Page 13 of Pretty Broken Doll

Ryann

I t turns out that Shilo can avoid me forever. And is hellbent on doing it, too.

Not once in four days has he texted me back. With work being closed until Monday, I haven’t been able to see him, either, and it’s pissing me off. It pisses me off that I’m pissed off.

Standing in front of the mirror in my closet, I scowl at my reflection as I adjust the silver cuff-links on my sleeves, ensuring my sleek black suit is pressed and wrinkle-free. There’s no hair out of place, my green silk tie shimmering, and my dress shoes are shined to perfection. Just the way my father expects it. We have appearances to keep up, after all, and God forbid my fucking pocket square be one inch too far to the right.

Heaving a sigh, I dial up Declan as I fasten a Rolex from my collection onto my wrist. He answers on the third ring.

“Happy Turkey Day, brother,” he snickers, sounding muffled, but I’m not in the mood for jokes today.

“When will you be at the Manor?”

A beat of silence follows. “The Manor?”

“Yes. Thanksgiving dinner at Dad’s, remember?”

There’s a harsh swear on the other end, and my brows shoot up as I flick off the closet light and stride back into my room.

“Shit, Ry. I forgot to tell you. Paige decided it’s time for me to meet her parents, so I’m having dinner with them instead.”

I freeze in the hallway, hand hovering over my office door handle as my chest tightens. “Does Dad know?”

“I sent him an email,” Dec says quickly. “He wasn’t happy about it, but gave me his blessing.”

Of course, he fucking did.

Instantly deflating, I slump against the wall as I reach up to rub my forehead furiously. As if tonight wasn’t bad enough, now I’ll have to endure the entire charade alone—surrounded by people I barely know, nodding through pointless small talk, and pretending to care about Ronin’s wife, who’s somehow younger than both of us.

“You’re mad, aren’t you?” My brother’s voice cuts through the spiraling thoughts, and I grit my teeth, letting my head fall back against the wall with a dull thud.

I don’t answer. I don’t need to. He can probably hear me silently pleading through the phone, begging him not to leave me to deal with this shit alone.

“Look,” he says after a moment, “why don’t you come with me?”

Straightening away from the wall, I frown at the phone as if Declan can see me. “To Paige’s house?” Shilo’s house.

“Yeah, why not? I’m sure they won’t mind. You’re my twin. We’re a package deal.”

An unfamiliar yearning stirs in the pit of my stomach, and suddenly, there’s nothing I want more than see Shilo in his natural environment, surrounded by his family. He won’t expect to see me, either, which makes the idea more appealing.

Clearing my throat, I pretend to deliberate, even though I’ve already decided. “Dad will flip if I cancel this close to dinner.”

My brother scoffs. “So what? He’ll get over it.”

Maybe for you. I’m always held accountable when it comes to Ronin’s expectations, but I keep that thought to myself as I grab my wallet and keys. “What time should I be there? And text me the address.”

“I’m heading over now.”

Twenty minutes later, after a quick trip to the store for wine, I pull up in front of a charming Victorian-style home in the Queen Anne neighborhood. The house is made of brick, with a covered porch and small spire that showcases several lit windows.

Declan’s already parked outside, leaning against his Lexus, and he chokes out a laugh when I step onto the curb.

“Are you trying to show me up or something?” He gestures down to his loose button-up as I roll my eyes.

“I was preparing for dinner at Dad’s, remember? There was no time to change.”

“Yeah, well, they’ll probably like you better than me now. And you even brought the good wine.”

“It felt wrong to crash someone else’s family dinner empty-handed.”

We make our way up a set of concrete steps lined with neatly trimmed bushes, a garden full of autumn flowers blooming beneath a large bay window. Dec rings the bell, his fingers twitching at his sides. I notice the telltale sign of nerves immediately, and when he catches me looking, he shoves a hand into his pocket with a crooked grin, his green eyes distant.

Much like me, he was never the relationship type—though there was a girl back in college who broke his heart. He didn’t even get close to meeting her parents, so this feels like a pretty big deal for him.

