“Because…” I twist my hands together, realize I’m doing it and untwist them. I lean back against the wall. “She’s in love with a guy, Griffin. And she left him, only to realize he was the one she loved, and returned to him.”
He frowns.
“But by then he was diagnosed with cancer. He’s fighting it, and the docs sound hopeful he can beat it, but she’s devastated and tries to be by his side whenever she can.”
I don’t say that I’m not sure they are together, not sure he forgave her, accepted her back. That he loves her like she loves him.
That would have been too easy.
As if things aren’t hard enough for them as it is.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. He looks concerned on her behalf.
A tiny sting of jealousy burns in my chest—but it fades away quickly. I’m not jealous of Soph. It’s such a sad tale and I’m so worried about her.
Besides, Merc wants me. Not my sis. Not going to let myself get lost in those twisting doubts again. I’ve had time to think about this and realized that Merc is right. Soph and me, we look so much alike, anyone would be fooled at first. If I’d met Merc’s twin brother, I’d have stared at him, wanted into his pants, right? So how can I blame him? I can’t.
Lust at first glance is real. Building something, a relationship, with a guy, quite another. Lust is fine as long as your heart isn’t invested. Relationships are hard work, often doomed to fail.
I should know. Been there, done that, got the ugly T-shirt.
As for love… Love sounds like a risk you take at the peril of your soul. Not that I’ve ever been in love, I don’t think. But if it’s anything like what my sister is feeling, and living, and hurting over, well…
It seems to me as if the risk is too high.
Chapter Seventeen
Merc
“Merc, wake up.” The voice is gruff and hoarse, male and somehow familiar.
It doesn’t help as I jerk awake, tangled in my covers, my heart trying to pound its way right out of my fucking chest.
Fuck, fuck.
JC is staring at me from the open door of my bedroom, dark hair standing up on end, eyes red, t-shirt and pajama bottoms wrinkled as if he just rolled out of bed.
He probably did.
“Shit, I woke you up again,” I croak. “Sorry, man.”
He shakes his head, and I remember he said he doesn’t sleep much, but right now, I’m not buying it. He looks tired.
I feel worse. I feel as if a truck ran me over. And weirdly I can’t remember the dream. Not exactly. Normally I remember every fucking little bloody detail.
This one was… strange. Thinking about it, I get images, snippets and moments, like dreams running through one another, a braid of sounds and storylines and faces…
Blood pooling, a dead face, a temple, a swan, heavy breathing, footsteps… Remember, remember…
And then lips kissing me, trailing over my skin, swallowing my dick…
Goddammit. I look down.
Yep, I’m sporting a hard-on the size of the building. You’ve got to be kidding me… I’m a healthy young guy and I wake up with morning wood all the damn time, but usually my fantasies aren’t all mixed up with my nightmares.
Fantasies with Cos starring. It doesn’t matter how often we fuck, how often we meet, I still dream about her all the time.
“I’ll make coffee.” JC turns away from the door. If he noticed the tent in my covers, he doesn’t mention it. “Come on.”