Page 21 of Sweet (Chicago Underground 7)
“Is this because of—” He looked at Drew.
Drew opened his mouth, and I realized how much worse it would be if he spilled the beans now. Now, when Philip would surely attribute my desire to open a studio and move out to my desire for Drew.
In all honesty, they were linked—all wrapped up into a neat package labeled Things Rose really wants but never had the guts to take. Then Philip would blow up, and I wasn’t going to let that happen.
“Drew, I really need to speak to my brother alone. Would it be possible for you to excuse us?”
His eyes narrowed. He knew exactly what I was doing, and he could light the fuse with a few choice words. But he was too good for that. Too respectful—something that I found a real turn-on, considering the lowlifes I’d met in my past.
“Okay.” He shuffled the papers together from the coffee table. “I’ll work on these at home.”
Philip and he discussed their plans briefly before Drew left. His last look at me was a concession: Fine, we’ll do it your way. For now.
I hated that he might think, even for a second, that I was ashamed of our relationship or that I wasn’t serious about him. But I had been locked up in the tower for so long. It would be a long, slow way down to the ground, starting with telling Philip about my plans.
I sat with Philip in the opposing armchairs. “I know you feel protective of me.”
His expression was stormy. “Protective doesn’t really describe it. Do you remember how I found you?”
How could I forget?
As they say, there are only two seasons in Chicago: winter and construction. When Philip turned eighteen, he found work for a small building company, but the judge wouldn’t grant custody of me to a punk eighteen-year-old who lived with a roommate to make rent. Then the company he worked for got in a bind—something about a city permit that wouldn’t go through. I never found out what Philip did to push it through, especially with the tiny amount of clout and money he’d had back then, but after that, he became known as the man who fixed problems.
With typical teenager shortsightedness, I grew to resent his freedom while I was cooped up under curfew. I stopped confiding in him, and he was hardly in the mindset to win over a surly teenager.
My boyfriend had gotten rougher, meaner…he was abusing me, though I still struggled to admit it. When Philip had shown up at the group home for a visit, I hadn’t been there in days. He went looking for me and found me passed out in my boyfriend’s bed from alcohol or drugs or whatever else. He’d lit into my boyfriend, and I was convinced he’d have faced a murder charge if he hadn’t been more concerned with getting me to a hospital, where I was pronounced to be fine. “She’s lucky,” the doctor had said.
“Well.” I forced a smile. “Everything worked out for the best.”
Philip snorted. “Too fucking late, in my opinion.”
Guilt had been written all over the judge’s face when Philip had applied for custody again. He had an apartment in a better part of the city by then, but we all knew it was because of that incident that the judge had awarded custody to him. And living with him, where he had sheltered me from the harsher side of life all these years, was the best thing that could have happened to me.
I’d been protected, allowed to heal and flourish without any pressure at all. Dancing had been a way to express myself and take back control of my body. This was the next step.
“I’m grateful you were there for me. I’ll always love you for that, but it’s time for me to leave.”
There was a long pause while he stared into the empty fire grate. “I know. I guess I’ve known for some time, but I’ve been in denial, because I like having you here.”
My chest tightened. “I like being here too, which is part of why it’s taken me so long to get to this point. But I’ll come back and visit.”
“You’d better. I want to hear more about this studio.”
“Of course I’ll be asking for your advice, seeing as you’re so successful in business. Albeit a slightly different industry.”
“Customer satisfaction, marketing. The same principles apply.” He nodded sagely. “And I’m going to be in charge of security.”
His brand of security in a dance studio? “It’s open for discussion,” I promised.
“There’s one more thing I need to ask you.”
I braced myself. “Shoot.”
“Perhaps it would be better if you did come to me with questions…and not Drew. At least, not to him alone.”
Oh God, I was being warned away right when I needed to tell him we were together. Considering I’d just gotten him to graciously accept the opening of the studio and my imminent move, this was so not the time to push for one more thing. But I couldn’t outright lie. Drew didn’t deserve that.
Caution slowed my words. “Why do you say that?”
