Page 20 of Five Days

Same as always, Callum cared for me, untangling my foot that had somehow gotten wrapped up in the top sheet as I grabbed my cell off the bedside table.

Eight-thirty.

“Shit,” I muttered, a burning desire to get my ass ready and out the door taking over my brain.

“I owe you one!” I shot over my shoulder while rushing to the bathroom, my morning wood leading the way.

Not sure how shit would go down between me and Zack, I cleaned myself out rather than empty my balls. You know, just in case. That choice could bite me in the ass. I might end up with a raging hard-on distracting me while talking to Zack, but at least we would be at a table that would hide the proof of the way my body still wanted him after all these years.

How much would I have to share in order to gain forgiveness? Was he aware of what he’d meant to me when we were kids? Had he noticed only he had ever given me the time of day? That he was the one person in my life I could rely on?

Yes, I’d behaved badly the night he’d left our home, but I’d been sure he felt the same about me as I did him.

His rejection had stung, had triggered what I learned later was fear from childhood trauma thanks to parents too busy to give me attention—good or otherwise.

I’d fucked up back then.

But this time I would do everything right, no matter the cost.

Chapter 8

Callum

Wishful thinking had my brain believing Landon had looked at me with something more in his gaze as we’d been tangled up together. An awakening of what I’d felt for him since day one. The possibility of exploration and eventual satisfaction.

I’d been tempted to do more than pull him against my side, but that action had startled him into some revelation. Rather than pushing for more or overcrowding his already filled head with too many new feelings, I focused on our reason for being on a tropical island.

So like an idiot, I’d opened my mouth and given him a bit of information that would light him up. I just hadn’t considered the idea of breakfast with Zack would rip Landon from my arms as though I was disposable. That his hard-on against my thigh was exactly what I’d reasoned it away as. With how quickly he’d attempted to escape the bed to get ready to meet Zack, I realized that his body’s supposed response to being in close proximity to me had meant nothing.

Heart heavy where I lay by myself, I pressed my palms against my face, exhaling slowly until my lungs completely emptied and burned.

Why did love have to hurt so damned badly?

In fairy tales and romance books, his especially, everything was rainbows and rose-colored glasses. Fluttering in the chest and breathless anticipation.

Regardless of the pain, my dick still ached to burrow inside Landon’s body and claim him as my own. I longed for everything with Landon that he wanted with Zack.

Fucking Zack.

“Goddamn,” I muttered as my dick bucked against my briefs at the memory of the escort.

What situation had I gotten myself into? I loved Landon, but something about Zack called to me and not like a gentle whisper on the breeze. We were talking a shrieking wind with hurricane force, laying waste to my existence.

His words from the night before about sexual assault and going to jail had hit me even harder though.

Memories had slammed into me like a foot to the sternum, breath-stealing and staggering. And even though the trauma from my own past strengthened my resolve to nurture Landon, I couldn’t help but feel ashamed over the choices I’d made that had ruined more than one life.

Landon didn’t know it, but he was my means of making atonement of sorts even though we hadn’t been involved back then. He was my secret second chance to do right after I’d failed my brother all those years ago.

My cell rang, breaking through my thoughts from the troubling memories.

I rolled to grab my phone off the bedside table, aware of the shower running in our suite. Recognizing the number, I answered without hesitation. “Hey, Cyn, what’s up?”

Cynthia, Landon’s kickass editor, didn’t waste any time with small talk. “How set in stone is the release date for this manuscript?”

I pushed upright to sit against the bed’s headboard. We were already behind schedule due to some bullshit Landon had to deal with a few weeks earlier, and I’d lined up promotional events across social media, podcasts, newspapers, and magazines—sans pictures of Landon, same as always. He had a pen name for a reason.

“There’s not much wiggle room,” I replied, unease trickling down my spine like a droplet of sweat.

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