Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Last time I’d been on my bed, so this time I took my clothes off and sat in the desk chair. I plucked my lube out of the locked drawer in my dresser and made sure the camera was aimed just right to show me from the chest down.
My dick was already rising to the occasion at just the thought of what I was about to do. I slicked up my hand, turned the camera on, wrapped a fist around my swollen cock, and jerked thinking about the pretty man with the bad attitude and sad eyes.
CHAPTER THREE
Emerson
“How are you doing?” Charles asked. He called at least once a week, oftentimes more. He’d been the only person to stick by me when everything had gone down—or at least, one of the only ones who actually gave a shit. Some had offered great lip service, or talked to me so they’d have a story to share or to try and work through whether I was innocent or not. Charles hadn’t doubted me once. I couldn’t quite say why. There were times I’d even doubted myself, thought maybe I’d somehow blocked it out. But I hadn’t. I was a lot of things, but a murderer wasn’t one of them. Not in the traditional sense of the word. I was guilty of Daniel’s death in other ways.
“I’m the exact same as I was when we spoke a few days ago,” I told Charles. “Nothing has changed. That’s the point.” I didn’t want to be around people anymore. Hell, half the time, I wasn’t sure I knew how. I’d always been a bit of an asshole, and now it was even worse. Like the other day, the way I’d treated Sam. I could have found a better way to tell him I wasn’t interested in whatever it was he wanted from me—friendship, sex, or even just casual, polite conversation—but instead I’d been a dick. He was a sweet kid and didn’t deserve that, but I was a mess. I was miserable. I didn’t have anything to offer anyone anymore.
“I’m pretty sure you’re even grumpier than you were before, so I guess that’s something.”
“Ha-ha.” I was grateful I had Charles, knew I should find a way to tell him that, but the words were lost to me. When I’d called to tell him Daniel had died, he’d been on the first plane back from London. He’d left a conference where he was the keynote speaker, he’d left a man he’d been dating at the time, and came back to New York to support me. Charles had lost friends because of me, as well as said boyfriend, but his support never wavered. If I were a better man, I’d thank him for those things instead of pushing him away. But I did everything not to let myself feel anymore, not to let myself have anything.
“Have you heard from Daniel’s parents?” His question was both knowing and unsure. Charles technically knew what the answer would be. I’d tried to talk to them before the trial, and once after, tried to tell them I’d cared about him, that I never would have hurt Daniel, but they didn’t believe me. In the four years we had been together, I might not have been able to give him what he’d needed, but I never would have hurt him. I hated myself for not being who Daniel had needed me to be. All I had cared about was my business, my status, money, and in that, I hadn’t given him the marriage he’d wanted, the children.
“They believe I murdered their son, Charles. What do you think?” We hadn’t spoken since the trial, but Charles liked to believe they would come around.
“They know you didn’t lay a hand on him. They’re just hurting, and you’re the easiest person to blame.” When I didn’t answer right away, he added, “It’s not your fault.”
“So you’ve told me, but if I hadn’t gone out, if I’d stayed home the way he wanted, maybe he would be alive. And if I’d gone into the bedroom to talk to him rather than avoiding him after the fight and sleeping on the couch, I might have been able to save him.”
“Or maybe you’d both be dead.”
Maybe that would have been for the best. “I should go.”
“Real busy, are you? So much to do while you’re hiding away in that small town not talking to anyone?”
“Yes.”
“Bentley.”
I sighed. “I don’t know how to get past it, how to forget it.” And I didn’t think I deserved to move on.
“I know. I’m sorry if I’m being a dick. I just worry about you.” I knew he did. Charles had lost his brother not long before we met. They’d been close, and one night, Charles got drunk and told me I reminded him of Paul. We were the same age, but sometimes I thought Charles felt like he was my big brother and it was his job to look out for me. Plus, he knew I didn’t have anyone else.