Page 23 of Mystique of the Fallen
The thought sent a terrible sense of dread through Roman, and he shivered uncomfortably.
Although his matebond was new, it was already a quagmire.
Chapter 9
Slamming the trunk of his cheap car closed, Grant forced his feet into motion. A sense of dread flooded him. Thanks to an invitation from Grant, Reginald was expected any minute. His boyfriend was pissed that Grant had been sick, so his mood would not be accommodating.
But that was too bad. Grant had to be resolute. They couldn’t be intimate or Grant would risk throwing up on him again, so he had to let Reginald know their relationship was over. Confrontations didn’t normally bother Grant, but he preferred them far away from his relationship. For nearly twenty years, he’d molded himself into the part-time boyfriend Reginald wanted.
Grant idly wondered what his teenage self would think of his life. At thirteen, he’d been eager to please and having the attention of an older boy had meant everything. Reginald had been kinder but eager to assert his opinions on how Grant should dress and act, and what path his future should take.
Those should have been warning signs. But Grant’s entire life had been tumultuous. It’d been a relief to hand control to someone else—someone Grant had believed had his best interests at heart. From the start, Grant’s fear of losing Reginald had outweighed his own self-preservation.
It was too late now to wonder how things could’ve been different. Grant couldn’t erase the past two decades. He wasn’t sure he wanted to either. There had been some good times, and Grant wasn’t sure what he would’ve done without Reginald’s money and advice.
With a heavy sigh, Grant stopped at the elevator bank and hit the button to get upstairs. Perhaps what he feared most was his plan failing. Grant was terrified that he’d relent and spend the next day unpacking his car so he could stay with Reginald. He’d have some serious making up to do, and he’d have to find a way to deal with the Roman situation.
Meeting the fallen knight had forced Grant’s hand. Or maybe that was the kick in the ass he needed. Yes, Grant had been making plans to leave. But the truth was, he’d done that before. It had never gone past the planning stage, but it wasn’t as if Grant had suddenly realized he was unhappy. Things had long ago slid out of his control.
He mourned the career he’d been building. Grant hated that his reputation was in tatters. Once, he would’ve considered himself a noble person. Someone who wanted to help. But assisting Reginald had outweighed his valor. He’d sacrificed every part of himself he’d liked to ensure Reginald had what he wanted. It was horrifying. And sad.
A strength Grant hadn’t known he possessed rushed through his veins. As he stepped off the elevator, he promised himself he’d leave. No matter what, Grant would walk out and stand on his own two feet. Supposedly, there was a fallen knight out there somewhere waiting for him.
Grant shook his head, and he let himself into his condo. The situation with Roman and what that meant for his life was too much to think about. There was so much more to learn. Grant couldn’t do anything until he understood the Council and Roman’s world. The last thing Grant wanted was to leave one controlling man and find himself with another one.
Needing to center himself, Grant walked through the apartment as if seeing it for the first time. He hated it. The bedroom was full of memories he wanted to vanquish. If there had been love in Reginald’s heart, it had died long ago. What Grant did in that bed was service a man interested in his desires and not his lover’s.
There were few memories anywhere else. They didn’t share meals. Unless Reginald wanted Grant’s help with something, they didn’t discuss his job. Reginald had plenty to say about Grant’s career and lack of motivation, but his own was off limits. Grant refused to ask about Reginald’s wife and children. Thankfully, Reginald never brought them up. Reginald had parents and other relatives, but Grant had never met them.
The sound of the front door halted Grant in his tracks. Closing his eyes, he took a few deep breaths in a vain effort to center himself.
It didn’t help.
Reginald turned the corner toward the bedroom and stopped short so he didn’t barrel into Grant.
“What the fuck are you doing in the hallway?” Reginald asked, quickly regaining his composure. He already had his belt undone. His tie was loose, and he’d probably tossed his jacket on the stiff white couch on his way through the condo.
“I want to talk to you.”
Reginald frowned. “I hardly think that’s appropriate. Thanks to your supposed illness, I haven’t had your ass in weeks. Get in the bedroom and take off…what the hell are you wearing?”
Instead of slacks and a button-down, Grant was in jeans and a T-shirt. Reginald hated when Grant wore anything he hadn’t purchased for him.
“Clothes, Reg. I’m wearing clothes.”
“You look like shit.” As if he had every right, Reginald stepped close and reached for Grant’s jeans.
Grant took a healthy step backward. “I told you we need to talk.”
“That’s not why I’m here and you know it.”
“I understand what you want, but this won’t wait.”
“I don’t like your tone.”
Normally, Grant would back down the second Reginald’s scowl appeared and his tone grew icy. But he had to be brave. Without a word, Grant straightened his spine and forced himself to brush past Reginald to the living room.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Reginald asked.
