Page 28 of Gorgeous

His throat works as he swallows down the emotion he’s keeping contained in his massive chest but not even staring at the water stops the silent heaves that rack through his body. “They think I can’t cook.” He turns, giving me his eyes which are bloodshot and watery. “I can. I just don’t have a reason to anymore.”

I nod, wiping at the tears that drip down my cheeks. My hands shake, and I want to reach out to this broken man. This father who can’t bear to cook because it reminds him of his dead son. My voice quivers. “You don’t have to,” I promise, barely getting it out. And I mean it. Vic makes a low sound in his throat and then picks up another rock, launching it into the water.

He sighs. “Yeah, I do. It’s time.”

He tosses another rock and I sit quietly next to him absorbing everything he’s admitted. I came here under the notion that I was teaching guys who didn’t know how to cook some basic skills. Now I realize it’s so much more than that. Vic just admitted that he knows how to cook but that it pains him to do so, and with a desperate plea in his voice, he knows he needs to do this to move on. I don’t know if I can handle that type of responsibility, but for Vic, I’m going to try.

After a while, Vic breaks the silence and shocks me again. “Let me teach youmyrecipe for buttermilk pancakes,” he challenges me with a smile. His face is strained when he extends his hand and offers me not only a hoist up but an agreement.

A pact.

Between me and him. Helping him through this painful transition.

It will be my honor.

My privilege.

And ultimately, a bond that will never be broken.

I clasp my hand with his and let him haul me to my feet, and with a voice more confident than I feel, I challenge him back. “Let’s see what you got.”

Ican’t tear my eyes away as she stands on her toes and wraps her arms around Vic’s neck. They stay that way, locked together, and I know she’s not going anywhere now. Whatever happened in the kitchen this morning probably had something to do with Vic’s past. But by the way Vic curls into her, taking her comfort, I am certain she knows what caused his outburst this morning.

Bonds like those are unbreakable.

I should know. It’s what anchors me to Anniston. No one understands my faults and my demons like she does, and no matter what happens, I will never let our friendship go.

Breck and Vic separate, and I notice Breck wipes at her eyes. Is she crying? I’m curious about what they were talking about, but I won’t ask. I can respect Vic’s privacy. When he wants to share with me, he will.

“You think he’s alright?” Mason takes the spot next to me and gazes out the back door, watching Vic and Breck throw a ball to Killer.

I don’t know if he’s okay or not, so rather than answer him, I ask what I need to know. “What did Anniston say?”

In my peripheral, I see him shrug his shoulder. “She said she would call him later.” Knowing Anniston will call him makes me feel a little better. I won’t be surprised if she comes home early to be with him.

“Do you think we should still shoot today?”

I debate Mason’s question for a minute and then decide that keeping our routine will be consistent, and I know firsthand that when your life seems to be spiraling out of control, having consistency is like a life raft that you can hang on to.

“Yeah, we’ll give him a few minutes and then go.”

But Vic doesn’t need a few minutes. He and Breck are walking toward the house and Mason and I immediately scatter like two chicks eavesdropping in the bathroom stalls. Mason darts up the stairs, and I round the corner and slide into my office, taking a seat at the desk like that was my intent all along.

Laughter filters through the house as Breck’s sweet chuckle glides across my skin and goes straight to my dick.

“Are you saying my pies were dry?”

“No, I’m just saying they could have used a little more butter to flake the top.”

Vic? A flaky top? What in the ever-loving fuck does he know about cooking? He burns cereal.

A hearty, throaty sound rings closer to the kitchen and I imagine Breck’s head thrown back, her sparkling gray eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Well, Chef Vic—wait, is Vic short for anything?”

There’s hesitation from Vic, like he’s deciding if he wants to let Breck in, to let her get to know the real him, or keep some of his secrets and his distance from her.

A throat clears and then, “It’s Vincent.”

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