Page 39 of Outcast
Right on cue, my stomach protested loudly. Axel snorted a laugh. “Well, hell, we better go before Gray’s stomach kills us all.”
We stood, and Bailey and Holden filed out. I hesitated as I neared Axel. “I should have?—”
“It’s done.” He grabbed me in a hard hug, slapping my back. “You’re here now.”
“I am, yeah.”
He pushed me back, eyes on mine. “I know you might not stay for good, but promise you won’t ever fucking leave without a word like that again.”
“I promise.”
“I will hunt you down if you do, and I will kick your ass.”
I chuckled. “I believe you.”
He nodded once. “Okay, then. Let’s move on. We’ll add one more fuckup to the Dad column. He was an asshole to the end.”
“Yeah. Good thing we had Mom, huh? She gave us a fighting chance.”
Axel smiled. “Yeah, Mom was great. I wish…”
“Me too. Like you wouldn’t believe.”
With a nod, he pushed me toward the door. I went down the steps and took a deep breath.
Despite the humid night, it was the first easy breath I’d taken since I’d arrived. It felt as if I’d excised a wound, drained the poison. It still hurt, but it was a healing pain.
I’d always have the scar of what the old man did to me and, in turn, what I’d done to my brothers.
But I’d carry it with my others, knowing that I was stronger than anything that had happened to me. And so were they.
CHAPTERNINE
Emory
I checkedthe time on the bottom right corner of my computer screen. It read 5:48 p.m. My heart skipped. Was I really going to meet Gray in just a few hours? For just a drink…or for more?
Pain shot through my fingertip. Damn it. I yanked my hand out of my mouth, where I’d been gnawing away at my nails. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t break the habit. I glared at my ragged nail. Grimaced. Gray would find that hot…not.
My stomach flipped as the realization hit again. Gray wanted to see me. Even after this awful debt business. The Forrester file still sat on my desk, a gloomy presence that wouldn’t go away. I’d tried hiding it under routine paperwork—loan applications and approvals that made me feel less shitty about my job—but it was always there, just waiting to be dealt with.
Not today, Satan.
I closed down my computer, pocketed my phone, and started for the door. Dad caught me in the hallway.
“Emory! I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Every time I stop by, you’re on the phone.”
It was almost as if I’d picked up the receiver at the sound of his approach to avoid talking…
“Sorry. Been busy.”
“That’s all right. That’s why we pay you.” He clapped my shoulder. “Just wanted to check in on those delinquencies. You make any progress?”
I nodded. “Had some delay in getting in touch with everyone. We’re getting there.”
“We need to start processing paperwork?—”
“Right, right. Let’s talk Monday, okay?”
