Page 34 of Love by Design (Club Rapture: Risk Aware #1)

MARSHALL

O n Wednesday, Hunter showed up—unannounced—at lunch, looking like someone had kicked his puppy. I worried, in this instance, the puppy was our youngest brother.

“What?” I asked, closing the lid on my laptop and leaning back in my chair for a stretch. I’d been hunched over it for hours crunching numbers and waiting for either a confirmation or rejection about Cahuenga Pass so I’d be able to put Silas out of his misery over the whole thing.

I hadn’t seen him since the weekend, which was…fine.

He’d been in touch, which was not only appreciated but required, and I knew at home with Lincoln he was in good hands.

Figuratively, at least. If not literally, on occasion.

But always platonically. I’d worried getting used to the tactile nature of their friendship would take me some time, but it had slotted into place in my brain just as quickly as Silas had found his way into my heart.

I’d spent most of the morning toying with the idea of taking him out to Rapture over the weekend, but Hunter’s arrival meant I’d need to save that conversation for later.

“Spoke with Andrew,” he said .

Frowning, I gestured for him to come in and close the door behind him.

Hunter was dressed for court, a navy suit and burgundy tie. He dropped his bag on the floor and sank into one of the leather guest chairs opposite my desk. The material creaked beneath his weight, and he grimaced, rolling his eyes at me.

“This chair is absurd.”

“It’s design.”

“It’s uncomfortable,” he said.

“You can stand.”

“Can we go?” He did stand after that, leaving his bag on the floor. “Get lunch or something.”

I glanced around my office, at the blueprints and the general state of the place, then stood. “Yeah. Lunch is good.”

We walked down to the same cafe we always favored on his midday visits, ordered the same sandwiches and the same drinks. It wasn’t until our orders were in that I leveled my brother with a look meant to push him into telling me more about his call with Andrew.

Hunter opened with, “He’s requested to be written out of the inheritance.”

“That’s…”

“Surprising,” he supplied, and I nodded my agreement. “He doesn’t want anything to do with the Covington name.”

I bit down hard on the tip of my tongue. “Or the Covington men?”

Hunter snorted a laugh that died in the back of his throat. “He maintains he will always be a Calavert.”

“Fine with me.”

“And Smith, I’m sure,” Hunter said. “But he does want to meet us.”

“Why?”

The waiter appeared with our lunch and refills on our water, which was appreciated since I was relatively confident we had ended up in the Sahara for how dry my throat was.

I’d welcomed three brothers into my world over the course of my life.

There was no reason for a fourth one to throw me off so dramatically.

I’d done my best to hold it together for Smith’s sake, but when I was alone…

“Curiosity, I imagine.”

I sighed. “I’ve been meaning to check on Finn. How did he take the news after Smith and I left on Friday night?”

“In stride, as usual.”

I believed that about Finn, who was so amenable in all things I couldn’t remember a time I’d ever seen him upset about anything that well and truly mattered.

It was as if he’d managed to get all of the nonchalance in the genes, leaving Hunter, Smith, and me to carry the burden of always worrying in one way or another.

“And Smith?” Hunter asked.

I had texted him and Finn over the weekend, and I’d checked in again with Smith after he’d left, but if my own feelings were any indication of the matter, all four of us would be feeling the aftermath of this revelation for quite some time.

“He says he’s fine, but he took a glass of wine to bed with him on Friday,” I said. I didn’t tell Hunter how he’d asked me to sit with him until he was asleep. Those moments had been ours…always. “I’m going to search him out tomorrow to make sure.”

“I talked to Smith yesterday, by the way,” Hunter confessed. He’d eaten through half his sandwich already.

“And?” I arched a brow.

He shrugged, but it was obvious there was something else he wanted to say.

“How are you with all of this, Marshall?” he asked.

I glanced down at my lap and smoothed the white linen napkin over the top of my thighs. There were crumbs, a smear of mayonnaise, my trembling fingers .

“I’m fine,” I said, whether it was the truth or a lie was uncertain.

“Fine because you’re distracted by Stanley’s son?”

The silence between us was deafening, and I leveled a sharp look across the table. “His name is Silas,” I corrected.

Hunter flashed a brief smile. “Him and Smith graduated the same year, yes?”

They were the same age, yes, but I only knew the year Silas had graduated because it had been in the bio LA Design Digest had attached to his article, which I’d practically committed to memory.

“What’s your point?” I asked, instead of confirming or denying.

“Just making an observation.”

“Your honor, I object.”

Hunter snorted. “On what grounds?”

“On the grounds you’re being an annoying gnat.” I ate the last bite of the first half of my sandwich with my brother’s amused laugh in my ears.

We lapsed into another silence while we finished our meals, and Hunter didn’t bring Andrew up again until our plates were cleared and the check was on the table.

“He does want to meet,” he said again, as if I’d forgotten.

“When?”

“Up to us.”

“Then we’ll talk about it on Friday.” I paused. “Do you want to meet him? This is all taking his wants into account, but not ours. Just because Andrew, who is too good for our name and our money, wants to meet us, doesn’t mean we have to.”

“Finn likened us to sideshow acts when I told him.”

It was an astute observation, and I knew that was how the whole thing would land with Smith as well.

“We’ll discuss it Friday,” I said again.

Hunter nodded, then reached into his pocket and pulled out enough cash to cover the whole bill. “Lunch is on me,” he said.

“I won’t argue.”

We finished our drinks and walked together back to my office so Hunter could collect his bag and head back to court or work or wherever it was he disappeared to during business hours.

