Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Newcomb’s blood would run between the cracks of the slate tiles beneath them.
Trembling with the struggle to rein himself in, he stared at Newcomb’s retreating back. Breathe. Breathe. He couldn’t hurt him, but he’d fucking bury him in court. No matter what it took.
“Hey. Hey.” Drake shoved at him, pushing him against the wall, glaring up at him. “Calm it down. Don’t do anything rash.”
“Fuck rash,” Brendan growled. “If he hurt—”
“Stop.” Drake shook his head. “This isn’t helping him.”
“I—”
Brendan broke off as a second figure came straggling around the corner, moving more hesitantly.
Cillian.
He looked none the worse for wear, costume a bit disheveled but otherwise intact, unharmed save for a reddened bruising around his knuckles, but the stark, lost expression on his face said everything. Without thinking, Brendan twisted away from Drake, taking several swift steps closer—then stopping. Stopping, because as much as he’d hurt Cillian, he…he could probably only make this worse, but…
“…Cillian,” he breathed.
Cillian stopped, his eyes closing, his chest rising and falling in a measured breath, before he opened his eyes with a strained smile. “I…I’m okay.” He shook his reddened fingers with a wince. “My hand hurts like a fucker, but I’m fine.”
Brendan’s jaw set. “I should’ve killed him.”
A weak laugh spilled past Cillian’s lips. “I kind of tried.”
“He just fired both of us from the film in post.”
Cillian’s eyes widened, before he let out a bitter laugh, glancing away. “So it’s really over, isn’t it.”
“The film is,” Brendan murmured.
He couldn’t look away from Cillian; from the quiet, pained distance in the lines of his profile, from the haunted, lonely air around him that seemed to beg for comfort Brendan had no right to offer, no right to give, if he ever really had.
Somehow, while pretending to be Cillian’s boyfriend…
Brendan had fallen head over heels in love.
Fix this.
Fix it, it may be your only chance, do something…
He took a tentative step closer, reaching a hand out. “Cillian, I—”
“Excuse you.” Cillian’s mother pushed past Brendan, flicking a cutting look at him as she took Cillian’s arm. “I’d like a word with my son.”
Fuck.
Brendan took a deep breath. “Ma’am, please. If I could just…for a few minutes…”
“I think not.” Mrs. Tell pulled herself up firmly—and there it was, that hint of someone from royal lineage, someone accustomed to being obeyed in all things. “This is over. You will not coax him back into that life, or that lifestyle, when he has responsibilities here. Look at this.” She caught Cillian’s bruised hand, Cillian’s fingers jerking limply as she raised it, shaking it until she practically brandished it at Brendan. “This is what I knew would happen. I knew he would get hurt, and all of you are just going to drag him deeper into something that will ruin him.”
Why wasn’t Cillian saying anything?
Why had he just gone still, staring down at the floor blankly?
Tell her. Tell her you don’t want that life. Tell her you want to do what you love.
But Cillian remained silent, while Mrs. Tell turned a stern look on him.
“Cillian. You made a deal. This ends now. Say your goodbyes.”
Brendan faltered, falling back a step. “What deal…?”
“That…” Cillian swallowed, just barely lifting his head enough to look at Brendan with such guilt, such misery, that a single glance struck Brendan down to the bone. “That if they would let me use the estate for filming…I’d quit once the film was done.”
“Why?” Brendan stared at him, gut sinking so deep, as cold as the frozen earth of this barren island. “Why would you trade your entire career for something that only helps him?”
“Because I wanted to finish this film with you,” Cillian whispered. His lovely, perfectly imperfect face crumpled for a moment, before struggling back into a brave, sweet, entirely heartbreaking smile. “Because I wanted to make something amazing together. Something other people would feel. Something that would reach the lonely ones.” Like me, seemed to hover unspoken. Like us. “It’s okay, Brendan. It’s okay that you didn’t love me. You were right not to. You were right that I was going to leave and crawl back into hiding just like everyone else who made you lonely.” His voice cracked; he looked away, parted lips trembling, eyes glistening. “It’s…it’s okay.”
Just like everyone else who made you lonely.
Brendan had…he’d…never told Cillian that directly, and yet…
Fuck.
Fuck.
He was right, wasn’t he.
I don’t think about it very much, he’d told Cillian. Love isn’t really part of my landscape.
Because if he told himself he didn’t want, he wouldn’t feel the lack.
He wouldn’t hate it every time another man broke away from him out of fear.
Even if it meant pushing away something he wanted more than anything. Fuck, Drake had been right, too.
Brendan was the least self-aware man on the fucking planet.
And Cillian…had done that…to be with him? He…he…fuck, Brendan was frozen, a thousand things crashing through him, this awful ache balling up into an unmanageable knot he’d never be able to untangle.