4. Roman
Roman
“Another cancellation,” Jude announces, coming into the kitchen.
With a heavy sigh, he rests the iPad on the kitchen counter.
I don’t bother looking at it. I don’t need the reminder that my life is on a constant downward spiral.
Reaching for my mug, I take a sip of warm chamomile, wishing it were something stronger.
However, alcohol always fucks with my head, and I still have work to do.
“It’s the third one this week,” he points out.
We still have another month before reopening. Plus, it’s winter. People will come. “I’m not worried.”
“You should be.” He pulls the iPad back to him. “If this continues, we won’t last another year.”
My fingers curl into the sides of the cup. I stare at the light-yellow liquid inside, once again wishing it were a shot of bourbon. “Like I said, it’s going to work out. All we need to do is keep the brat alive and well.”
Piece of cake, I think.
I hope. Taylor seems as if he’s going to be a handful. I’m not looking forward to teaching an entitled little snob to repair a fence or chop firewood.
“He’s not a brat,” Jude mutters.
“Have you met him?” I scoff, turning toward the sink, dumping the contents of the cup down the drain.
Jude moves behind me, standing close enough for me to feel the heat coming from his body.
I stare at the snow-battered windows. For some reason, the expression on Taylor’s face when he first arrived still bothers me.
“The kid is not his father.”
My lips curl. “He looks like him.” Same height and build, same blue eyes, the exact shade of ash-blond hair—although Lucas had never grown his out that long.
And I never had the urge to run my fingers through his hair.
“That’s not a crime.”
“It should be,” I counter.
Jude chuckles. I hate the sound. Hate how it warms my insides. I’d spent fifteen years nurturing the ice block around my heart, and the last thing I’d want is for it to melt.
His fingers brush my sides. He rests his chin on my shoulder. “You noticed anything about him during dinner?”
I frown. “Like what?”
“Mhm... I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about him felt off. It was how he kept dodging my questions. Like he’s hiding something.”
What I noticed was far more disturbing.
I noticed the lean, wiry figure his thick coat had hidden. My gaze kept drifting to his full, pink lips and those deep blue eyes. I noticed how his throat moved each time he swallowed, and how soft his skin looked beneath the collar of his buttoned shirt.
Which left me feeling strange and dirty. I had no business observing my stepbrother’s kid like that.
“Whatever he’s hiding is none of my business—or yours,” I reply. “The only thing I care for is whether he humbles himself. I don’t want to be the asshole he probably thinks I am.”
“Don’t be too hard on him, Roman.”
The concern in his voice alerts me. I turn around. Jude stares up at me, trying—and failing—to keep his expression neutral. I’ve known him long enough. I see the interest in his eyes.
“And don’t you think of fucking him.”
Jude makes a scornful sound in his throat. “What kind of person do you think I am?”
“The kind that screws anyone with a dick,” I remind him.
“Come on. The kid seems straight.”
I give him the driest glare I can summon. “As if that has ever stopped you before.”
“Well, he’s your family, which means he’s mine, too. I don’t screw family. Never have, never will. That would be insane. Do I look insane?”
His long-winded reply confirms that he would indeed fuck Taylor if given the chance. I don’t know why that leaves a hollow feeling in my stomach. Jude and I aren’t exclusive, and we never will be. He can sleep with whomever he wants.
Except for Taylor.
Jude huffs when I say nothing. “Okay, fine. Maybe I am insane.”
“Don’t.” My stare hardens. I’ve seen him break too many hearts to let him anywhere near Taylor. The last thing I’d want is for Natasha to believe I let someone take advantage of her son. “You’ve got plenty of options in town. Stay away from him.”
He chews on his bottom lip, a flare of defiance in his eyes.
“I mean it, Jude.”
Something on my face relaxes his features. He throws up both hands. “You got it. I won’t touch him.”
His response doesn’t satisfy me, but I let it go.
I bid him goodnight and head to my office upstairs.
After watching my business steadily decline over the years, I recently made the tough decision to scale back and open only during winter.
The upcoming season will be here in a few weeks, and we are a long way from being ready.
Staff need hiring and training. A few cabins need renovating, plus a handful of other duties my brain refuses to process right now.
Usually, there would be a small team behind me, but I couldn’t afford them anymore. Now, it’s only Jude and me.
And Taylor.
On the landing, my eyes shift to the first door on my right. Taylor had eaten only half of his meal before leaving the table—without asking to be excused—and hasn’t reappeared since then. I raise my fist to knock, but a sound stops me. Resting my ear against the wood, I listen.
Is he... crying?