Page 78 of One Time Only (One Time Only 1)
If he were here with me right now, joining me for this lunch for whatever reason, I’d take his hand.
But he’s not.
And I can’t.
That has nothing to do with being gay and everything to do with telling lies.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, blow out a long stream of air, then walk into the restaurant.
Ryan’s at a booth already, and when he spots me, his blue eyes sparkle.
He rises, giving me a slow thumbs-up, and when I reach him, I clap him on the back. “You got the job?”
“I did,” he says, beaming. “Thanks to you.”
I wave it off. “It was all you, man.” We sit. “Tell me everything.”
He dives right into it, giving me the play-by-play of the interview. “And then at the end came the Whitney Houston question.”
My brow creases. “Come again?”
He laughs. “Sorry. That’s what my sister calls it. She loves that Kevin Costner-Whitney Houston flick, The Bodyguard, where he falls for her.”
My stomach twists. My skin prickles. “What was the question?”
He squares his shoulders. “What would you do if you had feelings for the person you were protecting?”
I swallow, but there’s a rock in my throat. “And?”
“I said the only thing you can say. Don’t act on them.”
I try to draw a quick breath, but my lungs are so tight they can barely hold air. I grab the water glass in front of me and take a drink, practically gulping.
When I set the glass down, I do my best to offer an encouraging remark, but I can’t seem to speak. I don’t know what I can say that won’t reveal what I’ve done.
“That’s the right answer, isn’t it?” Ryan asks, his voice rising with uncertainty. “That’s the right thing to do? Just because you feel something doesn’t mean you should act on it.”
My stomach coils into a painful knot. This is what I needed to hear. Sure, I was hopeful this morning after talking to the guys about where this relationship with Stone could go.
But hope is a lie.
Hope won’t change the facts.
I can’t be the man I want to be if I’m with my boss.
This is the reminder I needed.
“That is definitely the only answer,” I say, then I grab the menu and stare at the sea of offerings, not really seeing any of them.
When lunch ends, the answer to my own problem is crystal clear.
How I’ll manage to act on it is . . . I won’t.31StoneWhen we were younger, Zane liked to say that someday he’d run away to join the circus.
The carnival would work too. Or even an amusement park, if that was an option.
The lights, the action, the noise of the games were all carrots to his rabbit.
When he calls me in the morning to tell me the gig with Nadia is a go, I insist we head over to New York-New York to celebrate in true Zane fashion.
At that hotel, we ride the roller coaster and scream all the way down, arms high in the air, hurtling across the Vegas skyline.
When we get off the ride, I wrap my brother in a hug, patting him on the back. “Now, the hard thing. Telling Dad.”
Zane gives a heavy sigh then shoots me a hopeful look. “Do it with me?”
“Absolutely.”
We return to our hotel and head to his room, where my backup bodyguard stations himself outside, keeping watch. Zane rings Dad.
With a gruff voice, our father answers. “Let me guess. You’ve joined the circus.”
Zane winces, squeezing his eyes shut.
I clench my fists, trying to keep my irritation at bay.
Zane opens his eyes and draws a breath, his jaw ticking. “Dad, I’m not taking over the family business. I’ve been doing my own thing in Vegas, and I’m staying. I got a job here.”
He snorts. “I suppose you’re following in your brother’s footsteps.”
I jump in. “Listen, we appreciate everything you did for us as kids. But we’re adults now. We make our own choices.”
Zane clears his throat. “I’m sure you can find someone to sell the business to.”
“And if you can’t, I’ll help out with buying it,” I offer, even though I don’t want to. But if it gets him off my brother’s back, it’ll be worth it.
Dad scoffs at me. “I don’t need your help, Stone. But thanks for the heads-up, Zane. Really appreciate it after all these years.”
His tone drips with sarcasm.
The line goes dead.
Zane shakes his head, staring out the window.
I squeeze his shoulder. “You can’t change him. But you did what you needed to do. For you.”
He turns to me, the guilt in his expression reminding me of the day our dad caught him skipping out of geometry class early to go to an art show at a local gallery. “Thanks, Stone. I know this is the right thing to do. I just wish it were easier.”
“I wish you didn’t feel guilty.”
