Putting his shorts on, he shoved his feet into his trainers and then reached for his shirt—before remembering what he’d used it for.
As he stared at the crumpled folds of cotton and felt the stiff places in the soft cloth, he realized that no amount of rationalization was going to change the fact that he’d cheated on Saxton. Physical contact with someone else was only one way of measuring infidelity—and yeah, that was the biggest divide. But what he’d done last night had been a violation of the relationship, even though the orgasm had been caused by his brain, not his hand.
Getting to his feet, he was half-dead as he went to the door and opened it a crack. If there was anyone around, he was going to duck back inside and wait for a clear shot into the corridor: He so completely did not want to get caught coming out of this empty office, half-clothed and looking like hell. The upside to living at the compound was that you were surrounded by people who cared about you; the downside was that everybody had eyes and ears, and no one’s business was just their own.
When he didn’t hear voices or footsteps, he exploded out into the hall and started walking briskly, like he’d been somewhere for a good reason and was heading to his room for an equally important purpose. He had a feeling he’d gotten away with it when he hit the tunnel. Sure, he didn’t usually go shirtless, but a lot of the Brothers or males did when they were coming from the gym—nothing unusual.
And he really felt like he’d won the lottery when he stepped out from under the mansion’s grand staircase and got another good dose of empty-bowling-alley. The only problem was that, going by the sounds of china being cleared in the dining room, it must be later than he’d thought. He’d obviously missed First Meal—bad news for his head, but at least he had some protein bars in his room.
His luck ran out as he took the stairs up to the second floor. Standing in front of the closed doors to Wrath’s study, Qhuinn and John were dressed for fighting, their weapons strapped on, their bodies covered in black leather.
No way in hell was he looking at Qhuinn. Just having the guy in his peripheral vision was bad enough.
“What’s going on?” Blay asked.
We’ve got a meeting now, John signed. Or at least, we’re supposed to. Didn’t you get the text?
Shit, he had no idea where his phone was. His room? Hopefully.
“I’ll hit the shower and be right back.”
You might not have to rush. The Brothers have been sequestered for the last half hour. I don’t have any idea what’s going on.
Next to the guy, Qhuinn was rocking back and forth in his shitkickers, his weight shifting like he was on a walk even as he went nowhere.
“Five minutes,” Blay muttered. “That’s all I need.”
He hoped the Brotherhood would open those doors by then—the last thing he wanted was to get stuck passing time anywhere near Qhuinn.
Cursing as he went, Blay jogged down to his room. Usually he took his time getting ready, especially if Sax was in the mood, but this was going to be a wham-bam, thank you, ma—
As he opened his door, he froze.
What the…hell?
Duffels. On the bed. So many of them he couldn’t see more than an inch and a half of the king-size duvet—and he knew whose they were. Matching Guccis, in white with the navy blue logo and the navy blue and red cloth strapping—because according to Saxton, the traditional brown-on-brown with the red and green was “too obvious.”
Blay shut the door quietly. His first thought was, Holy shit, Saxton knew. Somehow, the guy knew what had happened in the training center.
The male in question came out of the bathroom with an armful of shampoo, conditioner, and product. He stopped dead.
“Hi,” Blay said. “Taking a vacation?”
After a tense moment, Saxton calmly came over, put his load down in a travel bag, and turned back around. As always, his beautiful blond hair was swept off his forehead in thick waves. And he was dressed perfectly, in another tweed suit with matching waistcoat, a red cravat and red pocket square adding just the right accent of color.
“I think you know what I’m going to say.” Saxton smiled sadly. “Because you’re far from stupid—just as I am.”
Blay went to sit down on the bed, but had to recalibrate because there was nowhere to put himself. He ended up on the chaise lounge, and, with a discreet lean to one side, he tucked the wadded shirt under the skirting. Out of sight. It was the least he could do.
God, was this really happening?
“I don’t want you to go,” Blay heard himself say roughly.
“I believe that.”
Blay looked across all those duffels. “Why now?”
He thought of the pair of them just the day before, under the sheets, having hard sex. They had been so close—although if he were brutally honest, maybe that had just been physically.
Take out the maybe.
“I’ve been fooling myself.” Saxton shook his head. “I thought I could keep going with you like this—but I can’t. It’s killing me.”
Blay closed his eyes. “I know I’ve been out a lot in the field—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
As Qhuinn took up all the space between them, Blay wanted to scream. But what good would that do: it appeared that he and Saxton had gotten to the same difficult corner at the same sorrowful moment.
His lover looked over the luggage. “I’ve just finished that assignment for Wrath. It’s a good time to make a break, move out and find another job—”
“Wait, so you’re leaving the king as well?” Blay frowned. “However things stand between us, you need to keep working for him. That is bigger than our relationship.”
Saxton’s eyes dipped down. “I suspect that is far easier for you to say.”
“Not true,” Blay countered grimly. “God, I’m so…sorry.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong—you need to know that I’m not angry at you, or bitter. You’ve always been honest, and I’ve always known that things were going to end like this. I just didn’t know the timeline—I didn’t know…until I reached the end. Which is now.”
Oh, fuck.
Even though he knew Saxton was right, Blay felt a compulsive need to fight for them. “Listen, I’ve been really distracted for the last week, and I’m sorry. But things have a way of regulating, and you and I will get back to normal—”
“I’m in love with you.”
Blay shut his mouth with a clap.
“So you see,” Saxton continued hoarsely, “it’s not that you have changed. It’s that I have—and I’m afraid my silly emotions have put us at quite a distance from each other.”
Blay surged to his feet and strode across the fine-napped carpet to the other male.
When he got to his destination, he was relieved to the point of tearing up that Saxton accepted his embrace. And as he held his first true lover against him, feeling that familiar difference in their heights and smelling that wonderful cologne, part of him wanted to debate this break up until they both gave in and kept trying.
But that wasn’t fair.
Like Saxton, he’d had the vague notion that things were going to end at some point. And like his lover, he was also surprised it was now.
That didn’t change the outcome, however.
Saxton stepped back. “I never meant to get emotionally involved.”
“I’m so sorry, I’m…I’m so sorry….” Shit, that was all that was coming out of his mouth. “I would give anything to be different. I wish I could…be different.”
“I know.” Saxton reached up and brushed a hand down the side of his face. “I forgive you—and you need to forgive yourself.”
Whatever, he wasn’t sure he could do that—especially as, at this moment, and as fucking usual, an emotional attachment he didn’t want and couldn’t change was yet again robbing him of something he wanted.
Qhuinn was a fucking curse to him, the guy really was.