Page 15 of Snow Storm

Chapter 5

Harley

Craig wasn’t wrong.Harley ordered a fruit bowl and some french toast, and all of it was perfect. He scarfed it down with three cups of coffee to fuel his caffeine addiction, then sat, letting himself digest. The food was rich, and so was the heat coming from the vents above him.

Leaning back in his chair, he scanned the dining room, but the place was a ghost town. There was one couple in the corner of the room who looked at least twice his age, all nuzzled together, which made bile rise in his gullet.

He’d wanted that so fucking badly. He couldn’t lie and say that he’d been able to envision that future with Darren. His ex wasn’t a snuggler. He wasn’t very kind, and he preferred to ignore the things Harley asked for.

But he was starting to doubt anything like that was on his horizon. His brain was…different. He was weird and awkward and nervous all the time. He was needy and demanding, but he was vanilla in bed, and most men his age found him as stale as the crackers their grandparents kept in their cupboards.

He had stories to tell of people who lived wild lives—all of which he’d never experience because the very idea of doing something outside his bubble of safety was enough to make himfeel like he was choking. He didn’t think there was anyone out there—at least not close enough for him to ever meet—who’d tolerate a man like him.

He needed to get comfortable with the idea of living and dying alone.

Which was a sad thought for the holidays.

Setting his napkin down, Harley pushed to his feet and glanced out at the snowy grounds before deciding on a walk. He had a massage coming up, but he had time to kill, and he wanted his food to settle before lying on a table.

He wasn’t a big fan of massages, but his brother told him to give it a try—so he would. There was nothing for him here except new experiences, and if those failed, he could wallow in his room until he was allowed to leave again.

He had no idea what real life would look like once he set foot off the grounds, but he was hoping things would settle. He didn’t want to be the rabid writer that everyone was afraid to book. He wanted to be the writer who people wanted to respect. He had no idea why that was such a difficult ask.

His phone buzzed, and he grabbed it out of his pocket, answering without looking. He figured the only person willing to call him now was Wes, and he’d been expecting his brother to be up his ass around breakfast.

“Before you ask, I’m?—”

“Hey, baby.”

Harley froze. Ice slid through his veins. “Why are you calling me, Darren? Aren’t you with Jacob?”

“Not at the moment.” Darren’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. “I wanted to check on you. I saw what happened.” Of course he had. Everyone had.

He swallowed heavily. “I’m fine.”

Darren was quiet for a beat. “You know, I never realized Ethan would have fucked me if I’d tried a little harder.”

Closing his eyes, Harley leaned against the brick wall of the fireplace. It was hot and not nearly distracting enough from Darren’s words. He knew this game. He was trying to be cruel. “Shame you didn’t. Maybe you’d end up with a book agent instead of a therapist.”

Darren laughed. “Yeah. I’d say maybe you should go for it, but I’m not sure he’d forgive you for that. I didn’t realize you had it in you.”

“I don’t,” Harley said, and he meant that. He’d been pushed beyond his limit, and he refused to let one moment define him. “What do you want?”

“Well, my lawyer’s concerned about your mental state, and he’s looking into having you assessed for competency. I thought I’d give you a heads-up.”

For a moment, he wanted to vomit, but a quiet, logical voice in his head told him that wasn’t a thing. Darren couldn’t have him declared incompetent. This wasn’t the 1700s. “Good luck with that,” he said dryly. He sounded much braver than he felt. A knot on his back began to grow from the tension he was holding in his body. “What do you really want?”

“Well, the money from the condo?—”

“It was my money. I’ll happily give you what you put into it, but not a penny more. If your new fiancé is broke, that’s not my problem, but you need to stop calling me. You have my lawyer’s number.”

“Baby—”

“Don’t!” He took a breath. “I’m finished with you, Darren. Have a good holiday.” He hung up with shaking fingers, and it took him a couple of missed tries to finally get his number blocked. But there it was. He did it.

He fired off a quick heads-up email to his lawyer, but he wasn’t expecting a response. No work was getting done this week, and that was fine by him. He didn’t want to think aboutDarren or the fucking condo or anything else. He just wanted to live his life.

“Hey! You wanna come down for the Christmas tree?” The voice to his left scared the bejeezus out of him.

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