Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 174632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
“We give you every opportunity, don’t we, Jameson? You have so much when others have so little. And yet, you squander it. All we want is to make you the best you can be. Yet, you’d rather play in the mud with the help.”
“I’m s-sorry, Father.”
“Don’t stutter,” his father snapped.
He bit his lip, then stopped doing that.
Sometimes, it seemed like everything he did upset his father.
“All we want is for you to grow up to be something great. We’re trying to help you. Can’t you see that? And be a little grateful?”
“I’m sorry, Father. I’ll do better.”
His father sighed. “I’m not sure I believe that. So, as your father, it’s my job to help you. To that end, Carter will be leaving—”
“What! No!”
The words burst out of him without thought. And he desperately wished them back as his father’s face tightened.
“You did this. All you had to do was finish up your schoolwork. But you let that boy influence you. That boy is nothing, and you are a St. Bede! You do not play in the mud!”
Jameson flinched as his father’s voice grew louder. A sniffle escaped him.
“It’s your fault his mother lost her job. Now, you might want to remember that the next time you think of disobeying me.”
Tears welled in his eyes.
His fault. Carter was gone. His only friend.
“Oh, and I’ve asked my secretary to start looking into boarding schools for you. I think it’s time that you learned how to look after yourself.”
“Yes, Father.”
“You may leave.”
Another sniffle left him as he walked through the door.
“And stop snivelling. It’s time you grew up. You’re seven now, boy.”
Jameson woke up with a gasp.
The memory wasn’t one of his worst. But for some reason, it was the one that returned time and again. Sometimes, he wondered where Carter was now.
If he even remembered him.
Jameson shook his head and climbed from the bed. He’d fallen into bed after getting home from his shift. He hadn’t even showered. Probably a good thing since now he was coated in sweat anyway.
His head thumped as he got out of bed and walked over to the curtains, pulling them back. It was late afternoon.
And he had nothing to do for the next four days.
He’d been forced to take some time off after working too many days in a row.
What a joke. He didn’t need time off. Days of doing nothing meant he had too much time to think.
And spending time in his head wasn’t restful or fun.
Moving out to the living room, he poured himself a drink and looked around his apartment.
How had he never noticed before how sparse and empty it was?
A bit like your life.
Bloody hell.
Sitting on the leather sofa, he stared out at the view of the city below him and he took a sip of his Scotch.
Fatigue flooded him. A fatigue that wasn’t due to the twelve-hour shift he’d just worked. It wasn’t because he hadn’t had a holiday in over a year.
Nope, this was life fatigue.
He closed his eyes for a long moment as he felt the darkness pressing in. A heaviness on his chest that made it hard to breathe. A persistent gray filter over everywhere he looked. It invaded his limbs, making it hard for him to move them.
And now it was affecting his moods. Making it hard for him to show empathy, caring, and even compassion.
All things he needed in his job.
Just as well he was such a good fucking actor. Years of his parents making him smile in public when behind closed doors everything was complete and utter bullshit.
Yeah. He was pretty sure that no one had any idea.
A set of worried hazel eyes invaded his memory.
“Are you all right?”
When was the last time someone had asked him that? Had cared how he was doing?
Who looks after you while you’re taking care of everyone else?
He hadn’t had anyone show him such empathy or understanding in a long time.
And what had he done? Upset her. She clearly wasn’t ready to speak about her uncle’s care. He could have given her more time. He could have taken her somewhere more pleasant than the hospital cafeteria to talk about it.
You hurt her.
And he fucking hated himself for it.
Swinging his arm up, he threw the glass, watching it smash against the tile floor.
It didn’t ease his self-hatred, though.
He rubbed at his chest. He’d felt things around her. Attraction, interest, worry, concern.
Happiness.
Did he really want this? Want her?
Yeah. He did.
The question was . . . what was he going to do about it? Was he going to take things further?
She belongs to Ian and Jack.
But she’s also interested in you. She stares at you like you’re the best thing she’s ever seen.
Did he want to share her? Did he want to do this again? And would Ian and Jack consider sharing her with him?