Page 29 of A Matter of Fact

“Why?” He also knew the answer to that question, but the implication of the truth was more than he’d wanted to face.

“He knew you were engaged,” Sebastian admitted. “He didn’t want to go alone.”

Rhys let out a trembling breath and closed his eyes just as Gene pulled the car into the parking lot of whatever restaurant Sebastian had picked.

“Am I so bad?” he asked, even though he didn’t want—or need—an answer. He knew the truth.

Gene shifted the car into park, and Rhys was up and out before Gene had even got his door open.

“Rhys, come on,” Sebastian followed him into the parking lot.

“You go ahead and get us a table,” he said, his back turned to his brother and his stare focused on the horizon. “I’ll be just a minute.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Sebastian.” He glared over his shoulder, straightening his spine and steadying himself. He was fine. Or he would be fine. He just needed to get it together. He needed to bury the way he felt about Callahan, about the resentment that still lingered—toward himself—for how he’d handled things. It had been half a lifetime ago, and yet every day he lived with it and hated himself a little more.

If there was anything he needed to be honest with Beckett about, it wasn’t that their relationship had an expiration date, it was that it would be sour from the start. Rhys had too much baggage, and he had no right to ask anyone else to carry it for him. Not even for a little while.

“Let’s go get some morning drinks,” Sebastian tried, but Rhys shook his head.

“I’m fine, Sebastian,” he said again. “Just going for a quick walk, and I’ll be right in. Order for me. You know my tastes.”

“A walk?” Sebastian huffed out a confused breath. “You’re wearing Tom Fords.”

“Would you fuck off, Sebastian?”

He just needed a minute. He needed some air.

He needed to be anyone besides Rhys. St. George. Just for a day, because maybe then he would have a chance.

CHAPTERTEN

BECKETT MAKES A CAKE

There were times Beckett missed his sister.

It wasn’t as if the two of them had ever been close, but he’d sort of always hoped that once they were both adults, she would be able to put his past behind them. He hadn’t ruled out the possibility of that ever happening, but it hadn’t happened yet. He’d hold onto his cautious optimism for as long as he could manage.

But he missed his sister because he didn’t have a lot of friends, and mostly he wanted someone to talk to. He needed to talk about Rhys. He needed to talk about anything. His mind hadn’t stopped racing since they’d kissed in the hallway the weekend before. Even through slow work shifts and sleepless nights, he hadn’t been able to get Rhys entirely off his mind. When Rhys texted him the day before to see if he was available on Saturday night, he’d left him on read for an hour before answering yes.

Beckett got the impression no was a word Rhys didn’t hear often, and while he didn’t want to be difficult, he definitely didn’t want to be easy. Rhys was attractive, no matter how you sliced it, and he had more money than anyone Beckett knew. There was no way it was hard for the man to get attention from other men, and there was a part of Beckett that really liked that Rhys was willing to try to get it from him.

But it was Friday, not Saturday, and he had twenty-four hours to distract himself before the date, and he’d run out of ideas. He was tired of reading, tired of walking, tired of watching TV. So he checked his bank account, did some careful math, and headed to the dollar store.

He could spare enough to get flour, eggs, and some other supplies. Enough to make a cake or something simple. Baking would keep him busy, at least for a few hours. He ran into Audra in the notebook section, because although notebooks were definitely not on his list, there was no harm in looking.

“Hey there, Bexy,” she greeted him with a shoulder bump.

“Hey.” He smiled sincerely and glanced down in her basket piled with glassware and pens. “Important shopping today?”

“You know the pens Heather has at work are crap.”

“I know.”

She looked down in his handbasket. “You baking something later?”

“Yeah.” He shifted the basket into his other hand. “A cake or something. I don’t know. I need a distraction.”