by King, Wyatt
And special.
He makes me feel seen for the first time in my life.
“Right,” I say, willing myself not to start thrusting my hips against his leg. God, just a few simple words and a little attention from him make me lose every bit of self-control I have. “I’ll be waiting for you, then.”
“Perfect. I’ll see you tonight, beautiful.”
With a playful swat on the ass, he sends me on my way.
Oh my God, I’ve got it bad for him.
* * *
My phone is vibrating in my pocket as soon as I step into the foyer. God, just the sight of this suite still takes my breath away every time.
No matter how many times I pinch myself, I still feel like I’m living in a dream.
Best.
Dream.
Ever.
I fish the phone from my pocket and nearly fumble it in my hurry to answer. Hopefully it’s Garrick telling me he’s coming back early. Hopefully Jennings was so intimidated that he agreed to whatever Garrick wanted without putting up a fight.
Hopefully we can get naked while we wait for room service…
“Hey,” I say, breathless from the dirty thoughts that are starting to fill my head. “How did your meeting go?”
“What?” A voice that’s too sharp and annoyed to be Garrick’s snaps back at me. “What meeting? Dustin, it’s me.”
Oh my God.
“Dad?” I ask, even though there’s no mistaking his voice now. I recoil from the phone as if it’s turned into a snake, then double check the caller ID on the screen, just to verify that I’m not actually going crazy. “What do you want?”
The question tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop myself, but I don’t even try to apologize. Given how mean and uncaring my father was the last time we talked, I don’t feel like I owe him anything.
“I want you to come home,” he says, shocking me again for the second time in as many minutes. “I know you’re in New York, and I’ve already bought you a ticket. Your flight leaves in two hours, and I expect—”
“No,” I say, interrupting him as my surprise gives way to anger. “No, I’m not coming back there. Not by myself, anyway. I’m here with Garrick.”
“I know exactly where you are. And I know you’re with—with him.” He practically spits the last word, then I hear him take a deep breath. When he speaks again, I can tell that he’s straining to keep his tone in check. “Listen, Dusty… I want you to come home, son. Let’s not fight over the phone, okay?”
I don’t understand what he’s doing or why he’s trying to be nice now. After everything he said to me before?
Something is up, and I don’t trust that he’s just had a change of heart. I’m not even sure he has a heart at all anymore.
I know I should just hang up the phone, but my curiosity gets the best of me.
“Why?” I ask. “You told me before that you don’t ever want me to come back. You changed your mind today, or what? What’s going on, Dad?”
“I…” he hesitates, and I brace myself for another verbal onslaught like the last one I received. But it doesn’t come. Instead, his voice is quiet and withdrawn—almost apologetic—when he speaks again. “I regret saying that, son. I shouldn’t have said some of those things to you, but it was in the heat of the moment and you have to understand what it was like for me, walking in and seeing the two of you like… like that.”
For a moment, I’m almost ready to forgive and forget, to put everything behind us and make things better. Then I remember something else that he said—that he’s already bought a ticket for me to go home. He never intended to give me a choice in the matter.
He just assumed—just like he assumes now—that I’ll do what I’ve been told, because that’s the way it’s always been between us.
Not today, though.
Not anymore.
“No,” I repeat. “No, I can’t. I’m not going. I’m staying here with Garrick. I… I lo—”
“Jesus, Dustin, don’t be ridiculous. Open your eyes, son. Look around you. You think this is going to last?” He’s yelling now, and my brain is telling me to just hang up the phone, but my heart wants to hear what he has to say. “What do you think is going to happen when the press finds out about you and Garrick?”
“I…” I swallow hard. It isn’t something I’ve really considered. Sure, I know how it looks, but will the press actually care? “I don’t know. I don’t think—”
“That’s right,” he says, interrupting me. “You don’t think. You haven’t thought about any of this, have you? But I guarantee you that Garrick has thought about it. Why do you think he packed you up and got you the hell out of town when I found out about all of this? Hm?”
“No,” I say. “That’s not why.” But I’m not entirely sure, am I? Garrick doesn’t seem like he’s ashamed to be with me, but it’s all so new that I can’t really be sure. And it’s not like I have anything to compare it with. I don’t know how he normally acts—or how he’ll act back home, in his own town, around his friends and business associates. “He wanted us to get away because… because…”
Whatever.
It doesn’t matter.
I don’t have to explain myself to my dad—or to anyone else, for that matter. I know what Garrick has said to me, and how he treats me when we’re together. Those are the things that matter more than anything else.
Right?
“I just want you to think about what you’re doing,” Dad says. “That’s all I’m asking. Just think, Dustin. He’s twice your age—he’s my age, for God’s sake. He’s rich. He’s important. People know him. They talk about him. They watch every move he makes. And you’re his… what? Intern? Boy-toy? Secret fling? Do you really think he’s going to put everything he’s got on the line for you? For anyone? He’s ruthless. That’s how he got to where he is, son. I hope you can at least be objective enough to see that.”
