Page 207 of The Storm

He hands a second plate to Dylan, who tilts his head back and smiles at him.

“Thank you.”

Adrian presses a soft kiss to Dylan’s lips.

“Where’s my kiss?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes and smacks a quick one on the top of my head.

“No tongue,” I say. “Figures.”

“You want me to lick your hair?” Adrian asks, then glances at Dylan. “You clearly traded up when you picked me instead of him.”

Dylan’s lips twitch as he takes the fork and starts eating the omelet on his plate.

“So?” Adrian says. “What brings you by at—” He glances at his smartwatch. “—five fifteen in the morning. Not that we don’t love having you,” he says quickly when Dylan nudges his shin with his toes. “I just had plans for this morning,” he mutters sulkily before sending Dylan a heated look that leaves very little doubt about the kind of plans I’ve ruined for him.

Adrian and I have the kind of relationship where we both fight for Dylan’s attention. A spot in his sunlight. Only it’s not really a contest, and even if it were, Adrian won it a long time ago, somewhere around the time Dylan and he were both just ten years old, which was when Dylan fell for him, hopelessly and for good. So no, I’m not a contestant in that game. But it’s fun to tease Adrian. He gets so jealous for no reason at all, then does his best to hide it. It’s the little things that get me through the day.

I sit up and moodily attack my own omelet, shoveling it into my mouth without really tasting it.

“I’m just really stupid,” I say after I’ve finished and put my plate down on the floor because they just moved in and only have a few pieces of furniture.

“You’re not stupid,” Dylan says, immediately and loyally.

“You can’t really make that judgment before we’ve heard why he’s stupid,” Adrian says. “Let the guy speak.”

Unexpected laughter bubbles up from my throat, and I flip my middle finger up at him before I slump against the back of the couch and rub my fingertips over my eyes.

“This is a supremely uncomfortable couch,” I say.

I can feel Dylan watching me. “Indy,” he says. “Are you okay?”

I start to nod, but then I change my mind halfway through and end up with some sort of shrug and shake hybrid.

I need somebody to knock some sense into me. That key Nick handed me yesterday morning? It fucked me up beyond repair, I think.

I was so useless at work that even Callum noticed, and Callum isn’t exactly some tough, tyrannical boss. Half the time it feels like he’s working for me, not the other way around.

I can’t focus. All the regret of the last six years has accumulated interest, and I can’t seem to push it out of sight anymore. I can’t hide it away and pretend it’s not there. None of the ways I use to cope work anymore. I lay awake the whole night, relive all the bad choices I’ve made, and, holy fuck, do I regret a lot of them.

I’ve finally stopped lying to myself.

I can’t tell myself I don’t know what I’m doing when I fall into his bed at night. I do know.

I’m hoping.

And it’s terrible and terrifying and awful because… because I love him. And I don’t know if he can ever love me again. Or trust me again. I don’t know if he can forgive me.

I can’t change the past. I can’t go back and make better choices. But I also can’t see a future where he’ll ever be able to move past it and trust me again.

And that’s terrifying. And terrible. And awful.

“Indy?”

I blink as Dylan’s voice brings me out of my head again.

“Okay, seriously,” Dylan says. “What the hell is wrong with you? I’ve never seen you like this.”