Page 71 of Ravaged
Not for the first time in the last hour, I curse myself out. If I could reach behind me and kick my own ass, I would. I’ve had weeks to tell Daniel about me and Miriam. That first week, I can blame it on being caught up in her, in the change of our relationship. But after that, I have no excuse. Especially when I found out about returning to the team. All of us coming face to face was inevitable. And because I kept putting off calling Daniel and telling him the truth, he found out in the worst way possible.
Now, in his eyes, I’mthatguy. The one who would sneak behind a friend’s back and pursue the woman he wanted.
Because right now, to the man who mentored me, one of the men I respect most in this world, I’m that man.
A shaft of pain slashes through me, and I stare down into the bottle of water I’ve been nursing for a half hour. I wrap mental arms around that slashing ache, absorbing it into my muscles, my bones. It’s no less than I deserve. Doesn’t matter that I knew her the longest ... loved her first. I wronged him, hurt our friendship, and need to make it right.
“Jordan, got a minute?”
As if I summoned him with my thoughts, I turn around to face Daniel. That pain blazes brighter, hotter, and as I stare into his unreadable, closed expression, the words of regret, of explanation, crowd into my throat, climbing on top of each other.
But nothing emerges except “Yeah, I do.”
Daniel nods and turns. Before following, I scan the room for Miriam, locating her in the far corner with Linc and a few other people.Satisfied she’ll be safe with Linc, I pull my phone out and shoot her a quick text about leaving to talk with Daniel.
Tucking my cell back in my pocket, I join him. We wind through the throng of guests, not stopping until we come to Linc’s library. Daniel opens the door, and we step into an almost suffocating silence compared to the cacophony happening outside the room.
This library is my favorite room in Linc’s house. Some people use libraries as showpieces and have no clue what books occupy the spaces on their bookshelves. Not so with Linc. The man is a complete bookworm and has probably read every title on the nearly floor-to-ceiling shelves that cover three of the four walls. There’s a sense of calm and peace in here along with the familiar scent of the cherry-and-chocolate-flavored cigars he enjoys every once in a while.
Somehow it seems appropriate that I’m about to be handed my ass in a room that was a safe haven.
Turning to face him, I thrust my fingers through my hair. “Daniel, look. I—”
“You’re in love with her.”
The bald, abrupt statement echoes in the room, almost startling in its bluntness. Only the press of the shelves at my spine prevents me from stumbling back a couple of steps. I’ve admitted those words, that truth, to myself before. But hearing them aloud and voiced by someone else ... fear locks around my throat with meaty, thick fingers. So tight I can barely breathe past its brutal grip.
“Yes,” I rasp. Then, because saying it once aloud seems to unlock something inside of me, easing the grasp on my throat, I say, “Yes. I am.”
Daniel remains quiet so long I can pick out snippets of conversation from the voices filtering through the walls. He glances away from me, but a muscle tics along the hard line of his clenched jaw. Tension tautens his shoulders, and his body bristles.
“For how long?” he asks, swinging his attention back to me, the cool tone belying the stiffness of his frame.
I consider lying. No man wants to admit to a pitiful case of unrequited love for their friend. But I’ve kept enough from Daniel, and he deserves the truth from me, no matter how pathetic it makes me look.
“Almost from the beginning.”
“You’ve been in love with Miriam almost from the moment you met her, and you didn’t say a word to me? Not when I asked you to set me up with her? Why the hell did you even go through with it?” Now the anger seeps into his voice.
I push off the shelf, take a step toward him. “Because Miriam didn’t—doesn’t—feel the same for me. She doesn’t even know that I’m in love with her.” I flex my fingers, straighten them. Seeking something to do with my hands, I then tuck them into my front pockets. “As for why I set you up ... for the first time since Jerricka died, you showed an interest in dating a woman. And Miriam is special. If anyone knows that, I do. And just because she didn’t see me as more than a friend didn’t mean she couldn’t with you.”
He frowns. “Yeah, and that doesn’t answer my question. Why didn’t you tell me you had feelings for her?”
Frustration and embarrassment mingle, temporarily ensnarling my voice. After a moment, I say, “Because you wouldn’t have reached out to her if I had. And dammit, how I felt for her had nothing to do with it. It wasn’t about me.”
“The fuck it wasn’t,” he snaps, and the uncharacteristic curse telegraphs the enormity of his anger. “You lied to me.”
“I did,” I admit. “But not to hurt you. You’re my friend. I loved Jerricka. I just wanted to help—”
“No, you were playing God. At the very least playing a damn martyr.” One corner of his mouth curls, and he shakes his head. “Yes, you might’ve done this for me, I believe that. But you damn well did it for yourself too. Don’t even try to fool yourself into thinking you didn’t.”
I frown, slashing a hand in front of me. “That’s not true. I—” Fuck, I can’t even continue the sentence. I stare at him, at the truth as it sinks inside me. “I did. But not for the reason you think.”
Not to be some messed-up puppeteer with a God complex. Not to watch them dance to strings I pulled. That he could think I’m capable of that ... bile churns in my stomach, climbing for my throat.
“Then why?” he demands, cocking his head, eyes narrowed. “You owe me an explanation other than ‘You’re my friend.’”
Now it’s my turn to look away from him. But then I look back. Because I can’t be a coward in this moment. He deserves better than that. And I owe myself more than that.
