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“ H ey, J! Watch me!”

He stared down through the open window as his friend, Carter, splashed in the puddles outside. Water was flying up everywhere as he laughed with excitement.

Jameson really wanted to be out there, jumping in the puddles with him.

But he was supposed to stay in his room and study. He glanced down at the workbook in front of him. He didn’t really understand any of it.

Or why he had to do schoolwork during the school holidays. Especially when Carter was out there playing and he was stuck in here.

“Come outside, J! Come play!”

Without thinking of the consequences, he jumped to his feet and pulled on his boots. Then he ran downstairs, careful to avoid going past the front sitting room where his parents were entertaining.

Racing outside, he let out a whoop as he joined Carter. They jumped for a while, then made a pile of mud pies.

Splat!

He looked down at his clothes, then over at Carter who was grinning. “Mud fight!”

Jameson let out a war cry and scooped up some mud, just as Carter’s face dropped and fear filled it.

Then Jameson felt his wrist being grasped. The hold was hard, but not so firm that it would leave bruises. He stared up into his mother’s face in trepidation.

Her face was a pleasant mask. But her eyes told another story.

“Carter, it’s time you went back to your mother.”

Carter’s mum worked as a maid for his parents. Carter ran off without a look back. Not that Jameson blamed him.

He’d run away too.

His mother started dragging him into the house. “I went looking for you because your father wants to introduce you to his associates, and look where I find you. Acting like a common little brat.” Her scolding ended as they walked inside.

But things had gotten worse. Because standing there was his father and two other men.

Jameson gulped as a look of anger filled his father’s eyes. But he turned to his associates. “Boys . . . you just can’t keep them away from mud, can you?”

One of the men grinned. “Nothing wrong with a bit of mud play. It’s good to see kids playing outside, getting dirty.”

“Yes, well, could you take him upstairs and get him tidied up before dinner, Meredith,” his father said.

“Of course, dear. Excuse us.” His mother took him upstairs, her hand hard around his shoulder.

She opened his door and shoved him inside. He turned to stare at her fearfully.

“Just wait until your father is finished with his associates. Then he’ll deal with you, ungrateful little brat. Get in the shower and out of those clothes.”

Jameson waited for ages to be summoned to his father’s office. By the time he knocked on the door, he was close to peeing himself with nerves.

“Come in.”

He walked in. His father’s office was scary to his young mind. A big desk, large chairs, everything was in its place. Everything had its place. He’d fired their last maid after she’d moved some of his books around on the shelves.

His father leaned back against the desk, staring down at him. Jameson gulped, trying hard not to shift around nervously.

He knew that would make this worse.

“We give you every opportunity, don’t we, Jameson? You have so much when others have so little. And yet, you squander it. All we want is to make you the best you can be. Yet, you’d rather play in the mud with the help.”

“I’m s-sorry, Father.”

“Don’t stutter,” his father snapped.

He bit his lip, then stopped doing that.

Sometimes, it seemed like everything he did upset his father.

“All we want is for you to grow up to be something great. We’re trying to help you. Can’t you see that? And be a little grateful?”

“I’m sorry, Father. I’ll do better.”

His father sighed. “I’m not sure I believe that. So, as your father, it’s my job to help you. To that end, Carter will be leaving ? —”

“What! No!”

The words burst out of him without thought. And he desperately wished them back as his father’s face tightened.

“You did this. All you had to do was finish up your schoolwork. But you let that boy influence you. That boy is nothing, and you are a St. Bede! You do not play in the mud!”

Jameson flinched as his father’s voice grew louder. A sniffle escaped him.

“It’s your fault his mother lost her job. Now, you might want to remember that the next time you think of disobeying me.”

Tears welled in his eyes.

His fault. Carter was gone. His only friend.

“Oh, and I’ve asked my secretary to start looking into boarding schools for you. I think it’s time that you learned how to look after yourself.”

“Yes, Father.”

“You may leave.”

Another sniffle left him as he walked through the door.

“And stop snivelling. It’s time you grew up. You’re seven now, boy.”

Jameson woke up with a gasp.

The memory wasn’t one of his worst. But for some reason, it was the one that returned time and again. Sometimes, he wondered where Carter was now.

If he even remembered him.

Jameson shook his head and climbed from the bed. He’d fallen into bed after getting home from his shift. He hadn’t even showered. Probably a good thing since now he was coated in sweat anyway.

His head thumped as he got out of bed and walked over to the curtains, pulling them back. It was late afternoon.

And he had nothing to do for the next four days.

He’d been forced to take some time off after working too many days in a row.

What a joke. He didn’t need time off. Days of doing nothing meant he had too much time to think.

And spending time in his head wasn’t restful or fun.