Firing off a quick email to let Ronin know I won’t be making it tonight, I shove my phone into my pocket just as Paige flings open the door in a tan sweater dress that hangs off one shoulder. When she sees Declan, her gaze lights up, but widens in surprise as it swings toward me.

“Oh.” She pauses, a confused smile tugging at her lips. “You brought a plus one?”

Dec jabs a thumb in my direction. “Yeah, hope that’s alright. Big baby Ry didn’t want to face our stepmother’s family alone.”

I shove his shoulder as Paige snorts.

“The more, the merrier,” she says, spinning on the heel of her black boots. “Come on in. I’ll let Mom know to set another spot at the table. Dad’s going to be thrilled.”

We step into a large sitting room, hardwood floors covered with a deep red oriental rug. Flames crackle beneath a white brick hearth decorated in autumn decor, and framed photographs hang above a curved-back Chesterfield sofa. A staircase leads up to the second floor on our left, steps covered in a gold runner that casts a warm and inviting glow. Delicious scents of food tickle my nostrils.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, no doubt my father’s response, but I ignore it as my curiosity pulls me toward the pictures on the wall. They appear to be family photos, taken several years ago, somewhere in the Grand Canyon, maybe?

Furrowing my brow, I lean in closer to one frame. A teenage Shilo stares back at me, looking… very different. Instead of his familiar shaggy purple waves, his hair is buzzed short and dark, his cheeks round and reddened with a sunburn. He’s scowling at the camera, standing beside a broader man who bears a strong resemblance—his father, I’m sure.

Other photos show school portraits, and the boy in them is robust, with a fuller build and softer features. It’s undeniably Shilo, the pale skin and blue eyes are unmistakable, but he’s not the petite little doll I’ve come to know.

Paige mentioned bullies in school.

Is this the reason he won’t take his shirt off?

“Well, I’ll be damned.” A deep voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I turn to see the larger man from the photos striding toward me, his wide grin a mirror image of his daughter’s. “Ryann Callahan, in my house? Is this Christmas?”

He bypasses Declan entirely, thrusting out a meaty palm for me to shake. I blink at it momentarily before clasping my hand around his firm grip.

“Mr. Reed, I presume?”

“Please, call me Mark.” He claps me on the back, hard enough to sting, brown eyes twinkling. “I used to watch your college games. Couldn’t believe you didn’t go pro.”

Right . Shilo mentioned his dad was a fan of college basketball. I’d forgotten.

I open my mouth to respond, but Paige interrupts, placing a hand on her father’s shoulder. “Before this gets too out of hand…” She pulls an uncomfortable looking Dec to her side. “Dad, this is Declan.”

Mark’s attention shifts to my brother, his gaze appraising. He reaches out to shake Declan’s hand. “You play ball too, son?”

“Lacrosse, sir.”

The man flicks his hand at that, dismissing them both before steering me away to God knows where. Over my shoulder, I lock eyes with a smirking Paige and silently mouth help . She ignores me, tugging Declan into what looks like a kitchen, at least from what little I can see, before I’m swallowed up inside a study.

Mark proceeds to pester me about my basketball career for nearly forty minutes.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy talking sports, because I do. Get me going on a good night with a few glasses of bourbon, and I’ll chat anyone’s ear off about hockey or Huckslee Davis, the star running back for the Baltimore Ravens. But tonight? After the week I’ve had? Knowing I’m under the same roof as my little doll after not seeing him for nearly two weeks?

It’s maddening. Every muscle in my body is coiled tight, and it’s taking all my strength not to kick down every damn door in this house and demand to know where he is.

This… this isn’t like me at all.

Apparently, Shilo’s father is a full-time Aviation Officer stationed at the base. The family moved around almost every two years until Shilo was about thirteen, when they finally settled here permanently. Mark is midway through showing me his impressive collection of medals when we’re both called to dinner.

