Page 8 of Forbidden Grumpy Boss

My brother is missing, possibly dead. And I’m here, sleeping with a lady who’s half my age. I feel disgusted with myself. The fog of passion that filled my head last night is gone, and I’m left with the messy guilt to contend with.

Fuck.

I pull myself up, gently moving her hand away so I can proceed to sit on the edge of the couch. I can’t believe myself. My elbows are on my knees and my hands are gripping my hair as if I can hold my head together through sheer force. I check my phonefor messages. Nothing. Not from Ez. Not from the cops. I put it down and close my eyes.

What is going on with me?

I glance back at Leah, and she’s up, staring at me. She looks vulnerable, her big brown eyes searching mine for something I can’t give her. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

“I can’t believe we drifted off to sleep here,” she says, smiling. I say nothing. What is there to say? I run my hand through my hair again. “Silas, is everything—"

"I should’ve known better," I mutter, more to myself than to her.

Leah pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping the robe tightly around her body. "Silas, I—"

“No,” I cut her off, shaking my head. “This was a mistake. We shouldn’t have . . . God, I shouldn’t have let this happen.”

I stand abruptly, grabbing the shirt I discarded in the heat of the moment and pulling it back over my head. My hands shake, but I’m trying to pretend they’re not. I need to get out of here. Get some air, clear my head. The guilt—no, the shame—is building too fast. I should be focused on finding my brother. Not on this.

“Silas, what are you talking about?”

“How old are you? Nineteen?” I ask it like an accusation. “Fuck, eighteen?”

“I’m twenty.” Her eyes are narrow with confusion.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” I cover my face with my hand.

“What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter?” I laugh without humor. “This shouldn’t have fucking happened! What was I thinking?”

Leah’s voice is small when she speaks again. “Look, I know you’re going through a lot, but we can discuss this. I’m not some kid who—”

“Talk?” I scoff, running a hand through my hair. “What’s there to talk about? You’re a young woman, Leah. You don’t need me complicating your life.”

I can’t meet her eyes, because if I do, I’ll see that flicker of hurt in them. I don’t think I can take that. Not from her. Not after what I’ve just done. I already feel bad. I don’t want to feel worse.

I pace the room, needing to move, needing to get away from the suffocating feeling that’s pressing down on my chest. I hear her shift behind me, the soft rustle of fabric as she stands up. The air between us feels heavy and thick with everything that’s left unsaid.

She walks up behind me, close enough that I can feel her presence, her warmth. But she doesn’t touch me.

“Silas, it wasn’t just—look, it’s not that big a deal. Let’s go to the city together and try to find your brother. What happened doesn’t have to happen again.”

I feel her sincerity, the rawness of what she’s trying to say. But I can’t let that in.

I finally turn to face her, and the look in her eyes almost breaks me. She looks small and uncertain. And there’s a vulnerability there that wasn’t present before, a crack in the armor she’s been wearing since the earthquake.

I want to say something—anything—that will make this easier. But instead, the words that tumble out of my mouth are cruel. “Don’t mistake what happened here for anything more than what it was. A mistake. That’s all it was. That’s all you are. You’re a stranger to me. And that’s all you’ll ever be.”

The second those words left my mouth, I know I’ve hurt her. I see it in the way her face falls, in the way her lips part as if she’s about to say something but stops herself. Her eyes are glassy, filled with a pain I never wanted to cause.

“Um, wow,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly.

“Grab your things and leave.”

I clench my jaw and look away, unable to bear the sight of her like this. I’ve made it worse. I’ve pushed her away because it’s easier than facing my own guilt, my own feelings about what happened.

And now, there’s no going back.

---