Chapter 30

THIRTY

Sutton Holland has always thought that if there was one thing he’s good at, it’s pretending.

He has a lifetime of practice under his belt, after all. As far as acting like everything is normal goes, he’s been putting up Oscar worthy performances for years. He’s like a fucking Meryl Streep.

If you always have to hide everything… well, you get really fucking good at pretending. To the point where it’s difficult to distinguish the act from reality.

Even if the audience is just you.

And yet… it’s different now.

Pretending used to come naturally.

At least before, it felt still like him living his life, just putting a favorable spin on the truth. Now he feels like an understudy. Somebody who was never meant to take on the role. A body double. And he expects the director to step onstage any moment now and call the whole thing off. So he can go back to his real life.

The one with Wren.

Yes, he’s turned into a mushy fucking asshole instead of the regular fucking asshole he’s always been.

Also, a depressed, miserable mess.

His apartment, the one place on this whole planet that has ever felt like home, because it’s all his and doesn’t have any horrible history lurking around the corners, is all wrong now.

It echoes with absence.

So he stays in his office instead.

Holes up in there.

Grits his teeth.

Pretends.

Otherwise, he’ll go back.

And everybody knows what happens when he goes back.

He’s seen it before.

He tries to shut off his thoughts. It’s no use.

You hit him-you hit him-you fucking hit him.

But I didn’t mean to!

What a thoroughly, inconceivably moronic excuse. It’s a small step from “ I didn’t mean to ” to “ Why do you make me do this to you? ”

He should know. He has a lifetime of experience when it comes to violence. He’s seen it all, felt it all, has had the images and the bottomless depths of human ugliness branded into his brain cells with a burning iron rod. He’s experienced the aftermath in all its different forms. He’s been dragged back into violence, kicking and screaming, time and time again.

And he swore to himself he would never let the pattern continue.

That he would not live that life.

That he would not turn into him.

At night, he lies awake on the uncomfortable, too short sofa pushed against the far wall of his office and tries not to see Wren in his mind’s eye.

It’s been an impossible task since the moment he first laid his eyes on him, standing by the side of the pool, with UNIMPRESSED written all over him in big, bold letters. The look in his deep blue eyes. Arms crossed over his chest. The serious line of his unsmiling lips.

He was a goner, and he didn’t even know it.

Only, of course he did.

He fucking did.

Just because he closed his eyes and covered his ears, doesn’t mean the reality somehow changed into something that fit his narrative. Into something more palatable.

Of course, he fucking knew.

Why else did he keep showing up night after night? Because he enjoyed the smell of chlorine so much?

Why else did he make up stories and lies just to get closer? To have one more look? Because of course each night he went back was going to be the last. He was going to get his head out of his ass just as soon as he got one more evening with him.

He’s a fucking liar.

And he fucking knew.

That first moment…

The earthquake comes disguised within deep blue eyes, chestnut hair, and a levelheaded, unflappable attitude.

It’s a kick in the gut.

A gunshot to the chest.

It’s a complication thrown in his path with a merciless, vicious laugh that rings out in the hollow silence of the room. The hollow silence of his whole existence.

He didn’t ask for this. Of course he didn’t.

He of all people knows he can’t have this. Knows the risks. Has lived through the fallout. Has shuffled through the debris of a life to retrieve pieces that could maybe be dusted off and put to use again and has come out on the other side with nothing of value except the deep, unshakable knowledge that he will never, ever let history repeat itself.

His fingers curl into fists, then. He squeezes his eyes shut.

It’s an anomaly.

That moment.

The earthquake.

The kick in the gut.

The gunshot to the chest.

The want that runs through his whole body like somebody has electrocuted the blood in his veins.

It’s not the first time.

Attraction’s been there before. It makes an appearance every now and then like a chronic condition. He’s learned to ignore it. He’s learned never to act on it.

But it’s never been like this.

Never this sudden.

Never this sharp.

He took one look at this man, and it all settled inside him without so much a thought.

Something deeper sank into bones and blood vessels and cells.

Knowing.

He took one fucking look, and he knew.

Him. Just him. Him and nobody else.

Did he try to fight it? Maybe. At first. But not really. Not nearly hard enough. It wouldn’t even have taken that much effort. All he really had to do was stay away, but he couldn’t manage that.

He lets out a shuddering breath and rubs his palms over his face.

Wren’s voice calling out his name echoes in his ears.

The look in his eyes.

All that hope.

Hope that he’ll love him back.

Even if he breaks the things he loves.

The knock on the door startles him out of his very important task of aimlessly staring out the window. He’s been occupied with this for days now, so it must be important.

Gayle peaks her head around the door and sends him that pitying look she’s been laying on him for the last few days. He told her he wasn’t feeling well a week ago, and she’s been relentlessly bringing him soup he pretends to eat, and suggesting different home remedies to battle the fake cold while he nods and promises to give it a shot.

“ Feeling better? ” she asks hopefully.

“ Getting there, ” he says with what he fucking hopes is a convincing attempt of a smile.

“ Good. ” She nods, and Sutton should feel bad about lying to her, but he just doesn’t have the energy.

“ There’s somebody here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment, ” Gayle continues.

His heart goes haywire immediately.

He can barely get the words out.

“ Did he give you a name? ”

“ A Mister Remy Wilsson? ”

Hope crashes and burns.