The dining room matches the rest of the house, warm and inviting with a sizable six-seater table covered in food. A woman in a flowing blouse, who I assume is Shilo’s mother, greets me with a pretty smile. She pulls me in for a hug that I return stiffly, feeling Declan’s amused gaze on my face. She’s petite, about Shilo’s height, with golden blonde waves and those same pale blue eyes I’ve grown fond of.

“You must be the other boss I’ve heard so much about,” she sing-songs, throwing me a knowing glance. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Sheila, Shilo’s mom.”

My brows shoot up at that, though I force myself not to tense as I take the seat she directs me to. “Oh? And what exactly have you heard?”

“Apparently, between you and your brother, you’re the one who gives my son a hard time,” she chuckles, reaching into a curio cabinet for some wine glasses while I fight the urge to bristle.

I’m fairly certain he’s the one giving me a hard time.

Mark grunts, taking a seat at the head of the table. “Boy could use a firm hand every once in a while. It won’t hurt him.”

The memory of Shilo’s reddened, spanked ass pops into my head, but I shove it away quickly. Not the time or place.

“Where is he, anyway?” Paige strides over to the stairs, shouting at the top of her lungs. “ IGGY, COME EAT! ”

She and Declan take their seats across from me, and I tilt my head curiously. “Iggy?”

“Oh, gosh.” Sheila sets the last of the wine glasses down before sitting at the opposite end of the table. “We got a pet iguana when the kids were little that liked to bite. Shilo was just a toddler then and picked up the habit, so Paige started calling him Iggy whenever he’d chomp at her. The name stuck, I guess.”

A snort escapes me just as someone comes stomping down the stairs.

“Stop telling embarrassing stories about me.”

The sound of his voice sends a pleasurable jolt through me, and my eyes dart toward the staircase as he comes into view.

The first thing I see is feet. Pale, delicate feet with painted nails and cute toes that make me wonder what sound he’d make if I sucked on them. Have I seen them before?

I’ve never been into feet, but Shilo’s toes are doing something to me.

He pauses at the bottom of the stairs, and my gaze drags up his bare legs, lingering on the sleep shorts and backwards hoodie he’s wearing. Before I can make it to his face, my attention freezes on something else entirely.

I blink, frowning incredulously. “Is that a rat on your shoulder?”

His eyes widen the moment he notices me sitting at the table. “What are you doing here?!”

The animosity in his tone is unmistakable, and it stuns me for a moment.

Mark’s head snaps up, his expression stern as he scolds his son. “Shilo! Manners. And where the hell are your pants?”

“Those are pants, Dad ,” Paige chimes in, rolling her eyes as if this is a regular occurrence.

Shilo ducks his head, muttering something under his breath as he shuffles toward us. The only open seat is next to me, so he hesitates for a fraction of a second before dropping into it with a huff. Immediately, my cock perks up at his presence, remembering what it felt like to be inside of him, and I surreptitiously cross my legs under the table as I look down into his rat’s beady black eyes.

“Is that supposed to be a pet?”

Shilo scowls at me from beneath messy purple bangs. “His name is Master Splinter , from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Why are you dressed like you’re going to a funeral?”

I narrow my gaze, letting it drift over his fraying sweater as the rat burrows into the hood hanging across his chest. “Why are you dressed like you live under a bridge?”

A beat of silence stretches between us, both glaring, until a reluctant smile tugs at my lips when he bursts into laughter. The sound warms the space between us, and my eyes drop to his lips. They look pink and soft, more inviting than I remember, the urge to lean down and taste them hitting me hard.

Declan’s pointed cough jerks me back to reality, snapping my attention to the table. Everyone is staring.

Fucking hell.

My twin raises an enigmatic brow, his gaze flicking to Mark, who claps his hands loudly.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road. Shilo, grab the turkey carver.”

My little doll stiffens, discomfort written all over his face, but before I can step in, Paige beats me to it.

“I’ll do it this year,” she offers, reaching for the carving blades in the center of the table.

Mark shakes his head firmly. “He’s the one who shot and plucked it, so he gets to carve it. Them’s the rules, Paige.”

