Page 44 of Brushed and Buried
Adrian nods slowly, something dying in his eyes. “You’re right. Maybe I should just go back home.”
“Maybe you should.”
Ten years of want and hurt crackle between us. The impulse wars in me to either run or close the distance.
I choose wrong.
My hands fist in his shirt before I can think, pulling him away from the wall and dragging him toward me with enough force that he stumbles forward.
“Fuck,” I hiss and crash my mouth to his.
It is not the tentative brush of lips like in high school. It is rage and hunger. Everything I have buried claws its way out. I want to devour him. I want him to feel the years I spent trying to forget. My tongue slides over his lips, tasting him, the man I should have forgotten long ago but never truly did.
I pin him hard against the wall. He gasps, his body trembles against mine, pressing hard. I feel the heat of him, the undeniable evidence of his arousal straining against his pants. His hands dig into my shoulders, pulling and demanding, but I am faster, sharper, angrier. I bite his bottom lip, and his groan shudders through him. Every thud of his heart against mine feeds the fire.
I trail my mouth down his jaw and bite just enough to leave a mark. He shivers against me, hard and needy, and in a reflex, bites my bottom lip. We press together, taut and aching, my cock hard against his, our bodies screaming with raw desire and unspoken emotion. His skin against mine, our ragged breaths, and the ache between us ignite the desire that has been simmering for a decade. For a long moment, there is nothing but us. The world is gone. Only the ache remains.
Then the room tilts back into focus. The resort suite. The fight.
The goodbye.
I shove myself away from him so hard I nearly stumble, both of us breathing like we’ve been underwater.
“Vince,” he says, voice wrecked. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
His eyes are on my mouth, and I know he feels it too. The way we still fit. The way we still burn.
“You’re right,” I manage, wiping the blood from my lip where he bit back. “Let’s not pretend this is more than it actually is.”
He turns toward his bedroom, and I feel something inside me screaming to stop him, to reach for him one more time. But my feet stay planted, my hands stay at my sides, and I watch him walk away from me.
He pauses at the doorway, his back still turned.
“For what it’s worth,” he murmurs, almost to himself, “I’m sorry it came to this between us. I wish we had been able to do it differently.”
The door closes behind him with a soft click, and I’m left standing in his suite, surrounded by the ghost of everything we just destroyed.
I walk back to my room on unsteady legs, my hands shaking as I close the door. Everything I’ve just said and done presses down on me. I don’t feel vindicated or protected. I only feel the emptiness of breaking the one thing that ever made me feel whole. I can’t unsay the words that made Adrian’s face crumble.I can’t undo the moment I watched him stop fighting for us. I can’t escape the finality of what I’ve done.
I lie awake, thinking about Adrian packing his life back into his duffel bag, wondering if this is me finally learning to protect myself or just carrying out my father’s lesson, to push people away before they can leave.
I remain awake, still wondering if his leaving is the true closure we both needed, or the biggest mistake of my life.
16
Adrian
I packed my things in silence.
Holly cried, apologized for her role in all that happened, her voice breaking with regret. But I shook my head before she could finish. There was nothing for her to be sorry about. She didn’t create this mess, didn’t make Vince retreat behind walls I couldn’t scale, didn’t turn what we had into something fractured beyond repair. She was just here, the way she always was, steady and present while everything else fell apart. I know how Vince can be. He builds fortresses around himself and calls it protection. He pushes away before he can be left behind.
Now we stand in the lobby with our bags, while Trevor, George, Lance, and Becca wait near the entrance. Their expressions are careful, uncertain. We’ve only known each other for a handful of days, and already we’re navigating a goodbye that feels heavy with more than it should be.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for the wedding?” Trevor asks, gripping my shoulder briefly. His usual lightness is gone, replaced by something more genuine and uneasy.
I force a small smile. “I…yeah, I should probably keep moving. But thank you…really. All the very best for your wedding. It’s been great meeting you all.”
George nods once, solid and silent. Lance shakes his head, muttering under his breath, “Holloway’s an idiot,” before forcing a tight smile. I can tell he wants to know what happened, but he’s got enough sense not to pry.
