Page 57 of Fractured Future
“Stop deflecting,” I retort.
“Hah.” He snorts in amusement. “Pot, meet kettle.”
Narrowing my eyes, I glower at him. “Fuck you.”
It doesn’t take long for the grump to crack.
“I ate one of Axel’s bagels. The pup said it’s lucky I’m still breathing.”
Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if the ball of golden retriever energy isn’t the most insane of them all.
“You guys are fucking crazy.”
Hyland’s mouth crinkles in a reluctant half-smile. “Don’t worry. He looks worse.”
“What happened to turning the other cheek?”
“I never really bought into that shit as a kid.” He chuckles deeply. “Not gonna start now.”
“That’s really mature of you,” I say sarcastically.
“I know, I’m a fucking hero. Look, are you ready? Or should I wait for another hour?”
“Settle down. I’m ready.”
Ducking underneath his braced arm, I flick the hallway light on to locate my shoes. A modern crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling creates a beautiful pattern on the hardwood floors.
The opulent, two-bedroom apartment in the affluent borough of Marylebone is a testament to Tom’s passion for law. He’s always been career-driven, working hard for his status and money.
The man in question appears as I’m toeing on my knee-high, leather boots. At least I have my own clothes and belongings here. They’ve provided some comfort, however shallow.
Tom told me he packed up all my stuff when the landlord insisted my apartment be cleared as I hadn’t been found aftera whole year. The life I fought so hard to get back to is gone. Erased. All I have left are a stack of cardboard boxes.
When he revealed that information, I quickly offered an excuse to get a closed door between us so I could fall apart in private. The grief is all-consuming. For so long, I dreamed of home.
And now it’s lost to me too.
That really fucking hurts.
“Sorry, Em.” Tom fiddles with his glinting cufflinks. “I held him off for as long as I could.”
“I doubt anyone is capable of holding him off indefinitely.” I cast Hyland’s bulked-out mass a side glance. “Thanks for trying, though.”
With his dirty-blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun, Hyland’s hair-smattered square jaw and perpetual frown are front and centre. At least he looks a bit more rested today.
Much like before, he wears an all-black ensemble that prioritises practicality over comfort. Black cargos hug his bulging thighs and round ass, while his black t-shirt accentuates every last defined muscle.
“Is that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?” Hyland questions with a cocked head. “Because I’m going to take it as the latter.”
“You shouldn’t.”
His nostrils flare, sparkling green eyes betraying his amusement. “Can’t take it back now.”
“What are you still doing here?”
“Whatever. I’ll be in the car.”
Once Hyland has stomped off, I’m left to face Tom. We haven’t spoken much since we were dropped off by the Anaconda Team. Even at mealtimes, I’ve silently eaten before crawling back into bed to avoid his questioning.
