Page 25 of The Sculptor

The love.

And that love is something I can’t let go.

Glancing back at Langston, I hurry out my response.I’m coming.

No matter what happens between Langston and me, or the information I need, I will always be there for the man I love more than anyone. The very man I’m doing this for in the first place.

“Gillian needs me,” I lie to Langston.

“This late?”

I wave off his accusing gaze. “You know wedding planners. They work all hours of the day.” I walk over and kiss the top of his head. “I’m sure it won’t take long. I’ll call you.”

His lips turn down in a disgusted manner. “Don’t bother. I’m off to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Thank goodness. I’d hate to lie even more. I already fear for the integrity of my soul by just being in the presence of Langston.

Buthe’sworth every lie—especially this one. “Goodnight, my love.”

Lads and Lagers is an upscale Irish pub just outside the Vegas strip. It’s low-key and the perfect place to keep from being seen by any of Langston’s spies, which is fabulous, because Duke is absolutely shitfaced when I get there.

“I told you, Billy.” Duke points to me as soon as I approach the bar. “There’s no one more beautiful than my Sunny Ray.”

Sitting there, with his pupils wide, a grin as big as the bar top, Duke reaches out to me, and God forgive me, I take his hand.

I did this to him.

I asked him to let me go—something neither of us could do, and he dealt with it the only way he knew how.

“Seems like we’ve been here before,” I tease, letting him pull me between his legs, safe and familiar.

“You’re right.” He swallows, the alcohol-induced buzz fading in an instant. “But this isn’t before.”

Before.

When he left school and his family, choosing to give up everything and run away with me.

He drops my hand and pushes me back. “Go home, Ray. I’m fine.”

There’s something about how he turns away from me that I can’t handle. I know I asked him to let me go, but I don’tactually wanthim to let me go. I just need the information from Langston, and if I can get that information out of him before the wedding, then great, but I’m prepared to sacrifice everything—even my freedom—to get it.

That’s how important this information is to me.

And once I have it—I can make things right for Duke. We deserved a different ending to our story. Duke didn’t deserve to be shipped off to rehab and labeled a drug abuser.

We were mere kids when we had our futures ripped away.

Duke seems to be recovering better than I am, but clearly, he’s not without scars.

And those scars—those wounds—call to me on a visceral level.

“Get up, Potter.” I grab him by the upper arm—and damn if it isn’t solid.

He goes nowhere.

“I made you a promise, remember?” he says, tipping back the last of what looks like bourbon. “I’m doing what you asked. I’m letting you go.” He nods to Billy to refill his tumbler, which so isn’t happening.

I smack the glass away. “While I appreciate the effort, I can’t, in good conscience, let you drown yourself in bourbon.”

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