A sick churning twists in my stomach as I watch Shilo’s shaking fingers reach for the carver. The memory of his words—what he looked like and how he acted after that hunting trip—echoes sharply in my mind.

I don’t want to hurt things. I want to take care of them.

Without thinking, I take his hand, gently prying the blades away before getting to my feet. “Here, allow me. As the guest who invited himself, I insist.”

The room visibly relaxes, both Paige and her mother exchanging grateful glances. As I slice pieces of turkey breast, I load up everyone’s plates, minus Shilo’s since he doesn’t like meat. When I peek at him, his expression shifts slightly, surprise flickering in his blue eyes as he watches me cautiously.

Mark, oblivious, turns to Paige and Declan. “So, tell us the story. How did you two kids meet?”

“Well, work first. And then…” Paige begins, grinning when my brother dives into the details of their relationship.

The table grows lively as we start loading up on side dishes, but my focus stays on Shilo. I notice how he grabs barely a spoonful of anything, and without hesitation, I start adding extras to his plate. He scoffs softly, leaning back with his arms crossed, adorably irritated. Raising a brow at his attitude, I plop a generous scoop of green bean casserole in front of him.

Like a fucking brat, he lifts his plate and scrapes everything onto mine with a fork, holding my gaze while he does it.

Casting a glance around the table to ensure everyone’s attention is occupied, I lean over until my lips brush his ear. “You’ve only made this worse for yourself. Now you have to eat both our helpings, doll face, or I’ll spoon-feed you the same way you fed me your cock in my office.”

A squeak leaves his mouth, low enough for only my ears, as a flush creeps up his neck. Swallowing hard, he switches our plates around and digs in, avoiding my gaze. Smirking to myself, I turn back to the conversation.

“So, what exactly does a Financial Officer do?” Mark asks, his sharp eyes fixed on Declan, clearly trying to decide if he’s good enough for Paige.

“I handle things like accounting and risk management,” Dec explains, gesturing in my direction. “Ryann, on the other hand, focuses more on hiring and internal operations.”

Mark hums, his gaze shifting to me with a wry smile. “That more exciting than playing professional ball?”

Ouch .

Forcing a polite smile, I take a sip of my wine. “I wouldn’t call it exciting, necessarily. More… fulfilling. I’m helping my father run a multi-million dollar corporation that’ll be mine someday. As monotonous as the work can be, there’s something satisfying about building a legacy.”

Next to me, Shilo snorts, almost choking on his mashed potatoes, but his dad nods at me in approval.

“A family man, huh? I can appreciate that,” Mark chuckles lightly. “Although, let’s be honest, you’d probably have a better pick of the ladies if you’d gone into basketball.”

Paige and her mother groan in unison, both throwing scathing looks his way as he shrugs.

“I’m just saying!”

“Oh, I’m not too worried about that.” I huff a small laugh, gingerly cutting off a piece of meat. “I like men.”

The room’s atmosphere shifts instantly.

Shilo freezes, his spine snapping straight as he sets down his fork. The silence is deafening, making it painfully clear I’ve said something wrong. Frowning, I glance at my little doll, but his attention is locked on his father.

When I meet Mark’s gaze, I find a disgusted glare that catches me off guard. He quickly schools his features, turning to Declan with forced casualness, but it’s too late. I saw it. Felt it.

Vitriol. Judgment. Hatred.

A foot taps mine under the table, and I blink at Paige, who offers me an apologetic smile before looking away. Sheila’s expression mirrors her daughter’s as she gazes at Shilo, who’s now poking at his plate with his head down.

Reaching under the table, I place a hand on his knee. The moment our skin touches, he flinches, pulling away sharply.

“I’m full,” he announces, standing abruptly.

Mark waves him off without a glance, already deep in a discussion about politics with my brother. Once Shilo leaves the room, he takes the warmth with him, my body growing cold in his absence. I watch him quickly climb the stairs two at a time like he can’t get away fast enough, and it’s hard not to follow after him. The last thing I want to do here is make things difficult between him and his father, even if my instincts are screaming at me to throw him over my shoulder and carry him out like a caveman.

