23. Drake #2
“He’s always been the odd one. Dougie wasn’t born into this world as we were.
” He nudged my arm in the direction of the open bar at the back of the room.
Seated and away from the larger clusters, he continued.
“Hating the Montgomery family is one thing, and not realizing your feelings for Helen is understandable. You hid that from yourself for most of your life, after all. But he’s always, always looked up to your dad. Bit odd bringing that up.”
“He can say whatever he likes about Willian Graham, but if he ever talks about Monty like that again, I’ll kill him.” I tossed back a glass of whiskey the instant the bartender slid it over. “No one talks about my wife like that. No one.”
“It’s alright, Drake. He’ll get used to it. Not his fault he was too blind to see your feelings for her. They were painfully obvious, mind you, but he’s always been thick.”
“I was blind to them half the time,” I huffed.
“Funny that your families were the very thing that drove you away from her and they forced you back together.”
“It was a miracle, honestly. It means the world to me that Monty gave me a second chance.” A noise escaped me that one might have called a wistful sigh. Not me, but some might.
“And where is your bride? Back home with the horde?”
Julian didn’t shrink away from my glower. His grin stretched wider.
“Very funny. If anyone is a dragon with a horde, it’s Monty. Her book collection is almost frightening while also impressive.” When I gestured for another drink, the bartender delivered. The burn of the liquor loosened my tongue. “I can’t wait to get home to my wife.”
“I’m going to start taking shots every time you say that, you besotted fool.” He finished his glass to make a point. “I’m happy for you, you know?”
“I appreciate that. I’m happy.”
“You love her?”
The question caught me off guard. I set my glass down, glancing at my oldest friend from the corner of my eye. Venting a deep breath, I admitted, “I don’t think I ever stopped.”
“Have you told her?”
Fragments of that night at the dance rushed back to me.
The light in her sparkling blue eyes, the curving smile on her glossy lips, and the admission of love flowing off her tongue before I cut her off.
Before I made a monumental mistake and turned away from her.
She had almost told me once, and I’d fumbled her affection.
“Not yet, but I will.” A rush of emotion swelled through my chest, perhaps flamed by the fires of alcohol.
It was sudden and harsh, gripping and moving.
My legs twitched and my shoes bounced on the floor as a restlessness coursed through me.
An urge to rush to her home, fall to my knees, and profess my undying devotion to my vicious goddess of a wife itched beneath my skin.
The heat of it flushed through me, leashing around my heart.
It paired with the niggling anxiety in my gut, spurring me into action.
“Deeply sorry,” I pushed away from the bar, vibrating with energy, “I need to get back to my wife.”
“Saw that coming.” Julian slapped me on the shoulder once more. “Get out of here. I’m going to see if June from accounting is still around.”
“Right. Best of luck.” Then I turned on my heel and ignored my dad’s gaze as I wove my way out of the spider’s den.
The pressure of his intentions followed me out, and I merely shook them off my shoulders.
I divested myself of all the obligations he heaped upon me, uncaring if I disappointed him by leaving early and not shaking all the hands he shoved before me.
My tenure as his favorite dog had to end.
Where I might have been willing to give my life for my family months ago, I found something worth living for.
I might have even been glad to die for my duty, probably, but I no longer wanted that.
Nor did I want to waste away under the leaden blood coating my fingers.
Don’t dwell on it was a decadent phrase to disguise something slowly killing the light within me—a light reignited by the exquisite touch of a ruining angel.
In years prior to events such as this one, I might have joined Julian and Douglas on the prowl for a willing bed partner for the night.
Always a brunette with blue eyes. Always searching for something quick and physically satisfying.
Always attempting to fill the void Helen had punched through my chest. Her touch had left a mark on me that a decade apart couldn’t heal.
No one stood out romantically in all that time.
No one could have ever filled Helen’s shoes.
A private driver in an unmarked escalade escorted me back to Monty’s house—a place I’d begun to think of as home.
Being the decidedly dangerous man that I was, I had no need for private security at all hours.
Without all the fanfare of being guided into a car with multiple riders, we made quick work of leaving the official Graham offices where we maintained our above-board businesses.