Chapter 33

33

" D o you want to go out for brunch?" I ask Tinsley as I finish rinsing the shampoo out of my hair.

"Brunch?"

"Yeah, you know, breakfast and lunch combined make brunch."

"Thanks for that," she deadpans. "The word I was actually more focused on was out."

I bend down and suck her nipple into my mouth, dragging it out with my teeth. I have a problem. A serious problem. It's no joke. I have a real and living fear that I might never be able to get enough of her. I just fucked her not even five minutes ago, and I'm already getting hard again.

"I got a text from Vander. A bunch of people are meeting at my cousin Stella's restaurant in about an hour."

Her stomach grumbles, and I chuckle. "I'll take that as a yes?"

She smacks my shoulder. "Shut up. I can't help it if I have a very vocal stomach."

"Everything on you is very vocal, and I wouldn't have you any other way. But for real, do you want to go?"

"Can I bring Loomis?"

I work my way up her neck, and she pushes me away so she can condition her hair.

"Sure, but can I ask you something about him?"

She squints an eye open to me as she works the conditioner through her long, dark hair. "What?" she asks warily.

"He likes women, right?"

She laughs. "Yes, he likes women. Why do you ask?"

"You guys spend a ton of time together. I don't get it."

"Have you ever had any attraction toward Katy?"

My face curls up in disgust. "Fuck no. But I grew up with Katy as more or less my cousin. Her stepmom, Layla, is my uncle Oliver's stepdaughter. It's convoluted, but that's what she is to us."

She shrugs. "Loomis is like Katy to me, and I'm like Katy to him. We love each other and have insane chemistry on screen, but there is no sexual spark or desire between us. There never has been."

"You have no idea how jealous I was of him."

She wraps her arms around my neck. "You have no idea how jealous I was of all your miscellaneous women. It seems we both fooled the other because you didn't have any and I was never with Loomis."

I kiss her lips, brushing some of the wet strands from her face when her stomach growls again.

I laugh and kiss my spot on her shoulder. "Let's go feed you."

An hour later, we walk into Stella's. Kenna waves us over, and we greet everyone and take our seats. Stella pulled up three tables in the back room to accommodate all of us and also to give us privacy. After we order, I get up to go into the kitchen and say hi. I haven't seen Stella in a while since she's always here and I'm always at the hospital.

She and Layla used to babysit me a lot as a kid, which is likely another reason I consider Katy my cousin. But Stella also catered the event last night, and not only was the food outstanding, but her staff did an incredible job, and I want to thank her since she donated all of that.

I swing open the kitchen door and pop my head in. It's all hustle and bustle back here since the restaurant is packed on this Sunday.

"Stella?" I call out, but shockingly enough, my parents intercept me.

"She had to run over to Bongay to deliver something," my mother informs me. "She should be back soon. What are you doing here?" Bongay is one of Stella's other restaurants, and it's just as popular as this one.

"A bunch of us are having brunch in the back room. What are you doing hanging out in the kitchen?"

"We just finished brunch but wanted to thank her again for last night."

I grin. "That's what I'm back here to do."

My mother takes my hand and leads me out of the kitchen, over to a quiet corner of the restaurant. "I'm glad I ran into you. Did you hear what the preliminary numbers are from last night?"

I shake my head. "No. Tell me."

She can't contain her smile, her brown eyes glittering. "Somewhere around one point eight million."

My eyes bulge. "Are you serious?" I look from her to my father and then back. "That's insane."

"People came out big last night for the event."

"Your grandparents donated a hefty chunk for it too," my father follows up.

I cover my mouth with my hand and shake my head incredulously. "That's gonna cost me." I laugh. I have this thing where I match whatever the total amount raised from the gala is. Last year, it was half that amount. "Wow. I'm floored. And so grateful." I lean in, kiss my mother's cheek, and hug her. "Thank you for all of your hard work on this."

"You did all the hard work, Stone," she says, pride all over her face. "I simply helped put together a gala. One that's being talked about everywhere, not just in Boston, so don't be surprised if you start getting more donations."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

My dad rolls his eyes at me and folds his arms. "You know we're not stupid, right? You can talk to us about this. Even tell us the truth."

It feels like I just swallowed a bug. I've hated lying to my parents, but it seems, like my grandmother, they too know the truth. Which gives me worry. Everyone seems to be figuring out the truth, but that truth comes at a price. Especially with my parents.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know," my mother admits honestly. She places her hand on my arm as pain flashes across her pretty features. "We haven't said anything. We've stayed out of it because ignorance didn't mean lying, and that meant we were able to tell Forest the truth so far as we knew it. But you look happy, Stone. You look so happy, and I saw it in your eyes last night."

"Did this all just happen between the two of you?"

I look at my father and shake my head. "No. She was with me on Benthesicyme," I concede woefully and explain the story to them.

"God, Stone. All this time." My mother's fingers press over her lips.

"Is she worth it?" my father asks, and I stare down at the tattoo he has on his forearm just visible beneath his pushed-up sleeves. A stone in the forest. My brother and I are named after my father's college best friend and my mom's stepbrother. It's how my parents knew each other long before they got together. His name was Forest Stone, and he died when my mom was only a teenager. But growing up, my father would always tell us that we were one unit. That brothers look out for and take care of each other.

And I haven't done that lately. If anything, I've done the opposite.

