“Thanks,” James says. He’s resting his head on the metal frame. I wonder how long he’s been standing there like that. I was too afraid to peer through the drawn blinds.
“You can come in,” I relent, turning around and heading to the rolling chair that I had my first good cry in hours ago.
James takes measured steps into the office, the archive space behind him an eerie kind of silent. He stops at the desk, his fingertips tapping the wood as he looks down with a thoughtful expression. He sucks in his lips and nods before slowly making his way backward to the wooden chair on the other side of the room. I think he’s afraid I might hurt him.
“What? Can’t stand being close to me?” I mock him with a bitter tone as I throw his own words back at him. I’ve been practicing that for hours. It didn’t feel as good as I thought it would.
He lifts his gaze to mine, his eyes heavy and the corners of his mouth weighed down.
“You know I didn’t mean that,” he croaks.
Deep down, I do. But hearing something like that said about me out loud is hard to shake off. I can’t parse it out just yet, because while he’ll probably deny it, there was some truth in those things he said to Toby. His dad can’t stand me. And I know why.
“Why did you blow me off at the fieldhouse the other day? Remember? While your dad was sort of letting me in the door?” He remembers. His dad’s mood wasn’t entirely about football.
He shakes his head and draws in his brow, but I keep my gaze locked on his face, my eyes narrow and drilling into his. After several seconds, he exhales and leans his weight back, flitting his eyes away.
“It’s not like you think,” he relents.
“But it is.” My quick response takes him off-guard, and his eyes bolt to mine for a brief second before looking away.
Shaking his head, he leans forward to rub his temples.
“Morgan, the last couple years have been a battle for our family. My parents were in a bad place, and as much as we came to Welles for my benefit, this move was kind of for them, too. I’m not saying you can outrun your demons, but where we lived before, the things tearing down the trust between my mom and dad were everywhere.”
He pauses to sit up, a short, sad laugh lifting his shoulders.
“I don’t know for sure, but I think my dad was seeing someone on the side, or at least flirting with the idea of it. I don’t think it progressed to an affair or anything like that. And I’m sure there’s a lot more to it than the small pieces I put together, but where we were, our routine and our environment, it all fed into the story. It was this story that just wouldn’t end. Bickering in their room that I heard through the walls. Days of silent treatment. They put their energy into me by coming here, and maybe it’s unhealthy to be their distraction, but it’s my family, Morgan. I haven’t seen them this happy in a long time. And my dad . . . I think he’s afraid of anything shaking up their new beginning.”
I let his truth simmer. He has no idea what demons are, what consequences from decisions looks like.
I breathe out a laugh as I sit back and fold my arms over my chest, my gaze off to the side so I don’t look him in the eyes and lose my way.
“You know, I’m used to people not liking me. I mean, the first time people started trashing one of my photos on social it was kind of hard to take, but the older I got the more I realized they do that for sport. They don’t reallyknowme.”
My gaze shifts to him, and my teeth gnaw at the inside of my cheek.
“But you? You know me.” I swallow the hurt that comes with that statement.
His focus dips below my gaze as his Adam’s apple moves up and down. A single tear slips from my right eye, and I swipe it away, my sniffles giving me away and bringing his attention back to my face. I’m so angry and hurt, but more than that . . . I feel betrayed.
God, I was really falling for him. And Iknowhe has feelings, too. I can tell this is hurting him—that hurting me hurts. But he still did it. And yeah, maybe I wasn’t meant to hear him say that awful truth to Toby. And Toby’s a real dick for luring it out of him the way he did. But when his back was pushed into a corner, he chose football. He chose to believe the rumors.
He didn’t ask me.
“Remember me telling you about the last time my dad had me ‘entertain’ some of his clients? How things didn’t go so well?” I can feel the tears welling in my eyes, but I won’t cry over this.
James’s mouth is closed tight, his jaw flexing and eyes pained, the weight dipping his brows.
“My family has this big yacht. It’s more like a company yacht, really. We’ve been on it as a family of four once, and we never left the dock. But my dad’s on it all the time. Some of his biggest acquisitions were negotiated on that thing while floating out in the Atlantic.”
I pause to gather my thoughts, my mouth growing dry. James’s breathing is growing heavier, his chest slowly inflating as he takes in my words. I can see it in his expression, in the locked focus of his eyes— he’s trying to get to the end of my story before I do. He won’t get it right. The only person who knows their story is the one who lived it. That’s why it’s so important to listen.
My teeth graze against my bottom lip as I let it slip from my nervous hold.
“My dad has had the same lawyer since he made his first million. Edwin Hague. He’s good. Probably saved my dad millions by now, and I’m sure he’s kept him out of prison for shady financial shit. If it’s an important meeting, he’s in the room.”
James shifts in his seat, folding one arm over his chest to prop up the other so he can chew at his thumbnail. I close my eyes and shake my head.