Chapter 11

ELEVEN

The first thing that hit Robbie's mind when he achieved consciousness the next morning was that he wished he hadn't. Consciousness was not a good idea in his current state. His head throbbed, his body was sore, and he had the more horrible taste in his mouth. It was a horrible way to wake up.

The next thing that hit him was that even though he was in bed, he still wore jeans from the day before, though for some reason, his socks had come off. His shirt hung off the corner of the bed. He was flopped face down in the hotel bed, drooling on the unfortunate pillow.

It took a monumental amount of effort to push himself up enough to roll over to his side. That gesture did not produce the results he'd anticipated. Instead of making him more comfortable and helping him slip back into a blissful state of blackness, it only highlighted the throbbing in his head and the heaviness of his limbs. Not to mention the tightness in his stomach from where his muscles had clenched so hard while he'd vomited up what felt like the entire pub into the hotel toilet.

He groaned and dragged an arm up to cover his eyes. The room was quiet and darker than it could have been with the curtains closed, but hotel curtains never really kept all the light out. Even the slivers of light around the edges were too much.

It was all too much, especially when memories of the night before poked their way through the hangover funk that had Robbie in its grip. The jealousy, the feelings of worthlessness, and the competitive drinking at the pub after filming. They all rushed back on him so intensely that his stomach squeezed as if he would vomit again.

He knew he was a lightweight and should have stopped at one ale, particularly when he'd seen how strong the pub's local brew was. But Toby had been drinking away without a care in the world, and the last thing Robbie had wanted was to look like a wimp in front of him.

Toby.

Robbie groaned again and would have slipped deeper under the covers and hid, if he hadn't felt so poorly. They'd kissed. They'd done more than kiss. Robbie was relatively certain that confessions of one sort or another had slipped out in his drunken stupor. He'd wanted Toby, and apparently Toby had wanted him. Although that could have been the ale talking.

Another wave of emotional memory washed over him, and for a moment, he held his breath as he remembered how good it had felt to be so physical with Toby. Toby had a magnificent body, and Robbie had wanted all of it. He still did…once he didn't feel like festering, fly-covered shit. Toby could kiss like a dream, too. That lip ring of his was so tactile and unexpected.

And then, God, he'd gotten sick, pushed Toby off him, and rushed to the bathroom, where he'd spent at least half an hour worshiping the porcelain goddess. Vague memories of staying there until he had nothing left to heave up, of Toby fetching him, running a wet cloth over his face, then marching him back to bed followed, but not much after that.

Despite the throbbing pain in his head, Robbie shifted his arm so he could open one eye and look around. Look for Toby, to be precise. He was reasonably certain nothing had happened between them after they'd gotten in bed the second time. To be honest, he wasn't certain Toby had gone to bed with him.

Robbie turned his head as much as he could and checked the bed. It was empty. It was also a mess of rumpled sheets and blankets. At least he hadn't vomited on the bedding. That would have cost him a pretty penny and probably ended with him banned from the hotel for life.

Toby was probably on the sofa again.

"Toby?" he croaked, wincing at how awful and pitiful he sounded. "Toby, are you awake?" He tried to move. He needed to piss anyhow, but moving stretched him to the limit of what he was capable of just then. "Toby?"

The lack of answer concerned Robbie, so with a monumental effort, he pushed himself to sit and glanced to the sofa.

It was empty. It had never been made up as a bed.

Panic gripped Robbie that eclipsed the pain of his hangover. He shuffled to the side of the bed and got up on unsteady legs.

"Toby?"

He headed straight to the bathroom, envisioning horrific images of finding Toby passed out on the floor or in the tub, or worse.

But the bathroom was empty as well, and turning on the lights sent a bolt of pure hell straight through Robbie's head.

He turned off the lights and used the toilet with reasonable accuracy, then washed his face and hands in the sink. It didn't make his hangover go away, but it brought greater clarity.

He headed back into the main room, turning on the lights and toughing out the blast in his head that the lights caused. But adding more light to the room didn't make Toby miraculously appear. The room was empty. Toby's overnight bag was gone. A quick check of the drawers and closet proved that Toby had left nothing behind.

"He's gone," Robbie said to no one in particular as he plopped to sit on the bed.

He rubbed his hands over his face, but that didn't change anything either. He'd been a complete prat the night before. Everything he'd done, from the drinking to the almost-sex to whatever it was he'd said had been an utter failure. He was an utter failure in so many ways.

He had no idea what to do. For a few minutes, he sat there, stunned, his hangover throbbing. Slowly, the idea came to him that he should probably take something and drink an obscene amount of water. He pulled himself up and slumped over to the coffee and tea caddy on the bureau to fetch a glass.

That was when he saw the note. It was written on the scant hotel notepad that had come with the room, and it was short.

" Thought you might want some privacy this morning, so I'm buggering off home on the bus ."

It was signed with Toby's surprisingly neat signature.

Robbie let out a breath and touched his fingers gently to the note without picking it up. It was probably just the hangover talking, but he felt bereft. He'd failed someone who he had wanted to—who he had just wanted, and Toby had left him.