After finishing my meal in silence, I collect both mine and Shilo’s plates. “Where’s the kitchen? I’ll clear these away.”

“Don’t you worry about that.” Sheila takes them from me, patting my arm softly. “I’ve got these. And thank you for the wine. It was delicious.”

“No problem at all, you can keep the rest.”

Taking a step forward, I’m about to excuse myself for a breather when she grabs my wrist.

“Oh! Shilo must have dropped his phone when he hightailed it out of here. Can you take it to him?”

Frowning down at my empty hand, the ‘phone’ clearly imaginary, I flick my gaze back up to hers as she winks.

“Up the stairs, third door on the left. Thank you, dear.”

Well…alright, then.

Mark doesn’t acknowledge me as I leave, and while I’ve grown used to bigoted assholes, his disdain stings—not for me, but for Shilo. I’ve been out for years, faced slurs and hostility in locker rooms and boardrooms alike. It barely fazes me. But my little doll doesn’t have armor like I do.

The hallway upstairs is dark, save for the faint glow under one door. I raise a hand to knock, but the sound of retching freezes me in place. It’s a sound I’ve heard him make before, and anger surges through me. Without thinking, I push the door open.

His room is bigger than I expected, cluttered but cozy. A shelf of plants lines the window, and a curved computer monitor sits on a desk. But my focus is on the bathroom, where I find Shilo kneeling in front of the toilet with two fingers shoved down his throat.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Yelping in surprise, he whips around, falling sideways against the tub. “What are you doing in my room?!”

His knees draw up to his chest as I tower over him, my eyes darting to the toilet. He hasn’t succeeded in purging yet.

“It’s n-not what you think,” he stammers, wrapping his arms around himself.

“Oh? So you weren’t about to throw up everything you just ate for dinner?”

He opens his mouth, probably to deny it, but my vibrating anger silences him. His forehead lowers to his knees, thin shoulders shaking with sobs.

Suddenly, in this moment, he looks even smaller than he did two weeks ago. Like my little doll is wasting away before my eyes.

How can I even call him my anything if I’m allowing this to happen?

“Just…please, just go, Mr. Callahan.”

Christ, even his voice sounds frail.

I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never been the comforting type, viewing insecurities and uncertainty as weaknesses. I had to grow thick skin if I was going to survive my father. But despite my abrasive attitude, I’m not cruel. I can’t leave him like this.

Scrubbing a hand down my face, I take a deep breath and drop to the floor, leaning my back against the wall.

“I saw the school pictures downstairs. And your sister mentioned bullies. Is this the reason?”

He quietly cries into his knees for a moment before nodding.

My chest tightens painfully for him. “Do your parents know?”

He shakes his head, still hiding himself from me. “They suspect something. At least, my mom and Paige do. Dad makes comments about how I need to bulk up and get muscle.”

The memory of Mark’s reaction to my sexuality sends rage burning through me. “He doesn’t know you’re gay.”

Shilo peeks at me through his hair. “No. Paige told Mom, though…”

We sit in heavy silence, letting his words sink in. If his mom knows, I probably shouldn’t stay up here too long. She seems like an intelligent woman; she’ll put two and two together, but I don’t want to leave him yet.

Gesturing toward the toilet with my chin, I level him with a stern look. “What brought this on? You weren’t purging when I left for Florida.”

“Do you really need to ask that?” he snaps, taking me by surprise.

My lips tighten. “I already texted you with an apology.”

He scoffs, burying his face in his knees once again. “Apology not accepted. Now leave me alone.”

With a growl, I reach out and yank him against my chest, spreading my legs to make room. He squeaks—a noise I can’t get enough of—and I tilt his chin up.

“The reason I left in a hurry had nothing to do with your body, Shilo. If you haven’t noticed, I’m very attracted to it.” I roll my hips against his side, loving the way his skin flushes when he feels my arousal. “But this? What you’re doing? It isn’t healthy.”