Still, I can't lie. "Yes, she's worth it. She's worth everything. I didn't steal her, and I tried to stay away. What started as an undeniable infatuation grew into a love neither of us can deny. I'd never want to hurt Forest. I'm just not sure what else to do or what other outcome there will be."

My mother's hand squeezes my arm. "Then I suppose you have to follow your heart and hope it all turns out as it should in the end." She leans in and kisses my cheek. "For what it's worth, we're very happy for you. We love Tinsley as you know and have always thought of her as part of our family."

"Let's hope she is one day, but for now, if you can, I'd like you to keep that to yourselves. I will have a conversation with Forest when the time is right, but I'm not sure where this all goes. Tinsley and I have a lot to work out. There is a lot of uncertainty. I hate lying and hiding this from him, but right now, I'm not sure what else there is to do."

By the time we make it back to our building, our stomachs are stuffed, and my head is full. It's been a wild, whirlwind weekend with far too many revelations and truth bombs. We duck inside, keeping our heads down. Something that has become a ritual, almost automatic now. I suppose being Mr. Tinsley Monroe comes with this. I've had press, and I've had photos taken of me that end up in various places on the internet, but this is a totally different league.

"Dr. Fritz, Miss Monroe." The doorman stops us before we can get on the elevator. "I'm so sorry to hold you up, but something was delivered overnight for you, and I wanted to make sure you got it."

He scurries behind his desk only to return a moment later.

"A man came by and delivered this." He holds up a red envelope. "He handed it to Isaac, who was on last night. He told him it was for Miss Monroe and asked us to make sure she got it this morning. He seemed pretty sketchy, and Isaac couldn't see his face because it was completely covered. He asked him to leave immediately."

Tinsley hisses out a curse and takes a step back toward the elevator, but the moment I reach out to take it, she shoots forward. "No. Don't touch it."

I look at her. "It's too late. There are already several sets of prints on it." I turn back to him and take the proffered envelope.

"Is everything all right, miss? Was I not supposed to?—"

"No, we appreciate you passing this along. You said it was hand-delivered overnight?"

"Yes, sir," he replies, looking nervous and unsure, especially with Tinsley's reaction.

"Thank you. Can you do me a favor?"

"Of course, sir. Anything."

"Can you get me Isaac's personal cell phone? He's not in any trouble or anything. I'd just like to ask him a few questions about the person who dropped this off."

He nods. "Right away. I'll text it to you."

"Thank you." I pull out my wallet and hand him a hundred. "I appreciate you keeping this to yourself."

He pockets the cash and promises not to say anything, and I guide a shaking Tinsley onto the elevator. The moment the doors close, I wrap one arm protectively around her and start shooting off texts like grenades. We reach our floor, and Mason comes flying out of his door, his hair wet and all over the place, wearing nothing but a fluffy white bathrobe and slippers .

"The fuck you wearing, brother?"

He glances down at himself and then back up at me and shrugs. "I was taking a bath. It helps keep my muscles loose, and I have Monday Night Football tomorrow. You fucking judging?"

I shake my head. "Never. Can you do me a solid and stay with my girl while I go in and inspect my place?"

"No," he replies instantly. "Don't fucking move."

In a half-minute, he's back, still in his bathrobe and slippers with the biggest butcher knife I've ever seen.

Despite herself, Tinsley laughs. "This isn't Scream ."

"Thank God for that." Mason shudders. "If anything, I'm the star like Drew Barrymore was, and I'd hate to be disemboweled. Let's go."

I snicker, but it falls flat. I have no humor at this moment, but thank God for Mason.

Tinsley is chewing on her lip, staring at Mason's thriller knife. "All I can say is thank God I'm not blonde. Those bitches always get it."

"Will both of you stop making me laugh?" I bark. "I want to get in there and make sure everything is okay so we can figure this all out."

Tinsley's expression sobers. "Right. Sorry."

"I'll go in first," Mason declares. "You stay out here with Tins, or better yet, go into my place."

"I don't think anyone is in my place because the doorman was downstairs and how would they even get up here? It's precautionary but you're extra backup."

"I'm definitely extra," he agrees. "But I'm also not going in there unarmed, and guns aren't my thing."

"You have your phone?" I ask her.

"Yes, but this is ridiculous. They dropped off the damn letter. That was all. Mason, you lead the charge with your slasher knife, but I'm not standing out here in the hallway, and I'm not cowering in Mason's apartment like a scared little girl."

I start to argue with her when she gives me a withering glare that would shrink a lesser man's balls. So naturally, I relent. "Fine. Just stay behind us."

With that, we walk into my apartment that's exactly how we left it. Within minutes we're calling the all-clear right as Vander comes in with his laptop bag on his shoulder. He spots Mason and starts cracking up, doubling over in laughter.

"Yeah, yeah, fuck you too," Mason gripes. "I'm going to get dressed."

"Don't change on my account," Vander wheezes, holding his side. "We love you just as you are, little rabbit. Can I pet you? Is that robe as soft as it looks?"

Mason flips him off. "I'll be back in a few, but I'm telling security not to let you into the game tomorrow night," he warns Vander.

"Uh-huh. And yet somehow, magically, I'll be back on the list."

Mason rolls his eyes, and then he's gone, the door shutting behind him only to immediately reopen with Wren and Loomis.

I have a feeling it's going to be like that again. A revolving door of people.

"All right," Vander states, setting up at my dining room table. "Let's see this letter."