Page 6 of Key Change

At thirty-six, he had nothing. These people had careers and families and lives.

He waited for Cillian to walk away, but he didn’t.

“That seems harsh.”

“It was over sixteen million dollars.” He couldn’t stop his smile from widening. It had become a game. A competition to see who added the most to their kitty that week. They’d been kings at twenty-six with the world at their feet. Then Rafe started using more frequently, and Liam’s wife got pregnant and he’d wanted to stop everything and be responsible. Rafe wanted to continue to fund his drugs. There had been arguments between the three of them. A tip off and drug bust had unraveled everything. “All gone now.”

Cillian stared at him, then one eyebrow lifted. “You’d have gotten less if you’d killed someone.”

“If it had been accidental.” It had been a bitter joke between the three of them. He ate the hors d’oeuvre. It was the most expensive and delicate thing he’d eaten in too long, but he didn’t enjoy it. Couldn’t when there were too many of Hayden’s friends surreptitiously watching him. Their social circles hadn’t overlapped before, after this they wouldn’t again. He’d make sure of it. Anthony swallowed hard, but his skin was prickling, and his chest was tight. He was never going to make it through the night. “I need some air.”

“It’s this way.” Cillian started toward the glass sliding door.

“You don’t have to come.” He’d tarnish Cillian’s reputation, if he hadn’t already. Unless Cillian was accruing interest by fishingfor information on him. Cillian’s friends would demand answers later. At least then the truth would spread.

“Maybe I want to.” Cillian tossed him a careless smile and led the way.

Now Cillian had the information he wanted—the hot gossip of what he’d done—Anthony expected him to walk away. Not that he wanted to be left alone. He was enjoying having someone to talk to. Which only proved Cillian’s point that parties were more fun with someone. Anthony didn’t like the idea that he needed a social prop, even a willing one.

When he was looking at Cillian, he wasn’t wondering what everyone might be whispering about him. He wanted to ask what Cillian was thinking and why he was remaining by his side now he knew the truth.

Maybe this was a dare. Or perhaps he was proving a point.

Right now, Anthony didn’t actually care. If being on Cillian’s arm got him through the next couple of hours until it was polite for him to leave, then so be it. It was about time he got to enjoy the company of the people he was forced to be around.

This party was nothing but a well-dressed prison yard. There were the cliques, the rumor mill, and there’d even be drugs. The only difference was it wouldn’t end with a fist fight, and there’d be no head count and lock up.

The glass sliding doors were open, allowing people to go out the back to admire the garden, but no one was outside. Instead, they hovered around the food, alcohol, and chatter. The tension in his muscles eased. He’d hide out here for the rest of the party.

Easy.

Then he glanced at Cillian. Cillian wouldn’t want to hide. He’d want to be seen, and to find his friends and tell them everything. Anthony needed to keep his guard up and not reveal too much. He might need a little mystery later.

Cillian smiled; it wasn’t one of those fake smiles that never left the lips. Or a grin that promised retribution for some imagined slight. He couldn’t remember the last man to smile at him like that, and for a moment, he wanted this to be his life, and that Cillian was his date, so he remembered what being normal felt like.

His own smile widened. If this was normal, he’d kiss him at some point. They’d make plans or swap numbers. They might even leave together—hadn’t Cillian already suggested that? Anthony wasn’t sure he remembered what to do. He’d suppressed all desire for so long he’d killed it. And if it wasn’t dead, he didn’t know what kind of hungry monster might wake.

The temptation to find out rose, and the beast stirred. Cillian’s cologne teased his senses, and his smile would convince an angel to sin. This time it wasn’t anxiety racing through his blood and making his heartbeat faster.

Anxiety was safer. He didn’t have time for lust. He didn’t need to become entangled when there was so much work to do.

He baulked just before stepping outside, unable to cross the threshold.

This was a bad idea. He needed boundaries. No, he had to do this, or he’d be forever making fences for himself, and he refused to be one of those guys who got out and then made themselves a prison because the world was too big. Anthony forced himself to step on to the patio. He’d enjoy Cillian’s company at the party for as long as Cillian thought him a worthy distraction.

The garden was lit up with strategically placed lights, and the pool glowed blue. Why anyone had a pool this close to the beach Anthony didn’t understand. No… He did, and it all came down to status. One of the first things he’d done after being released was go to the beach to feel the sea on his skin and the sand beneath his feet. He’d stood there and enjoyed the endless view unbrokenby walls before the enormity of it scared him, and he’d rejoined his sister in the tiny ice cream shop.

Cillian walked ahead of him. His suit was fitted enough that it drew attention to his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He walked as though he expected to be looked at. And Anthony obliged, allowing himself to enjoy the view and contemplate what ifs.

“You don’t like parties?” Cillian said as he turned and leaned one elbow on the glass fence that separated the patio from the pool area.

“I do… I did.” When Margot suggested going, Anthony had been keen, ready to jump straight back into his life as if he’d been on a short holiday not paying for his crimes. “I seem to have forgotten how.” He needed to work out how to exist in this world. It had been so natural before. Now he watched and second-guessed himself all the time, and even though he was aware of it, he couldn’t stop.

Cillian shrugged as if the admission was no big deal. “So relearn.”

Anthony drew in a sharp breath. There were many things he needed to relearn. Like how to use a cell phone when the technology had jumped ahead. But there were also things he couldn’t relearn. He didn’t want to go back to prison, and he wasn’t stupid enough to think he could do it again and not be caught. The cops were watching him, waiting for him to fuck up.

Expecting him to fuck up.

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