“I fucking know that,” he shouts sharply. “I hear it enough from my therapist. I don’t need it from my boss, too. It’s…not something I can stop cold turkey, okay?”

His chest heaves as he avoids my gaze, and I exhale slowly before pressing his head against my shoulder. He stiffens when my fingers curl into his hair, massaging his scalp.

“Um, what are you doing?” he mumbles.

“Comforting you.”

There’s a beat of silence. “...Why?”

Good question.

A gruff laugh leaves my throat as I lightly pull his hair. “Stop being a brat and let it happen.”

My hand kneads his nape, the taut tendons loosening after a few moments. Shilo sighs softly, nearly melting into me as he buries his snotty face into my jacket, and I smack my lips in annoyance.

“Only you can have me sitting on a bathroom floor, using my three-thousand dollar suit as a tissue.”

He says something I don’t catch, though I’m fairly certain I heard the words pretentious asshole in there somewhere. We’ll have to have a discussion later about his filthy mouth. Actually, we’ll have to discuss a lot of things.

We sit in silence as I rub his neck, my free arm resting stiffly at my side. There’s an urge to wrap it around him, but I refrain, uncomfortable with physical affection. The fact that he’s leaning against me seems like enough. When his pet pops out to watch me, I fight to hold in a shudder.

“Is there a reason you only have one rat? Don’t they need friends?”

Shilo sighs, rubbing his rat’s head before the vermin disappears once again into his hood. “Master Splinter is a loner like me. He has aggression issues.”

“Hm.”

“Does your father know?” He blurts suddenly, and I glance down at him in question. “That you’re gay, I mean.”

“Yes.”

His face falls, like he was expecting something more. So I square my shoulders and concede, knowing what he’s really asking for.

“I never actually came out traditionally. In junior high, I’d bring home boys for some experimental fun, and he caught on pretty quickly. All he ever said was, ‘ As long as you keep it quiet and still take a wife someday to carry on the family name, I don’t care what you do’ . We never spoke about it again.”

Shilo squints up at me, clearly taken aback. “He expects you to marry a woman even though you’re not attracted to them?”

My head thumps against the wall as I gaze straight ahead, sorting through my words. “The Callahan name is very old in Ireland. We come from a long line of power and money. Unfortunately, with all that power comes certain…expectations.”

“That’s messed up.”

“You’ve no idea.”

Though I’ve managed to avoid it so far, part of me wonders if this whole ruse with Olivia is my father’s way of pushing me to marry and produce heirs. Especially now, with him stepping down next year.

Speaking of which…

Pulling out my phone, I open my email to read his response to my dinner cancellation.

Ryann,

This is very disappointing. Your mother was looking forward to introducing you and your brother to her family.

I expect your presence at the Christmas party next month with a plus one.

Ronin

His threat is perfectly clear. By plus one, he means Olivia.

My stomach sours, Thanksgiving dinner churning uneasily at the thought.

“Your mother?” Shilo glances at my screen curiously, having read the email, and I quickly lock my phone before putting it away.

“He means my stepmother. She’s his fourth wife and about a year older than you. Also, his former secretary.”

His lips twist into a grimace. “Dating employees must run in the family.”

Giving him a ghost of a smile, I brush a thumb over his mouth, wanting to change the subject. “Will I see you at my condo tonight, or are you still ignoring me?”

Something shifts in his expression. His face tightens as he ducks his head, pulling out of my touch. An uncomfortable weight drops in my gut when he pushes to his feet and turns away.

“I…I don’t think we should continue doing that.”

My breath catches as I stand, following him into his room, where he starts to pace. “Doing what, exactly?”

“S-sleeping together.” Wringing his fingers anxiously, he stares at the floor.

I cross my arms with a frown. “Did you not enjoy it, doll?”

“Don’t ,” he pleads, rubbing his sternum. “Please, don’t call me that. And I enjoyed everything we did, it’s just…”

“Just what?”