Not unlike Keith had left him.

He just wasn't good enough.

A travel packet of paracetamol sat beside the note. Robbie made a weird sound of sentiment and sorrow as he picked it up. Toby had thought of him, even though he was running far away from him.

He took the paracetamol pack and the glass into the bathroom, took the pills, then drank as much water as he could. From there, he stripped out of his dirty clothes and showered for far longer than whoever paid the hotel's water bill would have wanted him to. After that, he ordered room service for breakfast, put the telly on at the lowest volume, and sat around the room for as long as he could without incurring late check-out fees, waiting to feel better.

He did not feel better. His head stopped throbbing, and between the food and pills he pulled himself together enough to check out and drive home, but nothing about the last twenty-four hours made him feel better at all.

He actually made good time on the way home. The trip went by in a blur, but astoundingly, there was less traffic than there had been on the way out. Or perhaps the journey to Staffordshire had felt more difficult because he'd had Toby sitting in the seat next to him and all of his tumultuous, frustrated thoughts about the man swirling in the small space.

He still had tumultuous thoughts, but they were of an entirely different sort now.

He still wanted Toby. It was embarrassing but true. Toby was brash, rude, and obnoxious more often than not. But Toby was also confident and sure of himself, things Robbie wasn't. He had ambition, which Robbie knew he lacked as well. Toby had started from nothing and made something of himself. Robbie had started with everything and had fallen short in so many ways.

By the time Robbie drove up the long, private, family drive to Hawthorne House and parked his car, he felt considerably better in body, but still terrible emotionally. He sat in his car for a few minutes after cutting the engine before he finally worked up the nerve to get out, grab his bag, and head back into the family nest.

"Robbie. You're back," Rhys met him coming out of his flat in the central hallway of the family wing as Robbie reached the top of the stairs. "You look like shit."

"Thanks." Robbie sent him a sour look as he hoisted his bag on his shoulder and tried to head straight to his flat at the end of the hall.

Rhys turned to follow him as Robbie passed. "How did it go?" he asked, his eyes a little too bright and his smile teasing.

"Fine," Robbie said with a sigh. He wasn't going to get out of talking to his brother. The problem with living on a family compound, even if the house had been converted to give them all the appearance of independence and their own flats, was that family was always in your business.

"Just fine?" Rhys followed him down the hall, his grin more annoying by the moment. "You look a little worse for wear for it all to have been just fine ."

Robbie stopped in front of his door and fished for his key in his coat pocket. "Filming went well," he said, telling his brother what he wanted to hear. "The crew of The Ceramics Challenge are great. I learned a lot on the set. There are some people doing some amazing work out there. It was fine."

"That's not what I meant," Rhys said, leaning against the wall beside Robbie's door and crossing his arms. "How did things go with Toby?"

Robbie nearly dropped his keys. He narrowed his eyes at Rhys. His earlier suspicion that Rebecca had had something to do with the one hotel room expanded to wondering if his entire family was in on some sort of matchmaking plot.

"What about Toby?" he asked confrontationally.

Rhys wasn't stupid. He shrugged one shoulder and said, "The two of you have been dancing around each other for two weeks now. Whenever you're in the same room, it's like an electrical storm is about to break."

"That's because we hate each other," Robbie said, even though it was a lie.

He jammed his key into the lock, then shoved open his door.

Rhys, of course, followed him into his flat.

"You don't hate each other," Rhys called him out. "You're hot for each other, and you both hate that."

Robbie threw his bag down on the recliner halfway across his flat's main room, then turned to glare at Rhys. "I had no idea my love life, or the lack thereof, was family gossip."

Rhys's posture softened with a little bit of contrition, but not enough. "We're all worried about you," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Keith really did a number on you, and everything's been hard since Raina's accident."

"All of which I can cope with," Robbie said, heading to his open kitchen to fill the kettle. He needed a tea just then like junkies needed a fix.

"We all cope together," Rhys said with a nod. "But then Dad hired Toby, and the two of you obviously get under each other's skin. Which I think is a good thing. Getting under someone's skin is a sure sign that there's something worth pursuing there."

"What, like Early is always getting under your skin?" Robbie threw back at him as he reached for the tin where he kept his tea.

Rhys's expression darkened. "Workplace relationships are a bad idea. And anyhow, this isn't about me, it's about you."

"If workplace relationships are such a bad idea, then why are you throwing me at Toby? He works for us." Robbie threw a tea bag into one of his mugs.

"Temporarily," Rhys stressed. "And anyhow, you're missing the point. You and Toby have something going on between you."

"And you and Early don't?" Robbie grinned, grateful that he'd found something that would turn Rhys off of the conversation and make him go away.

"Early is too young," Rhys said. "And you have a hickie on your neck."

Robbie slapped a hand to his neck, eyes going wide. He pushed away from the kitchen in search of the nearest mirror, which was all the way in his bathroom.

When he looked, nothing was there. But when he stepped out of the bathroom, ready to throttle his brother, Rhys wore the cheekiest grin Robbie had ever seen.

"So something did happen," Rhys said, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"No, nothing did," Robbie insisted, heading back to the kitchen as the kettle clicked off.

