Page 62 of Played
She wrinkles her nose, but her sparkling eyes belie her feigned disgust. “Too handsome for your own good. You James boys all look alike. Those looks are wasted on someone with such a…” Pausing, she hums. “Disappointing personality.”
That garners a snort of laughter from me, and she smiles again, still pinning me in place with her curious gaze. Leaning forward, she rests her chin on one hand. “So, what can I help you with? Please tell me it’s man trouble.”
She’s teasing me, a fact which is confirmed by the look of surprise that settles on her face a few seconds later when I haven’t replied to tell her that no, of course it’s not man trouble and to stop being so ridiculous. And it is ridiculous—I can admit that. Never in my adult life have I sought the advice of my brothers over “man trouble.”
And technically, I’m not now either. I’m seated across from my sister-in-law. A person who has historically been one of my least favorite people. And here I am, about to spill my guts like we’re besties at a sleepover.
King Blackthorn, what the fuck have you done to me?
“There’s this guy…” I wait for her reaction, half expecting her to do the whole clapping her hands and squealing thing for dramatic effect, but she simply watches me, waiting for me to go on. “I knew him a long time ago, back in high school, andhe hurt me. Not like a teenage heartbreak, I mean he really…” My adrenaline spikes from thinking about it, but Amber is still staring at me, so I swallow down my anxiety. “He really fucked me over. And it kind of fucked me up for a long time.” Again, I anticipate a remark intended to cut me off at the knees, something about how I’m still fucked up, but none comes. Still, I can’t bring myself to tell her any more about what happened.
“You were together in high school? You and this guy?”
I nod. “We didn’t go to the same school though. And he was in the closet. Like so fucking far in the closet he could have sold package tours to Narnia. Still is.”
A smile flickers over her lips, and I’m sure it’s thanks to the C. S. Lewis reference. Amber’s a big reader like me. “And he’s back in your life now?”
That’s a complicated fucking question. One I’m not sure of the answer to. “Maybe. Kind of.” I shrug. “I guess he could be, but…”
“He’s still in the closet?”
“Yeah, but that’s not the issue. Not the whole issue, anyway. I mean this isn’t a long-term, settle-down-and-have-kids kind of gig, you know? I can live with him keeping his sexuality a secret.”
Her brow furrows.
“What?” I ask.
She gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “It’s just that you’re so open about who you are—as you should be. I assumed that dating someone who isn’t would be a deal-breaker for you.”
I shake my head. “Not everyone has it as easy as I did. I came out when I was thirteen, and it was no shock to any of my brothers or my parents. Unfortunately, not everyone’s family is as supportive as mine. His certainly isn’t.”
“No, I suppose you’re right.”
“So I can live with that, but it’s…” I run a hand through my hair. For a man who makes a living off saying the right things at the right time, I’m sure as shit no good at it right now.
She waits patiently, her gaze never leaving my face. I pull at the collar of my shirt. Is it hot in here? “What if he doesn’t deserve to be forgiven?”
She presses her lips together for a moment before responding. “I suppose that would depend on what he did. Did he physically hurt you?”
I clench my jaw and can still recall the ache in it that night when I lay alone in my room. But that part had nothing to do with King, and I’ve never told anyone except my therapist and the guys at the support group. As much as I surprisingly trust Amber to keep my secret, I’m not going to tell her either.
“He didn’t lay a finger on me. But what he did hurt more. He walked away, Amber, like I meant less than nothing.” His words—and the hurt they cause—are as fresh today, nearly twenty years later.There is no we, asshole. It was fake. Every cringeworthy, painful second of it. I don’t even fucking like you. Now leave me the fuck alone. Go beg some other dirty little fuck to let you suck his cock.
Amber’s soothing voice pulls me from the painful memory. “So why does he deserve a minute of your time now, honey?”
“Well, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? All I can say is it was a long time ago. I think he’s different now. He says he’s sorry, and I almost believe him.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Only almost?”
Only almost because as much as I want to, I can never be sure. I thought I was sure of him eighteen years ago. King’s right, we were only kids back then, but has anything really changed? What would he do if someone found out about us now? What would he do if his father found out? After he came to me when his grandfather died, I got the impression he and his parents stillaren’t close, but I have no idea how much influence Kyngston Worthington III holds over his only child.
My stomach rolls at the thought of that depraved piece of shit. A bead of sweat trickles down my forehead.
“Are you okay, Mason?” Amber asks. It’s too much to hear the pity in her voice. I don’t need anyone’s pity. I dealt with all this shit a long time ago.
I roll back my shoulders and look her in the eye, forcing a tight smile. “You know my Pop always says I’m too quick to forgive. I don’t hold grudges, and I thought that was a good thing, but—” I stop talking when she gives me a sardonic look, grateful to her for defusing the growing awkwardness with one raised eyebrow. Deliberate or not, I don’t entirely know, but I suspect it is.
I hold up my hands in defense. “Hey, I never held a grudge against you. I just didn’t like you. There’s a distinct difference. And note the use of the past tense there.”
