Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
“Because this is my problem.” Royce snapped. “I’m the reason they’re here and putting Marc in danger. It’s my fault.”
Quinn sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers, sending his glasses up over his eyebrows. When they dropped, he just stared at Royce, and the hurt in his expression made him a little sick.
“We care about you. Don’t you understand that? You’re my best fucking friend, Royce.”
His heart just dropped to his feet. He cleared his throat, trying like hell to work out the lump lodged there. “I care about you, too. Don’t you see that’s why I couldn’t get you involved?”
“You’re not alone in this world. You have me and whether you like it or not, you have them.” He waved a hand at the other two. “And Sven and Rowe and the others. We may all work at Ward Security, but we’re also friends. Hell, we’re nearly family. I know I sure as hell like being around them more than any of my other friends.” He sighed again, his shoulders slumping. “Why didn’t you call me at least?”
“Or me, you stupid fucker.” Dominic crossed his arms. His shorts, tank, and hair were all wet with sweat like he’d come straight from a workout. He nodded at Garrett. “Or him? Hell, you wouldn’t even tell Sven where you were going, and you should have heard how worried he was. You’re lucky we didn’t blab to Rowe, or he’d have all his scary damn friends here, too.”
“Yeah,” Garrett said. “What the hell is going on right now, Royce? Why are they here? What kind of trouble are you in?”
Royce looked at each one of them for several long moments, his heart beating so hard it hurt. He rubbed his chest, then closed his eyes, because the emotions surging through him were a fucked-up mess of hard things, and the one taking the lead was pure and utter shock. Then, probably…affection. Quinn was really pissed. They all were. He didn’t know how to compute that. How to handle it. He looked at them again and took in their stubborn stances and realized he’d fucked up. Rowan Ward hired only the best, and what he included as best was not only depth of fighting skills or strength. Strength of character was his ace in the hole. He’d told Royce that after he’d hired him. At the time, Royce had brushed it off, but now, he let that sink in.
The other emotion killing him was regret. Sadness. The things his uncle had said about Michael’s heart had been true and though Corbin was a horrid person who didn’t deserve to live, he’d also been right about something else.
If Royce stayed with Marc, he’d end up being the cause of the man’s death. Between his family and Marc’s heart condition, he had no business falling in love with the man.
Because he had.
And now, he had to leave him.
Chapter Twenty
Royce hit the garage door opener to his aunt’s place in Morning View, tapping his finger on the wheel of Marc’s car. He pulled into the garage and parked. Marc sat on the passenger side, and he’d been quiet on most of the trip. The man was one of the most intuitive people Royce had ever met, so he knew Marc was picking up his vibes.
And hurting over them.
His pain felt like it had seeped into Royce’s skin and bones to blend with his own. Hurting the man felt like hurting himself, and he was astonished at just how deep Marc Foster had crawled into him. He didn’t feel like merely a friend or lover, or even a boyfriend. It was more, and the feeling was so utterly profound, he couldn’t put it into words. Like their souls meshed on a level he hadn’t known existed. His fear over causing the man to be physically harmed, or worse—that, that he could put into words.
Never happening.
This world was a more beautiful place with Marc Foster in it. And his chances of that were remarkably higher without Royce in his life.
His fucking heart wasn’t making it through this one.
The night before, Royce had made excuses about watching the footage of the house while they’d been in Italy. He’d never made it to Marc’s bed, falling asleep on the couch in the early morning hours. All day, as they’d gone to the gallery, then the hospital, Marc had quietly watched him. And now, here they were in Kentucky about to meet with Royce’s friends. To try and come up with a way to beat Corbin Karras.
What a complete disaster.
“I still can’t believe your uncle did that,” Marc said, breaking their awkward silence.
“I should have known not to trust him. I paid attention the first twelve years of my life. It was one of the reasons he and I didn’t mesh.” Fuck, he was tired. Tired of feeling like a fool and tired of worrying about his mother and Marc. He scrubbed his hands over his face. His damn insides felt like someone had poked a fork in him and spun it around in vicious circles.