Page 131 of Boss of Me
His eyes drift open to meet mine. “I could ask you the same thing.”
I stiffen at his unexpected reply. We stare at each other, his gaze searing into me as if to peel away every protective shield I’ve erected over the years.
After an interminable silence, I step back and turn to leave.
“Gunner.”
I stop without turning around, my hands flexing impotently at my sides.
“Thank you,” he says humbly.
I swallow hard and nod curtly. Just as I reach the door, his reedy voice halts me again.
“That girl . . . your pretty maid you took to Kauai . . .”
I keep my back to him, my hand on the doorknob. “What about her?” I say through gritted teeth.
“I saw the pictures. Saw the way you looked at her.” He pauses for a long moment. “I think she’s your holy grail . . . the missing piece you’ve been looking for.”
Every muscle in my body tightens.
“Don’t let her get away, son. If you do, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Take my word for it.”
I close my eyes, my hand gripping the doorknob hard enough to crush it.
“Gunn? You hear what I said?”
“I heard you.” My jaw is clenched so tight the words are barely audible.
“You should?—”
“Go to sleep.” I walk out the door without another word, slamming it behind me.
Chapter Thirty-One
marlowe
Sleep evades me that night.
I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling and thinking of Gunner. I’ve replayed our argument over and over in my mind, dissecting it from every angle and wishing futilely that the outcome could have been different.
When I saw him today, I could tell how much he was hurting from his father’s latest relapse. I could see the pain and anger in his eyes, hear it in his strained voice.
After getting his father settled in, he’d retreated to his study and closed the door, remaining there for the rest of the evening. I wanted to go to him and make sure he was okay. I wanted to tell him I was there for him, ready to offer comfort or just be a sounding board. But I didn’t think he’d want to see me, and his rejection would have been too devastating in my fragile emotional state.
I roll onto my side and stare bleakly out the window. I wonder if he’s sleeping right now, or lying wide awake like me.
I wonder if I’ve consumed his thoughts as much as he’s consumed mine.
I wonder if he misses me as badly as I miss him.
Around midnight I finally give up on sleep and crawl out of bed, throw on a robe and tiptoe downstairs.
The mansion is full of moon shadows, silence echoing through the halls. I can almost hear myself breathing as I roam around, restless as a ghost, eventually ending up in the living room. I’m drawn to the grand piano, gleaming like a beacon in the moonlight.
I sit on the piano bench and slowly trail my fingers along the keys without pressing down. The main bedrooms are tucked away in a separate wing, and the living room is soundproofed. So I don’t have to worry about waking the whole house if I play a song.
Biting my lip, I press middle C with my thumb. The single note rings out, evocatively pure and sweet. I stroke another key, holding it down as sorrow unfurls inside me like a fragile ribbon.
