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Even if he was an asshole who’d let me down, and I would have preferred to hate him if I could.
“Why?” I heard myself ask, questioning not just Jacqueline but life for fucking me over as it always did.
“I have made some decisions about your grandfather’s business, and they affect you as well.”
“Does this have anything to do with Franklin’s failure as CEO?” I asked, my voice already resigned.
“That man is an absolute waste of sperm,” Jacqueline snipped like the bitch she was.
Still, I blinked, thrown off-balance by her blunt words.
“But no matter,” she continued, and I could imagine her waving a bejeweled hand. “Dinner. Next week. Don’t be late.”
I sighed heavily, rather than attempting to argue a fight I would never win.
She required one weekend. Two, possibly three days, when I hadn’t seen her or Devlin for months.
I’ll survive.
But my heart might not considering how I’d grieved the last time I’d seen Drake in the flesh.
“I’ll be there,” I agreed, my voice weighty even though a thrill of unwanted excitement flooded my bloodstream.
“You needn’t sound so put out, Preston,” Jacqueline chided in her usual snippy tone when displeased with me. “After all I’ve given you, you’re still an ungrateful, whiny brat.”
I was nothing of the sort, but what Jacqueline considered truth in her mind wouldn’t be overturned. “I’m sorry,” I stated on autopilot, since an apology would shut her up from going on and on about how much of a disappointment I was—same as Nancy had been to her.
Shoving aside thoughts of my real mom, the kindhearted person who would always hold residence in my heart, I focused on my condo’s view of downtown Boston. The capital’s dome glinted in the winter’s weak sunset, a golden color that suggested warmth regardless of the frigid temperatures outside that mirrored Jacqueline’s heart.
The sight of snow would have made the cold more bearable, but it had been a drab, lifeless winter.
“Seven,” she reminded me, and I agreed, trying for a more upbeat tone.
I hung up, cursed her as well as myself, and tossed my cell aside. My head tipped back, and I closed my eyes. The new couch I’d bought a few weeks earlier cradled my backside, the soft cushions hugging me. The plush piece of furniture wasn’t nearly as relaxing as Drake’s arms though.
He’d denied me the comfort I’d needed that he’d always willingly given without hesitation or question.
What had changed?
What had I done to make him look at me with distaste before turning away without a backward glance?
Drake had never left me wanting for affection and assurance during the years we’d lived together. He’d been there for me whether it was with ready fists he’d never had to use to fight my bullies or with muscular arms to tug me close when he insisted I soak his shirts with my tears.
I’d done so countless times in those three years we’d shared the second floor of the penthouse in Manhattan, and I missed that closeness with the only man to ever catch my eye.
He’d become aware of my hatred of elevators after that first day of school when we’d headed to the lobby where our driver waited for us. Once we’d been in the limo, far from the elevator, I’d explained how anxiety over small spaces left me gasping for breath. Add in the first day at a new school, and I’d been on the verge of panic.
From then until he’d moved home to Boston for college, if we were alone in an elevator—anywhere—Drake had sought out my clammy hand and clutched it tight, giving me something other than claustrophobic thoughts to focus on.
He’d noticed the other small things too. My slumped shoulders, tears in my eyes, my gaze on the floor…every shift in my demeanor that indicated I hurt inside. He’d been my hero, my protector, and he’d owned my heart when I’d been a young fourteen-year-old who’d hit puberty late enough I caught shit for that too in school.
But then he’d gone without a backward glance.
Knowing he would never be mine in the way I wished, I’d forced myself to give in to the closeted guy from college who had wanted to “rail my bubble butt” our junior year. He’d sauntered away from my apartment Jacqueline paid for, sated and smiling, while I’d been sore and unsure of how I felt about penetrative sex.
I’d never fantasized about topping. In all my daydreams featuring my stepbrother, I had been on the receiving end, but losing my virginity hadn’t even been enjoyable enough to make me hard.
I opened my eyes to glance around my condo. Bookshelves lined the walls not dominated by glass, at least ninety percent of the shelves full of signed paperback or hardcover special editions from my favorite gay romance authors. A few fantasy titles were tucked in here and there, but my tastes had changed once I’d learned how sex could actually be enjoyable.
