Page 113 of Pretty Mess

I roll to my back, watching as he grabs the shirt and pulls it on. He looks much better now compared to the last time I saw him. He’s moving easily, the sling abandoned, and his bruises yellowing.

He grimaces at the ripped sleeve on his shirt. “Must you tear at my clothes like a deranged orangutan?”

“I really think I must,” I say very seriously. He’s already got his trousers, socks and shoes on, so it’s obvious that he’s heading for the door. “Do you have to go?” I say and immediately regret it.

It’s just that when he’s here, my only focus is on him and how he makes my body and heart feel. Despite the distance he keeps between us, he’s a safe harbour, keeping everything and everyone at bay.

The problems I’ve been ignoring for the past few months are back full force now, beating against my brain, demanding to be let back in. I’ve spent the last few days visiting every place I could think of where Tyler might have gone, and I’ve found someveryunhappy people. If my brother ever gets his act together, he might have to go into fucking witness protection.

Mac sits down on the bed close to my leg. “Are you okay?” he reluctantly asks, his hand sliding onto my thigh.

I glance at him in surprise, and for a wild moment, I want to tell him. I want to tell him that my life is turning to shit, that my family is broken, and my brother’s life expectancy could be short if he’s done what I suspect and gone to a moneylender. I yearn to tell him how small and stupid I feel and what a terrible brother I am.

But Mac isn’t my boyfriend, or lover, or really even a friend, is he? He’s not a person I’m supposed to burden with my problems. He’s myclient.

So I sigh and pin a smile on my face, knowing that at least in this particular moment, Julian would be proud of me. “Nah, I’m fine. Just tired.”

He stares at me for a second, and I try to work out his expression. It seems like disappointment, but I’m obviously wrong about that. It’s probably relief that he doesn’t have tobother with me outside of bed, combined with a passionate desire to be gone.

“Where are you off to?” I ask cheerfully.

He stands and finds his suit jacket on the easy chair in the corner of the room. “A dinner meeting.” He shrugs into the jacket and leans over me in the bed. He tugs my hair back, pulls my face up, and drops a kiss on my lips. “Be good.”

“You know that’s an impossibility.”

“Try,” he advises me, and then he’s gone. The click of the front door is a lonely sound in the suddenly quiet flat.

I rub my face, and then press my fingers to my hot eyes. “Get it together,” I say out loud. “Mac leaves you all the time.”

My sense of loss is a reminder that, in addition to my brother’s problems, I also have to cope with being in love with my client, who definitely doesn’t love me back and would drop me like a brick in a river if he knew. My client who will also be, for reasons unknown to me, taking me to a party at the place where he first bought my services.

The knock on the front door is a relief, as it allows me to jump off the hamster’s wheel my brain has become. He’s come back. After leaping out of bed, I drag on my shorts and race over to the door.

“Did you forget something?” I say, flinging the door open. I gasp at who I see there. “Tyler.”

“Can I come in?” My brother flicks a quick glance over his shoulder before his bloodshot eyes return to me. He’s nervous. And I’m immediately scared.

“Of course. Come in.” I gesture him inside.

He follows me in, and I can’t help but notice how quickly he shuts and locks the door behind us.

“You lookterrible,” I breathe. He must have lost a stone in weight, his hair is greasy, and he has dark circles under his eyes.

“Thank you so much.” He pushes his hand through his hair, and I see the bitten nails and the tremor in his fingers.

“Tyler,” I breathe. I’m not sure what to say.

He shakes his head, warding off any concerned words. “I’m fine.”

“Really? You could have fooled me.”

“What do you mean?” He looks around the flat and moves to the big window with the stunning view. He turns to me, his brow furrowed. “And how the hell are you staying somewhere like this, Wes? These flats must be worth a couple of million easily.”

“It belongs to a friend.”

“Yeah. Ben’s message said that. What friend?”

I wave my hand. “No one you know. A uni mate.”