Page 111 of Fallen Rook

Scooting up with my back against the headboard, I forced out an easy smile, grabbing the bottle of water on his nightstand and helping myself to a big gulp. I didn’t want him to see how shattered I was to be used as a cheap substitute in the absence of Matt.

“How’s the food?” I reached to the floor to fish the pack of cigarettes from my pocket. Fuck asking him for permission to smoke. If he was going to break my heart, the least I could do was break one of his trillion house rules.

“Divine. I didn’t think the Callaghan woman possessed a talent other than fucking up her life.”

I snorted and wagged the unlit cigarette in his direction. “Behave. She’s a good friend.”

“Doesn’t make her life choices any smarter.” He set the plate down on his nightstand, sliding into bed and scooping me from behind before I had a chance to find my lighter. “Just that she made one good choice in befriending you,” he murmured into the side of my neck.

Instead of reveling in the compliment, I found myself choked up with pain. Sure, he thought me worthy of Tierney’s friendship. But he didn’t find me worthy of his love. In fact, I was the very thing to put his mind off the fact he’d lost his real love.

I slipped from his touch and settled on the edge of the bed with my back to him, grabbing my pants. The mattress dipped as Tom sat upright behind me, flattening his palm between my shoulder blades. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Oh, fuck. I sounded like a clingy girlfriend, and I didn’t like it.

“Don’t bullshit me, Enzo.”

“Don’t ask hard questions, then.”

I bolted to my feet and shoved my legs into my pants. He didn’t deserve my freak-out. He’d done nothing wrong this time. If anything, I was the one who kept pushing. For exclusivity. For more time together. And each time he gave in to whatever I wanted, I realized it was not enough. That I still wanted—no, needed—more.

This was torture. Madness. For me. For him. We needed to stop.

Sliding on my ribbed polo shirt, I started for the door.

“Hey, hey.” He stood and followed me in measured steps that made me even madder. The audacity of this man to remain calm while I was losing my shit over us. “You gonna act like an adult and hash it out or storm out like a kid? Thought you graduated from that nickname.”

“Guess even genius FBI agents get it wrong sometimes.”

“Very fucking mature.”

“Screw people fourteen years your junior, deal with the consequences.”

“I am dealing with them indeed.” He kept chasing me relentlessly. “Now your turn.”

I stopped in the living room and swiveled to push at his chest. “Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop pretending like it was me you were fucking back there.” I pointed at his bedroom behind him, heaving. “Because we both know it was Matt. You’re not that tender and not that sweet when you’re with me.”

I hated that I wanted to cry. I hated that all I seemed to do around this man was face all the feelings I’d kept bottled up since I hit puberty. And I loathed that I was desperate for the one thing he couldn’t give me—his heart. But what got me the most was the knowledge I’d keep coming back for more, even if it destroyed me.

“What are you talking about?” He scowled.

Pushing my fingers into my hair, I twisted the strands in frustration. “I know what day it is.”

“Excuse me?” he drawled.

“I said, I know what day it is.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Commendable. Do you know how to read a clock and work a calend—”

“It’s the anniversary of Matt’s death.”

Silence. Thick and sticky and everywhere. We both forgot how to breathe.

“And you know that based on my shitty mood?” he asked finally, voice hoarse.