Page 10 of The Mourning Throne
Lex watched, still standing by the closet. Arms crossed. Some blazer he couldn’t manage to shove in his bag hanging from his shoulder.
Morgan packed like a machine—methodical, precise. Each item folded like he gave a damn about wrinkles. Socks tucked into shoes. Notebooks stacked in the order he used them, all black, all identical except for the wear on their spines.
Lex had tried to sneak into them a couple weeks ago. Got his hand slapped. Literally.
He still had the picture of the bruise.
The suitcase’s zipper shut and Morgan stepped away. He brushed a strand of hair from his face.
Lex couldn’t deal with it anymore.
“How long were you going to keep it going?” he asked.
Morgan didn’t answer. Just slid a passport into the front pocket.
Don’t give me the cold shoulder now.
“Was itsupposedto be forever?” It all came out too loud, too fast. He stopped, took a second to reel it back in. “You and her. And me just… what? Sleeping in your old room like your—your side chick or some shit? The one not good enough to take home? What if I’d never kicked Kate out? Then what?”
“Lex.”
One syllable. More warning than word.
Morgan adjusted the jacket on the hanger. Lex stared at his profile; the slope of his neck, the exact angle of his jaw. The two moles under his eye.
Something to hold onto in case all this went bad.
Lex almost said it—almost begged Morgan to tell him he cared. But the words burned like hell coming up, seared his throat closed.
“Can you answer me?” he asked instead.
“I’m waiting,” Morgan said dryly.
Lex wanted to scream.
He didn’t. He couldn’t. Because if he screamed, Morgan wouldleave.
And then itwouldget bad.
Instead, he drifted closer, letting his shoulder brush Morgan’s arm.
Morgan didn’t lean in. But he didn’t pull away.
Victory.
“I never…” Lex trailed off. He didn’t know how to word that yet. Didn’t know what he was trying to say, really.
Lex licked his lips.
“I never would’ve known.”
Morgan’s hands stilled over the open drawer. He didn’t turn.
“You know how fucked up that is? I don’t—I don’t getwhyyou didn’t tell me. Like—am I… do you nottrust me?Is that it? Or is it because I’d lose my shit and that’s not worth the trouble. I’mdamn goodat keeping secrets, Morgan.”
He wasn’t crying.
Tight eyes didn’t count.