“But he says he doesn’t care about those things,” I say, my voice so quiet that I have to clear my throat just to be heard. “He says he doesn’t give a damn about what other people think.”
“Of course he’s saying that now,” Dad replies. “And maybe he even means it—or thinks he means it. But are you really going to stand by and watch him go down with the ship once he starts getting torn apart in the press? Once his clients start leaving him because they don’t want to be associated with all the scandal? And don’t you think he might start to resent your relationship just a little once his whole life starts to fall apart? Haven’t you thought of these things, son?”
I hadn’t thought of any of those things.
And now that I’m being forced to think about them, I don’t know what to do. My hand is shaking as I hold the phone up to my ear, and I can feel tears starting to well up in my eyes.
“I don’t want any of that to happen,” I say, meaning it. “I never intended for any of this to happen, Dad. It just… things just… sort of got out of control.”
The last thing I want is for Garrick to get hurt—emotionally or financially. And even though he says none of that stuff matters, I know my dad is right. Garrick is a competitive man. He needs to be number one. He needs to be winning.
Getting savaged in the press for a fling with his nineteen year old intern is definitely not winning.
And losing clients? Losing money? Because of me?
That’s not what I want at all.
Especially when I’m the one asking him for a job. I can’t believe I’ve been so thoughtless.
“I know it feels like it’s out of control right now,” he says. “But it doesn’t have to be that way. Nobody knows about any of this yet. Nobody has to know about it.”
“What should I do?” I ask, already knowing what the answer is going to be. And I know it’s not going to be what I want to hear.
“You have two options,” he answers. “You can either come home and we can put this behind us—we don’t even need to speak about it again. Or you can stay there wit
h him until he realizes that this relationship will ruin him, and then get sent home anyway when he’s finished with you.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, those tears finally streaming down my cheeks.
“Okay,” I whisper into the phone. “Okay. I’ll come home.”
It’s not what I want to do. In fact, I hate saying the words out loud.
But it’s what I have to do.
I have to do it for myself. I have to do it for Garrick.
No matter what Garrick might say, no matter how much he might try to reassure me, I can’t sit back and let my love ruin him.
I just can’t.
For once, my dad is absolutely right.
I have to leave.
It’s time to go home.
9
Garrick
As I step off the elevator into the hotel’s penthouse suite, there’s only one thing on my mind.
Dusty.
Being apart from him, even for the afternoon, has been pure hell. The hardest part was knowing that he was right here the whole time, patiently waiting for me.
Now neither of us has to wait any longer.
“Babe,” I call out, tossing my briefcase onto the plush sofa in the sitting room. “I’m back. I’m sorry I had to leave you here alone all afternoon.”
I take a step toward the mini-bar, ready to reward myself for a long, productive day—but no. First I need to see my beautiful boy. Turning on my heel, I change directions and head for the bedroom.
I shove a hand back through my short hair. Jesus, how have I let myself fall for him—for anyone—so hard?
But the truth is that I didn’t let myself do anything. It just… happened.
Sort of like fate.
He walked into my office that first day, and everything that happened after that has felt like it was meant to be.
I’m halfway to the bedroom before I realize he hasn’t answered me. The suite is dark and quiet, and it didn’t occur to me until just now that he might be asleep.
Thank God for the thick carpet and even thicker walls to drown out my loud footsteps and voice. I’m really going to have to start being more considerate.
It’s not just me I have to worry about now. Dusty is a part of my world, and I want him to feel as appreciated and cared for—as loved—as I possibly can.
Except when I turn the corner and step through the doorway into the bedroom, he’s not there. The bed is perfectly made. The room is empty.
“Babe?” I call out again, doing my best to keep my voice calm, even though there’s a sudden knot of nerves and fear in the pit of my stomach that I can’t ignore. “Dusty, are you here?”
Something is wrong.
He should be here. He should be waiting for me, answering me.
I grab my phone from my pocket, but I don’t have any missed calls. No new texts. I dial his number as I walk from room to darkened room in the large suite, but there’s no sign of him. It’s like he was never here.
The phone rings and rings, and eventually goes to voicemail. I leave a quick message—again trying not to sound as worried as I’m feeling—and hang up just as I enter the bedroom again.
That feeling in the pit of my stomach is overpowering now, nauseating me to the point that I think I might be sick. I walk over to the closet and open it, my gut telling me things I’m not ready to try and comprehend.
All of the clothes I bought him are still there, but the few other things he brought with him are gone.
Gone.
What the fuck?
“What the fuck?” I say out loud, because this doesn’t feel real. This can’t be happening.
I stick out a hand to steady myself against the closet door frame. I feel like I might be sick. Or pass out. Or both.
I’m staring across the room at nothing in particular, mostly trying not to fall over, when I see something I missed before.
