Derek’s lips curled a little. “Maybe the kid shouldn’t have slept with the enemy, then.”
Shawn chuckled. “You know I don’t like Caldwell, either, but now I think Andrew might be right. Maybe talking honestly and apologizing would actually work.” Noticing Derek’s grimace, Shawn chuckled again and pecked him on the stubbled cheek. “I know, I know: you have an allergy to apologizing and communicating your honest thoughts, but don’t be a child, Derek.”
The unimpressed look Derek shot him made him smile. “Look,” Shawn said. “I know that… I know the subject isn’t an easy one for you, with your father and all, but this is a situation that really can be fixed with a simple conversation. I talked to Miles today. He says he can make Caldwell listen to what you have to say. It will be—”
“Fine,” Derek said testily. “Even if I talk to Caldwell, what do I need Andrew for?”
“Because he’s an impartial party. He was there when you broke the engagement, and with your father and sister gone, he’s the only person alive who knows why it happened, and everyone knows Andrew isn’t exactly your fan so he won’t lie about it. Caldwell will believe him.”
Derek rubbed his forehead with his knuckles, looking like he was actually considering it, thank fuck.
“You’re forgetting something,” he said at last. “Andrew isn’t in any state to be useful. He’s little better than a walking corpse.”
Shawn grimaced. That was a little bit harsh, but unfortunately, not really inaccurate.
He had never exactly liked Andrew after the less-than-stellar first impression he’d gotten all those years ago, but seeing him moving around listlessly with a vacant expression was highly unsettling. The puzzling part was, Andrew seemed to have been getting better—he definitely seemed more put together at the lunch with Derek’s lawyer a few months ago. Now he was much worse. Disinterested. Dejected. Miserable. Unwilling to talk to people. The only reason Shawn saw him at all was because he’d insisted that Andrew move back into their house when they found out he had still been living at a hotel. It had surprised him at the time that Andrew hadn’t put up much of a fight, but by now Shawn knew better: the guy simply wasn’t present enough to care.
“He’s depressed,” Shawn said. “Vivian’s death—”
Derek scoffed. “Don’t be naive. It’s not about Vivian—at least not only.”
Shawn looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”
“McCall.”
Frowning, Shawn said, “Logan McCall? What about him?”
“Andrew tried to make it seem as though they were friends, but their body language wasn’t that of friends.”
Shawn’s mouth fell open. “What? You mean Andrew and Logan—”
“Probably fucked, yes.” Derek gave a short laugh. “Two healthy men isolated on an island for nearly a year, frustrated and stressed. Are you really surprised?”
Shawn shook his head, his mind reeling. He suddenly remembered the strange noises he’d overheard when he’d called Andrew months ago. They’d almost sounded like… kissing. He’d been confused at the time, but he’d thought that it was the TV in Andrew’s room.
“But Andrew is—”
“Straight?” Derek said dryly. “I recall you being straight, too.”
“Homophobic,” Shawn finished, giving him an unimpressed look.
Derek hummed thoughtfully. “He’s always been so outspoken about it… You know, it’s always made me wonder if he was overcompensating. Either way, he and McCall had the body language of lovers. I’m pretty sure he was holding McCall’s hand under the table.”
Shawn looked at him skeptically. He couldn’t imagine Andrew—the bigoted asshole Andrew—holding a man’s hand. “Are you saying he’s moping because of Logan?”
Derek shrugged. “He seemed fine when McCall was around. The next time we saw him, McCall was nowhere to be seen and he looked like a depressed mess.”
“You’re reaching,” Shawn said, still skeptical.
Derek smiled at him, his dark eyes full of amusement. “Your gaydar is just shit, Wyatt.”
“Rutledge,” Shawn corrected with a grin before kissing him. Soon enough, all thoughts about Andrew completely left his mind.
There was only Derek.
***
Rebecca Kennett was annoyed. Annoyed, displeased, and worried.
There was something wrong with her nephew.
His apathy wasn’t normal. She had thought his depression was caused by his wife’s death and it would pass soon enough, but Andrew wasn’t getting better. No, he’d been getting worse. He seemed to have completely lost his drive, his ambition—and sometimes she had the disturbing thought that he had lost his will to live.
It scared her.
Rebecca wasn’t an affectionate woman—she didn’t really know how to show affection—but it didn’t mean she didn’t care for the boy. She may not have given birth to him, but she had raised him since he was a scrawny three-year-old. She had given up her personal life for him, her ambitions and dreams. The ungrateful boy had no right to make her worry so much.
After Andrew failed to turn up at her house on Christmas and then missed her birthday—something he had never done before—Rebecca had had enough.
She overcame her distaste and went looking for him at the Rutledges’ mansion. She had little doubt that Andrew had chosen this place because he knew how much she disliked those people. Well, the stupid boy had underestimated the lengths she was willing to go to for him. She even managed a polite conversation with Shawn Rutledge before he finally led her to Andrew’s room.
“I really hope you can help him,” he said. “He’s freaking me out. He hasn’t left his room for days.”
Rebecca pursed her lips and gave a tight nod.
She entered the room.