Moving out to the living room, he poured himself a drink and looked around his apartment.

How had he never noticed before how sparse and empty it was?

A bit like your life.

Bloody hell.

Sitting on the leather sofa, he stared out at the view of the city below him and he took a sip of his Scotch.

Fatigue flooded him. A fatigue that wasn’t due to the twelve-hour shift he’d just worked. It wasn’t because he hadn’t had a holiday in over a year.

Nope, this was life fatigue.

He closed his eyes for a long moment as he felt the darkness pressing in. A heaviness on his chest that made it hard to breathe. A persistent gray filter over everywhere he looked. It invaded his limbs, making it hard for him to move them.

And now it was affecting his moods. Making it hard for him to show empathy, caring, and even compassion.

All things he needed in his job.

Just as well he was such a good fucking actor. Years of his parents making him smile in public when behind closed doors everything was complete and utter bullshit.

Yeah. He was pretty sure that no one had any idea.

A set of worried hazel eyes invaded his memory.

“Are you all right?”

When was the last time someone had asked him that? Had cared how he was doing?

Who looks after you while you’re taking care of everyone else?

He hadn’t had anyone show him such empathy or understanding in a long time.

And what had he done? Upset her. She clearly wasn’t ready to speak about her uncle’s care. He could have given her more time. He could have taken her somewhere more pleasant than the hospital cafeteria to talk about it.

You hurt her.

And he fucking hated himself for it.

Swinging his arm up, he threw the glass, watching it smash against the tile floor.

It didn’t ease his self-hatred, though.

He rubbed at his chest. He’d felt things around her. Attraction, interest, worry, concern.

Happiness.

Did he really want this? Want her?

Yeah. He did.

The question was . . . what was he going to do about it? Was he going to take things further?

She belongs to Ian and Jack.

But she’s also interested in you. She stares at you like you’re the best thing she’s ever seen.

Did he want to share her? Did he want to do this again? And would Ian and Jack consider sharing her with him?

There was only way one to find out. He knew he had to speak to them first. It was the right thing to do. He’d never want them to think he was trying to take her from them.

She’s clearly a Little . . .

Fuck.

Was he going to let Elizabeth keep ruining his life? His parents? He was a grown man. And he wanted some happiness. Some joy in his life.

I was only with you for your money, Jameson.

He couldn’t even be angry with Elizabeth for that. Since his parents had pushed him toward her for the same reason.

For money.

And because she had the proper fucking breeding. Like a mare. Why hadn’t he told them no?

Because all your life they bullied you into being the person they wanted. And now you don’t know who you are.

It was fucking ridiculous. He was a grown man. He could be whoever the fuck he wanted to be.

Getting up, he moved over to the shelves. They held a bunch of books that the former occupants of the apartment had left behind.

And one photo.

Of him with Jack and Ian when they were in their late teens. They had their arms around each other and were smiling.

Fuck. He missed that.

He missed them.

He wanted his friends back. The only time he’d truly been happy was with Jack and Ian.

His parents had approved of his friendship with Ian. Ian’s grandparents had breeding and money. A lot of money.

But they’d despised Jack. They’d often tried to make Jameson get rid of him.

However, it was the one thing Jameson could never do.

Until you did, you tosser.

Was that his problem? He’d pushed away the two people who meant the most to him, all because they’d been part of his humiliation.

It wasn’t their fault.

It was yours.

Elizabeth’s words from that disastrous night came back to him.

Do you really think I wanted anything to do with those friends of yours? Ian is too rough and uncouth. And Jack . . . he’s got no breeding, no money.

Why would I want them?

It was all a ruse, you idiot. To get you. The prize stud. But you’re not, are you, Jameson? You’re sick . . . and you’re broke. And soon, everyone will know it.

He wasn’t sure what his parents had hated more. People learning that they were in dire financial straits.

Or that he was a Daddy Dom who liked to share with his friends.

Had he even defended Ian and Jack to Elizabeth? To his parents? When had he turned into this person who didn’t stick up for his friends?

It had always been the three of them against everyone else. After everything happened a few years ago, he should have stuck with them rather than running away.

He knew he had to apologize. To try and make things up to them. If it wasn’t too late.

It couldn’t be.

And what about Maggie?

It seemed they all wanted her. And he would do whatever it took to take care of her. To be a part of their lives.

He was going to fight for that right.

Jameson still found it hard to believe that she hadn’t let him buy her a toy the other day, when she’d clearly wanted it so badly.

Because she’s nothing like Elizabeth. And you could be happy with her if you could let go of the past . . . and embrace her as your future.

First . . . he needed to talk to his friends. Then he needed to work on courting his girl.

Their girl.