“Thank you. It wasn’t a hate crime,” I clarified. “I don’t know where the reporter got that. I used to respect journalists. Now, so few of them do their homework, and fewer still can write objectively.”
“I’m sure it’s tough living in the media spotlight.” Steven squeezed my hand on the table. He was a gregarious, playful fellow, but beneath that fun exterior was a solid man with a kind heart. “But then you have to kinda expect it when you’re juggling rock stars and billionaires.”
“Steven,” Mark scolded, frowning.
“Ugh.” My nose wrinkled. “Shawna told you.”
“Of course she did,” Steven said. “Least she can do after not inviting me along to the concert. But don’t worry. She’s not a gossip. She won’t be telling anyone else.”
I nodded, having no anxiety about that. Shawna was good people, but it was still embarrassing having my boss know I’d kissed one man while dating another.
“Not that it would be a bad thing for Cross to get a taste of his own medicine,” Steven muttered.
I frowned, confused. Then I caught Mark’s sympathetic gaze.
I realized the gay newspaper wasn’t the only news they’d seen. They must have seen the photos of Gideon and Corinne, too. I felt my face flush with humiliation.
“He’ll get a taste,” I muttered. “If I have to cram it down his throat.”
Steven’s brows shot up, and then he laughed and patted my hand. “Get him, girl.”
*
I’d barely returned to my desk when my work phone rang.
“Mark Garrity’s office, Eva—”
“Why is it so damn difficult for you to follow orders?” Gideon asked harshly.
I just sat there, staring at the collage of photos he’d given me, pictures of us looking connected and in love.
“Eva?”
“What do you want from me, Gideon?” I asked quietly.
There was a moment of silence, then he exhaled. “Cary will be moved to your apartment this afternoon under the supervision of his doctor and a private nurse. He should be there when you get home.”
“Thank you.” Another stretch of quiet filled the line between us, but he didn’t hang up. Finally, I queried, “Are we done?”
The question had a double meaning. I wondered if he caught that or even cared.
“Angus will give you a ride home.”
My grip tightened on the phone. “Good-bye, Gideon.”
I hung up and got back to work.
*
I checked on Cary the minute I got home. His bed had been moved aside and propped vertically against the wall to make room for a hospital bed that he could adjust at will. He was asleep when I came in, his nurse sitting in a new recliner and reading an e-book. It was the same nurse I’d seen the first night in the hospital, the pretty and exotic-looking one who had trouble taking her eyes off Gideon.
I wondered when he’d spoken to her—if he’d done it himself or sent someone else to do it—and whether she’d agreed for the money or for Gideon or both.
The fact that I was too tired to care one way or another said a lot about my own disconnection. Maybe there were people out there whose love could survive anything, but mine was fragile. It needed to be nurtured in order to thrive and grow.
I took a long, hot shower, then crawled into bed. I pulled my tablet onto my lap and tried to continue my letter to Gideon. I wanted to express my thoughts and reservations in a mature and cogent way. I wanted to make it easy for him to understand my reactions to some of the things he did and said, so he could see things from my point of view.
In the end, I didn’t have the energy.
I’m not elaborating any more, I wrote instead, because if I keep going, I’ll beg. And if you don’t know me well enough to know that you’re hurting me, a letter isn’t going to fix our problems.
I’m desperate for you. I’m miserable without you. I think about the weekend, and the hours we spent together, and I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do to have you like that again. Instead, you’re spending time with HER, while I’m alone on my fourth night without you.