The first thing that hit her was the smell—a pungent combination of alcohol, dried vomit, and body odor.
Grimacing in distaste, Rebecca walked to the bed and glared at the man in it. “I have never been more disappointed in my life.”
Andrew focused his glassy eyes on her. “Auntie!” he slurred. “Sorry for not getting up for you. Did you want something from me?”
“You’re pathetic,” Rebecca said bitingly. “What is the meaning of this? Why are you drunk in the middle of the day?”
Andrew took a sip from his bottle of vodka.“Why not? Not like anyone cares.”
I do, she nearly snapped at him.
She didn’t say it. Trying to reason with drunk men was useless.
Rebecca stepped closer and tugged the bottle out of his hand. “You will stop drinking at once. You will take a shower and shave. You will then go downstairs and eat. After that, I’m taking you to a therapist.”
Andrew laughed harshly. “Not going to any therapists. Charlatans, they are.” He laughed again. “I’m talking like Yoda now, huh.”
“You’re not amusing. Get up.”
Andrew didn’t move. He stared at her with sudden seriousness in his gaze, his smile gone. He seemed sober all of a sudden. “Why do you care?” he said. “You don’t, not really.”
Rebecca glared at him. “Don’t tell me what I do or don’t feel, boy. Get up. Now.”
A smile curled Andrew’s lips. There was something bitter about it. Something sour. “If I told you the truth, you’d stop caring very fast, Auntie.”
“I’m losing my patience, Andrew—”
“I had another man’s dick up my ass. I sucked a dick and loved it.”
She stared at him.
He stared back at her, something defiant, hard, and broken in his gaze.
Rebecca said, “Get up and take a shower.”
He blinked, confusion written all over his face.
She would have laughed if there were anything amusing about the situation. Did he think her an idiot? Did he think she hadn’t noticed the way he had looked at that man?
“What?” he said in a small voice, sounding very much like the little boy he’d once been.
She looked away for a moment. “Your sexual experiments, however ill-advised they may be, don’t interest me. Now get up.”
He stared at her. “What if… What if I told you that it isn’t just an experiment?”
She pursed her lips tightly. She didn’t want to have this conversation. She had hoped they would never need to have this conversation. “If you’re trying to say that you’re obsessed with that man, don’t waste your time. I’m not blind. But it will pass. It’s a product of your enforced closeness on that island; that’s all. It’s understandable that you’re confused. You just miss your wife, Andrew.”
He looked away and stared at the ceiling blankly. “Confused. Right.”
“It’s of no relevance. Pull yourself together. Your wife was an amazing woman, but she’s gone. You’re not. Now stop being so pathetic and get up.” She half-regretted her harsh words as soon as she said them, but she’d never been good at showing affection, no matter how much she cared. Giving comfort had never been Rebecca’s strong point—too much stored bitterness of her own to carry around; never mind anyone else’s pain.
He got up.
Watching him sway on his feet made her heart clench. How had they come to this? He’d always been such a good, smart boy. She’d always taught him to be as self-sufficient as she was. Had she failed? Where had she gone wrong? He shouldn’t have been such a mess after losing his wife. Millions of men lost their spouses and went on with their lives. Was this the survivor’s guilt?
Unless… unless this was about more than just Vivian. Could he need someone to love him to feel his own worth?
The thought was highly unsettling, but it refused to disappear, no matter how much she pushed it away.
“Andrew,” she said when he finally reached the door.
He paused, his hand on the door handle.
“I do care for you,” she said stiffly. “I love you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. You do know that, right?”
He turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder.
His blue-green eyes were glistening as he nodded.
Chapter 23
It was the middle of February when Andrew woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside the window.
He listened to it for a while before realizing that something had changed. Gone was the numbness, the feeling of wrongness on the inside that he’d been carrying for months.
He lay in the bed he’d shared with Vivian for nearly a decade, listening to himself. The mattress wasn’t too soft. The sheets didn’t feel too smooth. The sun filtering through the curtains illuminated the room in a soft glow, and it wasn’t an annoyance. Andrew felt… okay.
He was okay.
He wasn’t sure why. Maybe talking to the therapist his aunt had forced on him really was helping, or maybe his aunt trying to show him affection in her own stilted, awkward way was the reason he felt better. Or maybe it was true that time healed everything. Or maybe it was a combination of those things. Either way, he felt different, in a good way.
Andrew sat up slowly, still half-dreading that the familiar depression and disconnect would come back.
But nothing happened.
He was still okay.
A slow, uncertain smile curled his lips.
Andrew got out of the bed and opened the curtains, and then opened the window, allowing the sun to touch his face. It was warm.
He laughed, just because he could.
He felt warm, for the first time in months.
***
The first thing he did was go to his barber and have his wild curls trimmed. It was a little strange to see himself look like his old self after such a long time, but it wasn’t a bad feeling.
He was finally moving on. He was leaving the island behind. It was… It was a good thing.
Andrew left the barber with a spring in his step.
The people on the busy sidewalk kept bumping into him, but he didn’t mind. He no longer felt like an alien among them. He finally felt like he was one of them, maybe. There was still some discomfort from being around so many people, but it was nothing too bad. He felt like he could get used to it.
