Page 33 of Honorable Convictions
One day he’d imagined the animosity between him and Mitchell simply dissipated and they’d become the mates Fate intended. It was such a departure for a man usually based in logic and facts that Pierson had no idea where it had come from or why he’d fallen into the trap for so long, and he refused to allow it to happen anymore. What he had to do was accept things at face value, but that was tricky. Were they friends now?
Pierson wasn’t sure, and he couldn’t pose the question to Mitchell because he was looking for something to latch on to that proved their separation agreement wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t fond feelings or even the belief in the goddess who’d paired them, but instead bone-deep stubbornness Pierson imagined was inherent to every Juris Knight.
When the doorbell rang, Pierson sucked in a quick breath and went to let Mitchell in. Their eyes met, and Pierson refused to acknowledge the increase in his heart rate at Mitchell’s killer smile. The man knew how sexy he was, and Pierson wasn’t going to do anything to make his ego bigger.
“Are you coming in or not?” Pierson asked testily, suddenly annoyed that he’d realigned his entire life and was somehow in the company of Mitchell regularly. That was the opposite of his plan, but the mulish fallen knight wasn’t cooperating.
“Have a bad day?” Mitchell inquired, stalking past Pierson, smelling too damn good and wearing jeans that hugged his frame in ways that should be outlawed—not that he was checking out his ass. They were on the road to dissolving their matebond; it’d be foolish to drool over the man, and if Pierson reminded himself of that fact often enough, he wouldn’t be standing stock still in the hallway, wishing that Mitchell’s stride was slower.
“No.”
Pierson joined him in the living area, and Mitchell lifted a brow. “Then why are you in a mood?”
“What makes you suddenly an expert on my moods?”
“Blondie, you’re clearly pissed off about something. You aren’t exactly subtle when things are bothering you. Or maybe I’m more attuned to you than others because you’re my mate.”
Scowling, Pierson dropped into the chair opposite where Mitchell had sprawled himself. “For now.”
“For now, what?”
“We are technically mates for now.”
The humor finally fell from Mitchell’s countenance. “Fate is forever, Pierce.”
If the Blondie nickname wasn’t enough, now Mitchell was shortening his moniker, and Pierson swept away the warmth in his chest. Although Mitchell had pissed him off for decades with the sarcastic way he’d called him Blondie, in recent weeks it had become almost a term of kindness if not endearment. “I’ve told you from the beginning that I have no intention of leading you on or making you believe I’m willing to commit to something that I am not. I wish you’d allow the reasonable and pragmatic part of your personality to assess our matebond fairly.”
“While you should listen to your soul. At our resurrections, we were given the tools we needed to understand matebonds and how to treat our other half. Without giving us a fair shot, you’re willing to throw it away for the unknown. I know we wasted a fucking century, but am I that bad? Am I so awful that the idea of anything else is better? Why can’t you understand how that makes me feel?”
Unsure what to do with the wealth of emotion suddenly pouring out of Mitchell, Pierson lifted a knee and wrapped his arms around it. His throat suddenly dry, he swallowed. “Maybe I object to the idea of Fate in general,” Pierson offered carefully. “Perhaps I’d prefer getting to decide my future instead of placing my faith in something intangible.”
“Not even you believe that, so don’t try to sell me on the idea. You already told me you’re lonely and desire a partner in life. Don’t go trying to change your story now that you can no longer call me your enemy.”
“Let’s set us aside for a moment. As JKs, we see the downside to our belief in Fate. While statistically numbers of separation agreements are low, they still happen. Not everyone gets a happily ever after.”
“You know, when you had that talk with the RKs that got you out of Vegas, I was hoping your actual purpose was to tell them you no longer wanted to handle separation agreements.”
Pierson was puzzled, but at least the conversation was veering toward work. “Why would I do that? It’s an integral part of my job, which is helping people. If someone is in a bad matebond or is unhappy, I can assist them in gaining control of their life again.”
“I suppose it’s difficult for me to be that divorced from my feelings.”
Leaning in his seat, Pierson slid his leg to the floor. “That isn’t something I have any issues with. I hardly have feelings, so I can approach everything pragmatically.”
“I don’t believe that. In fact, I’d wager that the opposite is true. Your feelings are intense…perhaps too intense. That’s why you prefer to divorce yourself from them. It’s an excellent skill, considering our line of work, but it leaves you miserable outside of your office or a courtroom because then you have to deal with what you’re suppressing.”
If there was one thing Pierson didn’t want to be, it was psychoanalyzed. “I certainly don’t want an assessment of my personality from you, Brooks.”
Mitchell smiled. “I’m really figuring you out. The moment I hit a nerve, that frozen mask shows up, and you try distancing yourself from me. I’m the one damn person on this planet you don’t have to hide shit from. Whether you’re ready to admit it to me or not—because I think you already have this shit figured out inside that head of yours—I’m your perfect fucking match. I’m going to support you in everything you do, and I can handle all those enormous feelings that scare you.”
Pierson hopped to his feet and headed for the kitchen, but Mitchell was after him in a flash and grabbed his arm. The warmth of his fingers seeped through the thin material of his soft cotton shirt, and Pierson hated that a part of him applauded at the idea of Mitchell’s hands on him. “Let go of me.”
“Look at me, dammit,” Mitchell demanded, his grip tightening, forcing Pierson to come to a complete stop.
Refusing to meet his gaze, Pierson tried in vain to free himself, but he had shit skills at anything physical. “I told you to let go of me.”
“No, I’m not going to do that. No more running. No more hiding. Enough of this bullshit. Fucking look at me.”
There was fury in his voice, but there was tenderness too. Pierson could handle the anger, but the caring was always his undoing. Out of nowhere, tears threatened, and Pierson lifted his face to the ceiling as he let his lashes fall.