"You wouldn't have rushed to see whether Toby left a mark if nothing happened," Rhys pointed out.

The bastard had him pinned and figured out. There was nothing Robbie could do but confess to make his brother shut up and leave it alone.

"Something almost happened," he said as he poured hot water. "But we were both so drunk it didn't go anywhere. Then I spent the rest of the evening vomiting into the hotel toilet."

Rhys had the gall to laugh. Robbie was still sensitive enough that the sound made his head pound as he headed to the fridge for milk.

"Why does none of that surprise me?" Rhys said, shaking his head. "But something might have happened."

"It would have been a mistake," Robbie insisted.

"A mistake?" Rhys looked surprised. "Why?"

"Because…."

Robbie fished for an answer as he finished making his tea. He and Toby would never work, he was certain. And it wasn't because of the class difference, like Toby would have accused him of.

It was because Toby was everything and Robbie was well aware he was nothing. Toby would get bored of him and move on, just like Keith did. He didn't think he could handle a second disappointment like that.

"I don't need to justify myself to you," Robbie said as he put the milk back in the fridge. "And besides, Toby can't have much longer on this job. He'll make his assessment report to Dad, and then he'll be back in London, climbing the corporate ladder and making an incredible name for himself, while I'll continue on here, teaching community art classes."

Robbie was certain Rhys would nag him about that or tease him about something, but instead, Rhys narrowed his eyes a little and studied him with a look Robbie couldn't figure out.

"Is that what you think?" Rhys said at last.

"That Toby will leave and forget about me? Yes."

Rhys shifted his stance as Robbie drank his hot tea. He'd forgotten to put sugar in, but he was too proud to put it in now and admit to yet another mistake.

"Everyone loves your ceramics classes, you know," Rhys said, a puzzled look on his face.

"Yes, I know," Robbie sighed, rubbing his sore head with one hand while staring into his disappointing tea. "Which is a good thing, since that's all I'll ever amount to."

"You just did a guest spot on a nationally popular television show," Rhys pointed out.

Robbie took another drink of tea to avoid saying anything more. He'd heard the whole pep talk before. Teaching for his family was a noble and worthy profession. The recognition he'd received for his work was admirable. There was nothing wrong with not being as ambitious as Ryan or Rafe, because the two of them were over the top in their drive to achieve.

Stop comparing yourself.

If Robbie had a pound for every time someone had told him that, the family wouldn't be in the financial straits they were in.

"Look," he said at last, leaning back against the kitchen counter and allowing himself to relax a fraction. "I appreciate that you and Rebecca, and God knows who else in the family cares about me enough to try to set me up with someone, but it's just not what I want right now."

"You sure?" Rhys said, scrutinizing him like only an older brother could. "Because the happiest I've ever seen you in your life is when you're in a committed relationship."

"But they don't last," Robbie said. "They end, and then I'm a mess. So it would be better for me to stay single and not get my hopes up, about anything, than to reach for something more and fall short."

Rhys made a drawn-out humming noise and nodded slowly. "I see," he said.

"What do you see?" Robbie asked, outwardly annoyed, but shaking in his boots internally.

"You're afraid of getting hurt."

Robbie took another fortifying gulp of bitter tea. "I don't need my older brother psychoanalyzing me," he said.

"No, but you do have a large, loud, unconventional, weird family all around you who cares about you and wants to see you succeed," Rhys said. "And there's no shame in enjoying a comfortable role as part of that."

Robbie's gut exploded with emotion at those simple words, but he kept his face straight. He loved his family. He never felt more whole than when he was with them. But so many outside factors shouted at him that he should want more. Keith had always told him he should want more, that he should be more ambitious.

He was about to make a curt reply to Rhys when the memory of Toby's humble family house, and the sweet, smiling face of his niece, Gracie, sideswiped him, leaving him speechless. The house was tiny and it had been a mess. Toby's mother and sister were the sort of people Keith would have turned his nose up at, but they'd radiated good will and contentment. Toby probably made enough money that he could rent a flat in the heart of London and live a jet-setting lifestyle, if not now, then in the near future. But he'd chosen family first.

"Rhys, I love you, but I'm still hungover from a night at the pub last night, I've been driving all day, and I haven't eaten a proper meal in over twenty-four hours," Robbie said, setting his tea down and grabbing his brother's arm to march him across the flat to the door. "I mean this with all the familial love in my heart, but fuck off and leave me alone."

Rhys laughed, shaking gently out of Robbie's arm and stepping ahead to open the door himself. "Alright," he said. "I'll leave you alone to stew. But you know I'm right."

He winked at Robbie as he stepped into the hall.

Robbie gave him the finger, then slammed the door behind him. He could hear Rhys's laughter echo from the hallways.

As soon as he was alone, the hollow feelings of having screwed up somehow swept back in as Robbie headed back to the kitchen to finish his tea. He should be doing so much more with his life, but for the first time, the slightest whisper of the word "Why?" slipped in along with those self-deprecating thoughts. Why should he want more? If Toby was content just as he was, maybe he should be, too.