Page 78 of Just Business
Eli had never had the luxury of leaving the past behind. His pain was carved into flesh and bone and always with him. “I’ve haven’t ever run.”
“Not the way I did, no.” Sam backed off and flopped into the guest chair. “You’ll retreat into that house of yours and either get wrapped up in your ennui or spend all your weekends at Lyle’s, topping the shit out of men until you can’t tell one from the other.”
That added another stab to the growing collection of aches in his body. This one, though, made his cheeks hot and his blood boil. He sat up straighter.
Sam folded his arms and stared back. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
He couldn’t. That only twisted the knife in deeper. “There are days I hate how well you know me.” How close Sam had become to Michael. How much he wanted that kind of connection with Justin...
There was another crack in the failing dam he’d erected around that particular tumult of emotions. He closed his eyes because it was the only way to keep the moisture in. Even then, he wasn’t sure it would help.
Sam’s voice softened. “Give him time, E. He’s just as shattered—and that should tell you something.”
That I’ve destroyed everything. He shook his head and opened his eyes—and the tears fell. Not many, but enough. “Three months.” His voice sounded like sandpaper, even in his ears.
Sam’s lips parted slightly, but then he nodded. “All right. Three months. After that, if you need to leave, I won’t stop you.”
He could endure, lock away what he needed to and deal with it later once he’d given Sam the time needed. There was hope in Sam, a wish that things would change, that this rift between him and Justin would heal.
Sam was a romantic at heart.
Eli knew better than to hope. It hadn’t brought Noah back to life. Or Rachel. Or Milka. Hope hadn’t caused his parents not to despise and scorn him. Hope would never heal his leg.
The only thing hope ever did was carve a bigger hole into his life.
“I’ll do the best I can, Sam.”
Sam’s smile was small, but present. “You always do.”
Chapter Fifteen
Justin woke for the umpteenth time, heart pounding and chest tight. Darkness surrounded him, and the ever-present smell of damp. His humid, basement apartment then, and not Eli’s house. As it should be. As it had been for two weeks. Tears threatened. Leaving Eli shouldn’t still hurt. He’d done the right thing.
He’d even called home that Sunday.We broke it off, Mom.
She’d worried about the job, but he’d explained the opportunity Sam had presented. And Eli? He’d been withdrawn, but professional.
Better you focus on your job and your schooling, and not be distracted. Someday, you’ll find someone who really cares about you.
His mom’s code words for “someone who doesn’t beat you.” Except he liked that part, but doubted he’d ever be able to explain it to her or his father.
Justin pretended not to notice how Eli’s fingers trembled when they stood near each other or how tired and pale Eli looked, tried not to let his heart twist.
Everyone in the office was somber. Less laughter, fewer jokes, and the weekly office lunch had been him and engineering. Sam had been on a call with Sanhex and Eli had politely declined.
Thank God none of the engineers had asked him about Eli. He wouldn’t have known what to say.I ran from him because...
Because he shouldn’t be screwing around with rich dudes when Mercy had no legs. He shouldn’t have ever gotten involved with the Scene, shouldn’t have let Francis touch him. And he shouldn’t have fallen for Eli Ovadia, his suits, his canes, his brilliant smile, or his surprising laugh.
Justin groaned and sat up. A stretch, a piss, and cold water would chase away the regrets. He threw his legs over the edge and his feet touched water.
What thefuck?
He reached for the lamp. When the light came on, Justin stared in horror at the sheen of yellowish liquid covering the floor. It had soaked through the rug by his bed. And through the book next to it. And everything else on the floor. “No. Fuck! No, no, no, no!”
He pulled the bedding up, lest it become drenched in the foul water, and surveyed the room, a fist of despair clenching his heart and lungs. Ruined books. His backpack.
Shit, the laptop.He was off the bed before he contemplated what was in the water and a moment later he had the bag in hand. The bottom was leather, the outside water-resistant to withstand rain. Hopefully... When his fingers touched the dry bottom and he pulled out the laptop, his knees nearly gave out. At least he had this—his schoolwork. The capstone project. The majority of his textbooks were piled on the kitchen table.