“ Send him in, ” he manages to say.

Gayle gives him a funny look and disappears from the doorway, only to be replaced a moment later by Remy’s familiar figure.

It’s the second time he’s seen him since that night. He’s still not sure, even after all these years, how he ended up on Remy’s doorstep. Their houses were in the same neighborhood. That’s the only connection. And he doesn’t remember a single thing after stumbling out the front door once his mother had managed to tear him off his father. There’s just a big black hole where those memories should have been, and he’s never particularly wanted to get them back.

He's never particularly wanted to look back at anything that’s labeled ‘past’ in his brain. It’s all been buried under a mountainous pile of deep, dark shit, and he has no wish to dig around in there and retrieve anything at all.

That includes Remy.

Remy saved him.

That puts him firmly in the past.

“ Remy, ” he says in greeting.

The man nods in acknowledgment and comes closer. Takes a seat in one of the chairs Sutton has in front of his desk.

He leans back, elbows on the armrests, the tips of his fingers pressed together, calmly taking Sutton in.

Neither of them speaks for a long time.

“ What brings you by? ” Sutton asks once the silence gets too loud.

“ Kid, I’m too old to play this game. ”

Sutton swallows hard and looks away.

“ How’s Wren? ” falls from his lips without him planning to actually say it.

“ Sad. ”

He’s not sure why that simple answer rocks him to the core. Maybe because nobody ever just comes right out and says something like that.

Your fault , his brain whispers.

His head snaps up when Remy lets out an exasperated sigh.

“ Martyrdom does not suit you, ” he says.

“ It’s not ? — ”

“ Too old, ” Remy stops him.

Sutton clamps his mouth shut.

Remy studies him thoughtfully.

“ Do you love the boy? ” he asks, then.

It would be so easy if Sutton could just lie and say no.

“ It doesn’t matter whether I do or don’t, ” he manages.

“ What an incredibly stupid thing to say. ”

Sutton gapes at him.

“ Excuse me? ”

Remy rolls his eyes.

“ You heard me just fine. Do you love the boy? ”

Sutton tries to fight the words. Tries to swallow them back down. Knows it’s crucial not to let them see the light of day.

It’s no use.

“ Yes, ” he says. “ But ? — ”

“ Does he love you? ”

“ I don’t ? — ”

Remy stops him with a raised brow.

“ He says he does, ” Sutton mumbles.

“ And you’re both consenting adults, free to do whatever you want? ”

Sutton stays stubbornly silent.

“ We’ll take that as a yes, ” Remy says. “ You have to help me out here, kid, because I fail to see the problem. ”

“ Me, ” bursts from Sutton’s lips. “ I’m the problem. You know it. ”

Remy stays calm as ever.

“ I don’t. Why are you the problem? ”

“ Because, ” Sutton sputters. “ Because of who I am. And where I come from. You know my history! ”

Remy studies him slowly and thoroughly before he speaks again.

“ I do, but the difference between you and me is that when I look at you, I mostly see bravery. Overcoming the odds and making something of yourself despite the terrible situation you came from. ” Remy’s smile takes on a sardonic edge.

“ I came from violence, ” Sutton says tonelessly. “ Like father, like son. There’s even a fucking proverb for it. ”

Remy hums in response, eyes still on Sutton.

“ Is that how it works? ”

Sutton doesn’t have an answer, but Remy eyes him calmly.

“ Well. In that case, I hope you have the talk with all those kids your organization helps, ” Remy says.

Sutton stares back, uncomprehending.

“ What does that have to do with anything? ”

Remy gives an easy shrug. “ I imagine someone needs to inform them about this principle. Frankly, the sooner, the better. So none of them will get any ideas. ”

Sutton blinks. “ Ideas? ”

Remy waves carelessly. “ About finding love or really any sort of happiness since they have that rotten genetics that’ll make it impossible for them. ”

“ I didn’t say anything about genetics, ” Sutton protests.

“ Oh? ” Remy looks mildly interested now. “ So you’re saying in nurture versus nature, you’re in the nurture camp? Although, I don’t think the distinction matters that much in this case. We all have genetics from our parents, and we learn lessons from them, don’t we? So, yes, you should probably make sure those kids know a life of solitude is what’s in store for them. ”

“ That’s not… It’s not the same thing! ” Sutton says.

“ Are you sure? Because I can draw some parallels. ”

“ This is… ” Sutton licks his lips and tries to sort through his thoughts, which are mostly littered with outrage and indignation. “ There’s nothing wrong with those kids! ”

“ So you say. Then again, should we really risk it? No, I really think it’d be better for them and everybody else if we isolated them. ”

“ Maybe we’ll just exile them to the high seas while we’re at it? ” Sutton snaps.

“ I wouldn’t have gone that far, but I have to admit the idea’s got potential. ”

Sutton grips the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles turn white. He takes a deep, calming breath.

“ I get what you’re doing, yeah? I get the point you’re trying to make. ”

“ Oh, good. I was starting to think you might be a bit dense. ”

“ Thank you, ” Sutton says drily.

Remy gets up from his chair and sends him a long look.

“ Your father already ruined your childhood. Don’t reward that by letting him ruin the rest of your life, too. ”

With those words, he walks out the door.

And Sutton has no clue what to think or do anymore.