Seth reaches into his pocket and hands me a new one. “Leave him a message now.”
I nod and dial, hoping he answers, only to have the call go to voice mail. “Once again,” I say, “I’m calling you. I’m in trouble, which you don’t seem to care about. I’m leaving Denver. I’d like a little help here.” I end the call, emotion balling in my chest, with both men staring at me.
“You have help now,” Shane says softly, as if answering a question.
I look at him. “I know, but he’s my brother.”
“No one understands that statement more than me.”
“If he calls,” Seth says, dragging my attention back to him, “talk to him. Feed him the story about you leaving Denver. When the conversation ends, turn off the phone immediately and take the battery out. He can’t track it if it’s off and he can’t turn it back on himself if the battery is out.”
“Yes,” I say. “Okay.”
“We’re pulling your payroll off the books,” Seth continues. “That’ll make it look like you’ve left if he checks up on your taxes and new social security number. And do not say anything to either of us in texts or on the phone that you don’t want recorded or read. There are too many people rattling both of your cages to take that risk.”
“Understood,” I say, feeling sick to my stomach at the idea that my brother, the only person I thought I had in this world, could be dangerous to me and to Shane.
“I’m talking on any phone line about anything important to you or Shane or the company,” he presses.
“Understood,” I repeat, “and on that note, I’ll go upstairs now.”
Shane squeezes my hand and I face him again, finding concern in his gaze. “I’m tough, Shane. And I’m glad Seth doesn’t trust easily. It actually makes me feel safer.”
He gives a delayed nod, seeming to hesitate, but finally releases my hand. I turn and start walking, but I’ve made it to the side of Seth’s chair when he says, “You’re in good hands. I’m the best at what I do. Everyone Shane has working directly for him is the best.”
“I know,” I say. “It’s Shane.” I start walking again, and this time neither Shane nor Seth stop me. I pause at the bottom of the steps when my gaze catches on my bag sitting by the coatrack. I quickly divert, heft it over my shoulder, and head up the long row of stairs, the sound of Shane and Seth’s voices reaching me, and it’s not me they are talking about.
“No answer is unacceptable,” Shane snaps. “I need to know what is going on inside BP. We aren’t chasing our tails and playing shadow swords with my brother or Martina.”
“What are you suggesting?” Seth asks, and as I reach the last step I want to linger and listen in, but eavesdropping is a kind of betrayal that Shane and I don’t need between us. I’ll tell him I overheard and ask what is happening.
Entering the bedroom, I flip on the light, and for a moment, I just stare at the spacious, masculine room, the giant bed draped in brown in the center. Shane’s bed. My bed. Our bed. My lips curve and I cross the room, and entering the bathroom, I flip on the light to illuminate the sparkling white décor, before plopping my bag down on the counter. Unzipping it and craving structure and security, I take the liberty to claim parts of the sink, to set up my few makeup and hair-care products, the sight of them on Shane’s counter next to his items feeling pretty surreal about now.
Task complete, I scoop up the shopping bags beside the bathtub, along with my duffel, and, a bit overloaded, struggle my way through the bedroom to the closet. Dumping it all at the door, I survey Shane’s neatly organized closet, my stomach fluttering with the sight of his things, which will soon be next to my things. Well, the few things I have, which feels a little embarrassing right now, but somehow, not quite as hollow as it had just yesterday.
In all of this, I have found a man I care deeply for.
I walk forward and drag my hand down the row of neatly hung expensive suits, inhaling that raw masculine scent that is Shane everywhere around me, and considering where we were a few hours ago, it’s surreal. I turn and press my hands to my hips, standing in the center of the closet. Glancing around me, I decide this is his space, his world, and it’s best to allow him to invite me inside it in his own way. Still, I need to get my duffel out of the way and I pick a corner to neatly stack my clothing items and shoes. I do the same with the contents of the bags, then stuff the bags in the duffel. With some tiptoe action, I manage to shove the duffel on top of the empty shelf above.
Tasks complete and Shane’s still downstairs, so I head to the bathroom, strip, and step into the shower. Warm water bordering on hot flows over me, and unbidden, my mind starts to drift to that night again, and I picture myself standing at the sliding glass door of my stepfather’s house. I reach for the handle, pulling it back, and it’s like everything is in slow motion.
The door fully opens. The sound of my stepfather’s favorite Mozart compilation is playing in the background, the one I’ve come to hate, as it represents him. I dread seeing him because, of course, he will be arrogantly obnoxious. I inhale, and step into the kitchen. I shake myself before I see the blood. Before I see my brother standing there with red streaking his shirt and face.
The shower door opens and I yelp, only to be greeted by Shane’s low, sexy laughter and his hard, naked body.
“You scared me,” I reprimand him.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, folding me in his arms, and he is hard where I am soft, and strong in ways I wish I were not weak. He would face blood. “You’re obviously jumpy, because no one else would be joining you in the shower, which, by the way, I liked coming upstairs to. But what’s bothering you?”
I flatten my hand on his now damp chest. “That night. I hate thinking about that night and I hate that it rattles me so badly.”
“You might not have liked your stepfather, but he was the man who helped raise you. There is a grieving process you have to endure at some point.”
“I didn’t like him. He cheated on my mother. He talked down to us. He dragged my brother into the Geminis, and that led to this. But then I think I’m blaming him for his own death. I feel guilty for that.”
“I feel similar things about my father,” he admits. “I hate him and I love him and I don’t know how those two thing are possible to feel at the same time. Ironically, in this, I know Derek and I are the same. It’s our only middle ground, but I can’t find a way to make that bring us together. In fact, I can’t bring us together and I’m done trying.”
“Shane, he’s still your brother. Are you sure?”
“I’ve tried. I’m done. It’s war between me and Derek.”
“I take it your problem tonight got bigger.”
“No. It’s simply unsolved and unresolved, because at the root of it is the battle for power between myself and Derek, which I can’t deny, to save this company and my family.”