not ready to not have you in my life. Please, not yet.”
I laid my head on his shoulder. And I wasn’t ready to let go either. To be a footnote in his history. “I’m not sure we have a choice.”
Neither of us said anything. We sat in the quietness of the room, the blue neon filling the room with a sadness that wouldn’t end until one of us broke.