In some ways, Chiara and my childhood there felt like a lie. At least for a while. It got easier with time, and even easier once Weatherly came along. She’s why I’ve rented yet another office space, only this one in Atlanta so that I can be close to her, even though there doesn’t seem to be a need to be right now.
I’ve called several times. She won’t answer. She hasn’t said anything about the gifts I’ve been sending either. Not that I’m really surprised. I guess I just hoped.
Since that first day at her place, the proverbial shit has hit the fan. News quickly spread about Jameson Randolph’s heir and his merciless business ethics. Little do they know that the only business transaction I’ve been behind since my father died was the bid for Chiara. The board of directors has been at the helm of Randolph Consolidated—ostensibly in an effort to give me time to get adjusted—and that’s been okay with me. On any given day, I’d rather be working the fields at Chiara than dealing with a bunch of assholes in expensive suits. Chiara was real. They weren’t.
Until now. Now, nothing seems quite right. Nothing seems to fit. Not even Chiara. Without Weatherly, I feel like a ship lost at sea. I’m sort of aimless. Restless. Part of me wants to go back to Chiara and resume my life there, but I know that when I get there, it’ll be empty without her. Besides, I wouldn’t feel right going back there and picking up life where it was before her. Chiara is hers. It didn’t convey in marriage. I know she would never make Mom leave, but it wouldn’t be right for me to go back like none of this happened. Mom is safe. That’s all I care about. That and Weatherly. I’m not sure I even want to go back there yet anyway. Not even to visit. Without my wife, it’s a totally different place. Since my wife, it’s a totally different place.
There’s a knock at the side door, the one that leads to the private apartment behind my new office. Only a few people know I’m back here, but I don’t hesitate to answer it. Since the threats to our team were neutralized, we are all back to life as usual. Well, as usual as it can be for three ex–Special Forces guys trying to make something of their lives.
Today, I don’t have to wonder who’s visiting. Something in my gut tells me who I’ll find at the door, so I’m not at all surprised when I swing open the panel and find Rogan leaning against the jamb.
“You look like hammered shit, man,” he says, scrunching up his face in disgust.
“Thanks. That’s what I was really needing to hear today, dickweed.”
I back up so he can come in, which he does. He slaps my cheek as he passes. “Forget how to shower and shave?”
“No. I just didn’t feel like doing either one.”
“I can smell. I mean, I can tell.” He throws a grin over his shoulder at me. I punch him lightly in the right kidney as a reward. “What the hell did that girl do to you, Tag? I’ve never seen you like this, bro.”
“Like what?” I ask, heading to the fridge for a couple of beers. He doesn’t really need to answer my question. I already know what he means. I’ve wondered the same thing myself, wondered how the hell she worked her way under my skin and into my heart this way. It’s like one day I was fine and the next day, BAM! I hardly recognize myself.
“Pussy-whipped.”
“I’m not pussy-whipped.”
“You are so pussy-whipped. You think I don’t know what it looks like? What it feels like?”
“What? Pussy? I sure as shit hope so.”
He gives me a withering look and takes the proffered beer. “You know damn well what I mean. And I’m not busting your balls. Been there, man. In fact, now I’m quite happily pussy-whipped.”
“It’s not like that,” I tell him, feeling pissy that he reduces it to sex when it’s so much more than that. “I’ve had tons of women. At least twice what your pretty-boy ass has had. This is different. It’s more than that.”
“Calm down, calm down,” Rogan says, holding out one hand like I’m a wayward kid he’s trying to soothe. “I didn’t realize you loved her, dude. Why didn’t you just say so?”
“I thought it was fairly obvious.”
Rogan grins. “It is. I just like giving you a hard time. Next to Jasper, you’re about the hardest bastard to read of anyone I know. But this I could see. Hell, I saw it the day you brought her to my house.”
“You did?”
He nods. “Yep.”
“Then why in God’s name didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugs. “I knew you’d figure it out eventually. And I didn’t want to miss all . . . this.”