Before he left, though, he stopped me with a gentle touch against my forearm and a very serious expression on his face that had him looking so much like our father I wanted to throw up a little bit.

“What?” I asked after he’d taken too long to say anything of note.

“Be careful with Silas,” he said softly.

“Careful how?”

“He’s young,” Hunter said.

“Do you think his best friend is warning him about me?” I asked, already knowing enough about Lincoln to hear the question in his voice. “Be careful, Silas, that man is old?”

He rolled his eyes to indicate yes.

“I am being careful,” I conceded, which felt like a lie on my tongue.

Silas, if anything, had me acting very recklessly.

Going all in on a relationship I’d never thought possible just because I was scared of it slipping through my fingers if I didn’t act quickly about it.

But my feelings for him were true, and they were strong.

I’d almost slipped on more than one occasion and told him I loved him.

I wasn’t even sure if the way I felt for him was love… or something more or something less.

“I am fond of him,” I settled on as a confession to Hunter. “And I am careful.”

“You’ve never had a relationship, Marshall.”

“Not that you’d remember,” I agreed. “Not anyone that mattered.”

“And does Silas Ayres matter?” he asked .

“Very much,” I whispered.

My voice cracked, and Hunter’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t call me out about it.

I knew he’d heard it, also knew he’d cataloged every tic and twitch my face had made while I talked about Silas.

It was the lawyer in him, always looking out for tells.

For lies and truths that would either fit or go against whatever narrative he was being told.

“What are your thoughts about Andrew?” I asked, realizing we’d talked about Finn, about Smith, about myself, but not yet about him and how the appearance of a new brother—who wanted little to do with us—made him feel.

“I don’t think about him one way or another,” Hunter said with a shrug.

“How analytical of you.”

He slid his bag up onto his arm and gave me an almost sorrowful smile. “How else am I meant to be?”

Before I could counter, he gave me a quick wave, then turned on his heel and headed for his car.

I stayed there and watched him go, seeing the most practical of my brothers in a new light.

Hunter was pragmatic on his best days, and if he’d accused me of being too emotional in my decision-making, I found him to be quite the opposite.

No real emotion at all.

Heading back into the office, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Finn.

He answered out of breath. “Hello?”

“Busy?”

“Wouldn’t have picked up if I was. What’s up?” he asked.

“Just wanted to see how you were handling the whole Andrew situation,” I said, sitting down at my desk and getting my work back online.

“Better than Smith but probably worse than you,” he said.

I laughed. “That’s a big range. ”

“I don’t like that he doesn’t want the inheritance, but I’m also glad he doesn’t,” Finn said.

“You never shared well.”

He made a thoughtful sound. “I don’t see why he wants to meet us at all.”

“Do you want to meet him?” I asked the same question I’d asked of Hunter. The same one I would also ask of Smith on Friday night at dinner.

“I haven’t decided,” Finn said softly.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know, Marshall.”

“I told Hunter we’d discuss it on Friday.”

“Then let’s talk then,” Finn said. “I’ve got to get going but didn’t want to not answer when you called.”

Something tightened in the middle of my chest at the casual way he let that confession settle between us.

“Right. Hey, Finn?”

“Yeah?”

I swallowed hard. “Love you.”

“Oh, God.” He groaned playfully. “That boyfriend of yours has made you soft.”

“Fuck you.”

He laughed in my ear until he was out of breath, then a quiet, “Love you back.”

The call disconnected in my ear, and I dropped my phone onto the desk and went limp.

With my legs splayed out and my arms hanging over the armrests, I stared up at the ceiling feeling out of my element for the first time in a very long time.

It was okay, I reminded myself. I was allowed.

There were so many things going on at home and at work, it was perfectly acceptable for me to feel a little burnt out and exhausted over the weight of it all.

There was a light to be found in all of it.

A relief .

And that lived in the small spaces between Silas and me. When he was on his knees or on his back, in the throes of submission, and I stood strong and sure in my dominance. Being with Silas wasn’t work at all—it was a reward. It was salvation.

And, suddenly, the responsibilities of the day melted away into nothing I wanted anything to do with.

I wanted to go home, find Silas on my couch, and go to my knees in front of him in thanks for the life he’d already started to build around me.

Maybe that was too much, too soon, or maybe it was too little, too late.

Maybe it was not enough or just the right amount, I wasn’t certain.

I was invested.

I was in love.

I closed everything up for the day and made my way home, not knowing if he would be there or at his place with Lincoln. Pulling up and finding his car in my driveway was like Christmas morning, and it took all my restraint to not run through the house calling after him.

He was easy enough to find.

All I had to do was follow the sound of whatever early 2000’s punk band he had playing from his phone.

It was on my nightstand, and Silas was in my bed, legs crossed at the ankle and a book propped open on his lap.

He also had his laptop beside him, wearing not much more than a pair of underwear, and the sight of him there stopped me dead in my tracks.

“Are you busy?” I asked.

He looked up, startled, and then pleased.

So fucking pleased.

“I was reading through some stuff before I start with Cory on Monday.”

I undid the top button on my shirt and stalked toward him.

“Monday?” I asked.

“I was going to tell you when you got home. ”

I crawled onto the foot of the bed, closed the space between us. Silas moved his book and his computer out of the way to make room for me between his legs. He looked like a king there beneath me, or more like a spoiled prince, ready to be pampered.

“We need to celebrate,” I said, dipping down and kissing his hip.

“You’re the boss,” he murmured.

I glanced up at him, tugging down the waistband of his briefs to kiss him lower, and lower still.

“Well, if that’s the case,” I said, burying my face between his legs and breathing him in. “Then I think you should call me Mr. Covington.”