He really was okay.
***
His positive attitude lasted.
Even the meeting between Caldwell and Derek that took place a few days later didn’t manage to ruin it. Andrew found himself feeling surprisingly patient as he mediated between them.
But fuck, why were all rich, powerful men such asses? Listening to Derek stiffly explaining himself was aggravating. Encouraging him to clarify and clarifying things for him whenever Derek refused to was beyond aggravating. It was like pulling teeth. Caldwell’s cold, dismissive attitude was just as aggravating. Andrew was pretty proud of himself for managing not to snap at either of them.
When the excruciating meeting was finally over and Caldwell and Derek had agreed to a tentative truce, Andrew felt like it was his personal accomplishment. It surely wasn’t thanks to Derek. Andrew was the one who had ended up doing most of the explaining and apologizing, until the ice in Caldwell’s eyes finally thawed. It really felt like a personal win.
Never mind that he didn’t actually win anything: Caldwell would remain the CEO of both companies, so strictly speaking, Andrew wasn’t getting his job back. That said, he would be the COO and run Rutledge Enterprises on a day-to-day basis, so effectively, he got the job back—just without all the perks of officially being the boss. Although Caldwell would still be the CEO, he’d be taking a step back from business for his family for a while. Apparently he wanted to spend more time with his son—the poor kid needed it after having his dad in a coma for months. Andrew and Raffaele Ferrara were going to have to take on Caldwell’s responsibilities in Rutledge Enterprises and the Caldwell Group respectively, with Caldwell attending only the most important meetings.
Surprisingly, Andrew didn’t mind the solution.
Or maybe it wasn’t all that surprising. He’d never wanted power for the sake of it. He’d hated that he had been overlooked by the old Rutledge in favor of his estranged son, had hated feeling like a toy discarded in favor of a new one—and that had been pretty much it. He had enjoyed being the CEO, enjoyed feeling necessary and having his employees look up at him with admiration. He would still have that. And at the end of the day, Derek and Caldwell had chosen him to run the company. They trusted him. It was enough.
So Andrew was in a pretty damn good mood as he left Caldwell’s office. Derek had left a while ago while Andrew had stayed to discuss practicalities with Caldwell, but they were finally done. He could go home and—
He collided with another guy outside the office, hard.
“Bloody hell—sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” said the guy. He was young and handsome, and he had a distinct British accent.
“It’s fine,” Andrew said, still feeling in a good enough mood to be charitable. He was also pleased that he didn’t feel uncomfortable with an unfamiliar person in his personal space.
The guy smiled and held out his hand. “I’m Miles. You work for Ian?”
Andrew shook it. “Andrew Reyes.” It took him a moment to register the question. Right. He did work for Ian Caldwell now, though it was a little surprising that such a young guy was referring to the CEO with such familiarity. “I’ve worked for this company for a decade,” he said, studying the guy for a moment and not recognizing him at all. “You must be new?”
Miles shook his head with a laugh. “Oh, I don’t work here—not anymore, at least.” He paused, and then said, blushing a little, “I’m Ian’s boyfriend.”
Andrew stared.
Part of him, the part that could think rationally, vaguely recalled hearing Shawn and Derek mentioning someone named Miles, but he hadn’t been interested enough to care at the time.
“Oh,” he said. “I thought…”
Miles smiled crookedly. “You thought Ian was straight,” he stated, pulling a funny face. “We get that a lot.” His gaze became sharper. “
Is that a problem?”
“No,” Andrew said after a moment. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
Miles nodded, his expression softening again. “Okay, see you around, then,” he said with a smile before striding into the office. He pushed the door closed, but it didn’t shut all the way.
Andrew didn’t intend to eavesdrop. He was simply standing there, feeling frozen, as he listened to the couple inside the office. There was some laughter, Caldwell’s cold voice sounding noticeably warmer, and then there was the sound of kissing. A soft moan.
“Mmm, I missed you,” Miles said, followed by more kissing sounds.
Andrew bit his bottom lip hard, staring at the opposite wall unseeingly.
“It’s been just a few hours,” Caldwell said with a laugh before his voice became serious. “How was it?”
“It was… okay. A little awkward, but better than I expected. Your sister even smiled at me by the end of the lunch. Well, almost smiled, but I take it as a win. Baby steps. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
Caldwell sighed. “You must regret leaving the UK for this shit.”
“I didn’t leave the UK for this shit.” Miles’s voice was soft. “I left it for you, but it doesn’t make me some kind of self-sacrificing martyr. It was actually a pretty selfish decision. I want to be with you because you make me happy. Very selfish, isn’t it?”
Caldwell chuckled, and then there were more sounds of kissing.
Andrew slowly moved away.
His chest felt tight. Achy.
I want to be with you because you make me happy.
Such simple words, but they hurt.
The ache in his chest aside, it wasn’t pleasant to realize that he’d been lying to himself. He felt foolish now. Delusional. He had been so determined to get his old life back that he had somehow failed to realize that it may not have been possible at all, that he may not have been the same person at all.
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