He swallows hard, the delicate column of his neck flexing. When his eyes meet mine, they pierce right through me. “I don’t think I can do it. Separate feelings from sex, I mean. I’m not like you.”

A sinking sensation spreads through me, sharp and painful, but I keep my face neutral “I told you from the beginning what to expect.”

“You did. And I really thought that I could handle it, but I can’t.” Licking his lips, he looks away, focusing on the door. “Every time we do something, and you treat me like garbage after, it makes me feel worse. For my mental health, I think it’s best if we just…stop.”

His words hit like a gut punch, and my first instinct is to defend myself, but the broken look on his face stops me cold. Because he’s right. I did treat him like garbage. He forgave me, and I was given another chance when I promised I wouldn’t do it again.

But then I took his virginity in the back of my car before kicking him to the curb like a fucking prick. For the first time in my life, sex felt like it meant something, and it terrified me.

Declan was right. I only know how to use people. Just like Ronin. Like father, like son.

Clearing his throat, Shilo throws me a sideways glance, trembling slightly. “I’m, uh, actually going to be putting in my two-week notice on Monday. I’ll have to retake this course next year, which will set me back a bit, but it’s not too big of a deal.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I bark, sharper than intended. Softening my voice, I try again. “You don’t have to quit just because we’re ending our sexual arrangement, Shilo. I won’t force you into anything.”

His shoulders droop at that. “I don’t think I can just pretend. It’ll be too hard.”

“Pretend what?”

Meeting my gaze fully, I’m stunned by the sadness swimming in his pale blue eyes. “That I don’t have feelings for you.”

The air is knocked out of me, and all I can do is stare as I flounder for a response.

My brain tries to sort through this logically. Feelings? How is that even possible? Technically, we only fucked once. That first time in August didn’t count, I wasn’t even able to fully penetrate him.

But then it hits me how many firsts I’ve been for him, and it all makes sense. Of course he would grow attached. He’s young. I’m the only man he’s ever been with.

The only one he’ll ever be with.

I quickly shake that thought away, even though imagining him with anyone else has me furious.

He’s not mine. I can’t keep him. So I need to let him go.

Running a hand through my hair, I take a step closer. “Look, you don’t need to quit. If being my assistant is no longer an option, I’ll find you another position.”

His head tilts, purple strands falling over his brow. “You’d do that for me?”

I don’t want to. But I will.

“Declan and I promised Paige that we’d help you. Callahan men keep their promises.”

Jesus Christ. Dad’s words bite me in the ass again.

“Okay,” Shilo says slowly, expression cautious. “That would be cool. I’d appreciate that.”

An awkward silence falls over us. I get the sense that he’s ready for me to leave, but I don’t want to go. The image of how I found him earlier, kneeling before the toilet, makes me want to push him down onto the bed and worship his body until he forgets his insecurities, but that’s no longer my place. If it ever was.

I’d just make it worse.

“Come to the startup meeting Monday,” I say finally, feeling hoarse. “I’ll hand you over to Liza. She’s in charge of our developers. I’m sure she’ll find work for you.”

He perks up at that, almost excited, and my petty heart revolts. “Thank you, Mr. Callahan.”

Goddammit.

With nothing left to say, I nod curtly before heading to the door. My hand grips the handle, and I’m about to step into the hallway when Shilo’s soft voice stops me.

“I mean it,” he whispers, his gaze steady for once. “Thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

Giving him one last glance, I shut the door behind me, making my way out of the house. Declan is still somewhere inside, but I send him a text to thank Sheila for dinner. Mark can go fuck himself.

Once inside the car, I buckle up and lean against the headrest, staring blankly out the windshield. If I breathe deep enough, I swear I can still smell the floral scent of Shilo’s body wash, and the memory of what we did has my cock swelling despite the dejected feeling in my chest.

I guess it’s back to bars and hookups.

As I pull away from the curb, my eyes catch on his silhouette, watching me from his bedroom window, and I can’t help but think how much I don’t want to return to that. Not at all.

Too little, too late.