“Did they know who you were?”
He exhales loudly. “Yes, but they turned me away. Said my mother’s death was due to all the bad decisions she’d made. That she was dead to them years before her actual death. That I never existed in their eyes.”
“My god.” I cover my mouth, struggling to understand how anyone could say that, especially to their own blood. No wonder he has trouble accepting love.
“I had a lot of problems, Guinevere. A lot. I battled depression, anxiety, along with a slew of other things. After they said that to me, I started to think maybe it would be better if I didn’t exist.”
Tears well in my eyes at the pain I hear. I squeeze him tighter, reveling in his warmth, reminding myself he is alive. I can’t imagine a world without Julian in it.
“I never went back to my foster home that night. I just walked and walked. Hours passed as I tried to think who would care if I weren’t alive. I couldn’t think of a single person…” He trails off, his voice wavering before he clears his throat and continues.
“As I crossed the George Washington, I came to a stop. I remember standing there, looking at the Hudson swirling below, wondering if I could actually do it, if I could really jump. I kept wondering if it would hurt, if dying would be painful. Regardless, I knew it would be nothing compared to the pain I lived with every day.
“I was about to hoist myself over the railing when I heard someone say, ‘The bravest thing I’ve ever done is continue to live when I wanted to die.’ It stopped me cold. I looked to my right. Mr. Price stood a few feet from me. And that’s exactly where he remained for the next hour, talking to me about everything and nothing. By the time the sun rose, I was no longer interested in jumping. But that wasn’t enough for him. He made a phone call and got me in to see his therapist, the man who helped him with his own depression after his youngest son had jumped from that same bridge years before.”
“Oh, my god.”
“That’s why he was out there. It was the anniversary of his death, so when he saw me in the same place, he felt compelled to save me. And that’s exactly what he did. He was the first person to take a genuine interest in me. Everyone else only did because they were getting paid to do so. But not Mr. Price. He had nothing to gain, yet he still cared. Not only did he get me the help I needed, he encouraged me to focus on school. He told me if I graduated, he’d pay for college. Before then, I never put any effort into my education. By the time college rolled around, I’d no longer be considered a ward of the state and would be on my own. Why bother studying when I couldn’t afford college? But Mr. Price did something no one else had. He made me see I had potential outside my life circumstances.”
“You went to SUNY, right?”
“Not the typical Ivy League school you hear most successful men attend, but that was an accomplishment for me in and of itself. Once Mr. Price offered to fund my college education, I buckled down and raised my grades. Having a great therapist helped.
“After I turned eighteen, Mr. Price helped me find an affordable apartment near campus. He even offered me an entry-level job at his company to earn money. He wanted me to learn how to take care of myself, how to budget and pay bills. With him, everything was a lesson. Yes, he had more money than I could even wrap my head around, so he wouldn’t miss a measly $800 a month that was the rent on my studio apartment. It wasn’t about the money. It was about teaching me to live on what I made.”
“My parents did the same. When I got my license, they made me get a job so I could pay for car insurance. I had to give them $20 every week. They wanted me to understand that everything has a cost, that we have to work for things we want.”
“And that’s what Mr. Price taught me. The life lessons he shared with me were more valuable than anything I learned in school.”
“So you remained close, even in college?”
“We did. Every Sunday, he invited me to his place in Manhattan…” He looks around. “Here, actually,” he adds with a smile. His brows scrunch in contemplation. “It’s funny, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“When he first passed and I inherited everything from him, I still called this his place. I thought I always would.”
“I’m sure he’d want you to think of it as your place, don’t you?”
He pulls his lips between his teeth. “I suppose.”
“So… Sundays?”
“Right. Every Sunday, I came over here and Camille would cook us dinner. I often found myself hating to leave. He shared his story with me, how his success was due to simply being in the right place at the right time. He told me about his wife and children. His wife died from breast cancer ten years earlier, just a few months after he lost his son to depression. She was the glue that held the family together. Once she passed, his kids drifted away, leaving him mostly alone, except when they needed money.”
“That’s so sad.”
“I guess you could say we both needed each other.”
“He sounds like a really good man.”
“I owe him everything.” He shifts to his side, his hands cupping my cheeks as he stares intently at me. “Just like I now owe you everything.”
I swallow hard. “Me?”
He slowly nods as he brings his lips to mine. “Yes, Guinevere. Mr. Price showed me I was deserving of love, but he never did what you did. He couldn’t.”
“And what’s that?”
I feel his lips turn into a smile. “You taught me how to love. If you never did what you did, if you never had the balls to call me out on my shit, I doubt I’d be here, that we’d be here.” He covers my mouth with his as he pushes me onto my back. “And I really like being here with you.”
His deep kiss leaves me breathless, a panting bundle of hormones. When he moves to the crook of my neck, I moan, closing my eyes, relishing in the roughness of his day-old scruff against my skin. I bring my hands up to his back, digging my fingers into the flesh, my nerve endings firing as he travels down my body.
“Are you only using me for sex?” I breathe.
“Never,” he croons. “Although I really like having sex. But it’s not just sex with you.” His lips circle around my nipple, his tongue torturous as he tastes me. “It never was. It never will be.”
I throw my head back, my hand moving to his scalp. My fingers dig into his hair, guiding him as he worships me in a way only he can. “Never.”
“Never.” He flicks his eyes to mine. I grin deviously as I place my hands on his broad shoulders and push him down my body. “Can I help you with something, Miss Fitzgerald?” His voice is playful and coy. As much as I love learning about his past, I love this side of him more. The flirtatious man I found him to be during our time together.
“You know there is.” Spreading my legs, I prop my feet on the bed.
“And what would that be?” He blows out a long breath as he settles between my thighs, the warmth driving me wild.
“Your mouth on me.”
“Anything for you, baby doll.”
I brace for his tongue to work the magic it always does when a loud ringing cuts through the room.
Julian stiffens, his eyes widening as he remains motionless for several seconds. This isn’t the first time a phone’s rung when we were about to go at it, but this ring… It’s not coming from either of our phones. It’s coming from down the hall.
“Ignore it,” I whisper, running my hands through his hair. That’s normally all the encouragement it would take. Not this time. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, visibly torn about what to do. Then he sighs.