A piece of paper on the dresser.
It’s folded in half, and that knot in my stomach grows even tighter as I cross the room as quickly as I can.
I don’t want to read it. I’m scared of what it might say.
My hands are trembling as I unfold the piece of paper, and my throat closes up as I scan the first couple of lines.
Garrick,
I’m so sorry, but I have to go. I don’t want to complicate your life, and I know that you’re too sweet and too kind to tell me the truth—that it was never really going to work out between us. How could it?
At least now my dad will leave you alone. Please don’t be upset, and please don’t try to change my mind. I know this is for the best. I hope you’ll see it that way, too.
Thank you for everything. I can’t begin to tell you what these past few days have meant to me.
-Dusty
“No,” I say to myself, neatly folding the note and putting it into my pocket. “No. This isn’t…”
I exhale a breath that I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding and scrub a hand down my face.
How can this be happening? How can this be right?
My baby has left me. It doesn’t even make sense. What would make him think those things? What would make him think that he’s complicating my life?
The realization hits me like a ton of bricks, so hard that I have to reach out and steady myself again to keep my knees from buckling.
Brian.
That’s the only explanation. He’s poisoned my boy’s mind against me.
I reach for my phone again, not giving a single shit about the consequences of the call I’m about to make.
“Where is he?” I growl, as soon as the call connects.
“Don’t call this number thinking you’re going to demand things.” Brian’s voice is dry, but there’s a hint of mockery there, too. “You’d better hang up now, if you know what’s good for you.”
I’m shaking again, but for a completely different reason. A wave of rage is washing over me, and it’s taking everything I have to keep it in check.
“Where. Is. He?” I ask again. “Don’t fucking toy with me, Brian. I’ll fucking end you.”
“You’re not going to threaten me,” he snaps, the anger clear in his voice now, too. “And you’re not going to call here again, Garrick. Not for me or my son—who, by the way, is on a plane back home right now. To my house.”
“What have you done?” I ask, barely able to believe the words I’m hearing. “What kinds of lies have you told him? Did you threaten him?”
He laughs.
The fucker actually laughs.
“I was prepared to do that,” he says, finally. “If that was what it took to get him home, I was absolutely ready to threaten him or lie to him—whatever I needed to do. But in the end, all I had to tell him was the truth.”
“Whose truth?” I ask. “Your truth? Is that where he got that bullshit about complicating my life? I should have fucking known…” I’m so angry I can barely see straight. It’s probably a good thing that Brian is a thousand miles away from me right now, because all I want to do is put my fist—
“I’m saving him from your lies,” Brian says, cutting my fantasy short. “You’re going to get tired of him soon enough, just like you do with everyone you’ve ever dated. Or worse, you’ll throw him to the curb once the press finds out—and trust me, they’ll find out. And then what? He’s not strong like you. You’re going to break him and then I’ll have a broken loser of a son on my hands. I’m not going to let it happen.”
“You’re not worried about him.” The words are out of my mouth as soon as the realization hits me. “This is about you. This is about you being embarrassed. This is about you being inconvenienced. This is about your fucking life being complicated, isn’t it?” I can’t contain the anger anymore. “Isn’t it?” I yell, my grip so tight on the phone that it seriously might snap in half.
“He’s coming home,” Brian says again, his voice too calm in the face of my anger. “Don’t come looking for him. Don’t even think about him again. Or p
eople will start to find out. They will start to talk. And you will regret it.”
The line goes dead before I can respond, and I stare at my phone screen for several seconds in disbelief.
Not because of the threats. Those don’t surprise me at all.
Brian has always fought dirty—though it’s never been a problem for me, since he’s always been on my side in the past.
I just can’t believe he would manipulate his own son like this. And for what? To save face? To make sure Dusty follows the path Brian chooses?
Is losing control that scary for him?
Then for a moment, I understand. Yeah, it is that scary. Brian is a lot like me, and I’m scared out of my mind right now.
I’ve completely lost control, and it’s the worst feeling in the world.
But scared or not, there’s no way I’m letting him win. He’s not going to get the last word. He’s not going to dictate Dusty’s happiness—and he sure as hell isn’t going to dictate mine.
I’m going back home. I’m going to get Dusty.
I’m going to make him see just how much I want him, how much I need him.
How much I love him.
10
Dusty
There have been plenty of times when my old bedroom has felt like a prison cell, but never more than tonight.
I’ve never felt so trapped. Or so alone in the small bed that is nothing like the one I shared with Garrick.
Garrick.
Have I made the right decision?
My brain is telling me that I did what I needed to do. But if it really was the right thing, why does my heart hurt so much?
Dad put on a good show at the airport, even pulling me in for a hug when I got off the plane. But he made it clear on the drive back that he’s not interested in talking about why I left—or the fact that he’s the one who kicked me out in the first place.
Which is… fine, I guess.