Page 82 of Emmett
Every time that I’ve walked past that door for the past three months, it’s been closed. The door that was never fully closed before. Fowler and his Texan friend seem fine when I speak to them, and I haven’t seen anything online to suggest otherwise, but I can’t help but worry that he’s hurt himself. Or that he ishurtinghimself. The last time I saw the beautiful face that sat behind that door, he was walking away from me, he was not okay, and it was my fault.
I’ve torn myself apart thirteen different ways for the things that I said to him that night, and I’ve wished that I could go back and do it all differently.
He finally stopped trying to call me last week, tired of being sent to voicemail. Ignoring his calls and texts has been harder than I ever expected it to be; to see his name light up across my screen, to see his smile sitting right behind it in my favorite picture of him. To know that answering those calls would mean putting us right back where we were. Shoving him right back into the shame that he needed to escape from. The shame that beingminebrought him. I don’tmisspeople, it’s weak and pathetic.
So am I, now, because I miss every goddamn thing about that boy every second of every day.
Setting my now empty glass on the table next to me, I stand and smoothe the front of my slacks.
“You!” I shout, pointing at one of the uniform-clad staff members walking around. I’m not sure where he came from, to be honest, between catering, working the bar, or if he’s one of my regular staff. I don’t really give a shit. “Come with me.”
“Of course, sir,” he nods with his hands clasped behind his back.
I lead him through the house, stopping to give Moose a scratch behind the ear, and I take him down the main hall. We round the corner into one of the unoccupied bathrooms and he follows me inside, letting me close and lock the door behind us.
“Is there a problem with the room, sir?” He asks, moving toward the tall utility cabinet where Emmett and I found the supplies that the cleaning staff use. So he’s a regular employee, then.
“No.” Unbuckling my belt and tugging it open, I make my way to the marble counter top and lean against it. “Get over here and get on your knees.”
He looks like a deer in fucking headlights. Pulling a spray bottle of some sort of cleaner from the cabinet, he clutches it to his chest. “I’m sorry, sir?”
“I told you to get on your knees and suck my cock,” I order him.
“Mr. Montgomery, sir, I’m sorry, I don’t—”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I gripe, pulling the belt back through its buckle. “Just get the hell out of my house, then. And don’t come back. You’re fired.”
I’m losing my touch. The old me would have threatened him or convinced him it was his own damn idea to do it. Before that pretty fucking boy ruined me.
It took so much effort not to follow him out to his car and drag his ass back into my house that night. To keep my feet planted to the ground while I watched him walk away, hurt in ways I never wanted him to be. Ways that I never meant to hurt him; but even if it wasn’t at all the way that I intended, in the end it was what he needed. So even if it ripped away at everything good inside of me, I had to let him go.
“Why isn’t there a fucking drink in my hand?” I shout as I leave the bathroom.
Within seconds, another vest-wearing member of staff deposits a freshly-filled glass into my hand. This one must be helping at the bar, tonight. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“It’s Allie,” she answers.
“Allie,” I echo as my hand clamps down at the back of her neck. “You’ll keep these coming for me, won’t you?”
“Yeah,” she nods, “absolutely, Mr. Montgomery. I’ll get started on another for you right now.”
I offer her a smile and a firm squeeze of my hand, winking at her as I tell her, “Smart girl.”
A soft blush rises to her cheeks and she offers me a matching smile before walking away, headed for the bar. She’s a curvy young woman with bottle-blonde hair, the type of woman that Emmett seems fond of, and I consider for a moment sending her to his house with my regards. She wants to fuck me; maybe a man who’s been fucked by me would be a close second.
She keeps her word, bringing me drink after drink until the room becomes hazy and the tip of my nose develops a warm tingle. I can’t bring to mind the last time that I’ve been properly drunk. I always have a casual drink, maybe two, but not often any more than that. I like the taste, but I’m not a person who enjoys being drunk or out of control of his faculties. I’ve seen hundreds – maybe thousands – of people drunkenly stumbling, vomiting and otherwise making idiots of themselves over the years. I have no interest in becoming one of them.
And yet, tonight, I am one of them.
“Mr. Montgomery,” Allie greets me with another glass in her hand, “my shift is over. I can stay, if you’d like me to, but…”
“Go home, sweetheart,” I tell her. “Thank you for your help tonight.”
“Of course,” she nods, her expression trained into neutrality despite the surprise that she blinks away. “Goodnight.”
“Moose!” I call out as she leaves me, and my doberman appears at my side moments later. “Come.”
Taking hold of his collar, I lead him up the stairs with me and into my bedroom. The dog makes a beeline for his crate,but as I drop onto my mattress, setting my glass down onto the bedside table, I whistle for him and pat the space next to me.