Page 88 of The Revenge Game

I settle into my desk and hook my laptop up to the docking station. Adam looks mildly appeased, Xander amused, and me?

My overwhelming emotion this morning is guilt.

I’m drowning in it.

I told Justin I had an early start so I had an excuse not to travel to work with him. I need space from him to process everything.

My mind keeps circling back to yesterday. To Justin’s lips against mine, his hands on my skin, the way he trusted me enough to share his deepest secrets. The way he’d let himself be completely vulnerable with me.

I can’t handle it. The guilt is consuming me.

My fingers hover over my keyboard as I try to focus on the morning’s help desk tickets. Someone in Marketing needs help recovering a deleted presentation. Accounting’s printer is still making sounds that would put a heavy metal concert to shame. Basic problems with simple solutions.

If only people were that straightforward.

People are not like binary code. They are not simply zeros or ones. Good or evil. They’re complex, filled with contradictions and layers that can’t be reduced to simple either-or statements.

Like Justin.

Why didn’t I realize that other things were going on in Justin’s life in high school? Why didn’t I question what turned the elementary-aged kid who helped me rescue my hamster into a homophobic bully in high school? I’d been so caught up in my own issues that I hadn’t thought to look deeper.

The memory of Justin telling me about his stepfather smashing the snow globes, about living in constant fear ofnot being “man enough,” haunts me. It doesn’t excuse Justin’s behavior, but it…explains it.

I never thought I’d ever want to go back to high school. But right now, I have a physical ache to find the Justin from high school, pull him into my arms, and tell him it’s all going to be okay. Which is absolutely ridiculous. If I’d done that in high school, Justin would have probably thumped me, and I would have been targeted even more mercilessly than I already was.

I head to the morning tea room, hoping caffeine might help clear my head. Instead, I find Justin there, and my heart does its frenzied trapeze act at the sight of him.

“Hey.” His smile is warm and intimate.

“Hey,” I say. I try to summon a smile, but it dies halfway to my face.

Justin’s forehead creases with concern. He steps toward me, then seems to remember we’re in a public space and stops himself. The aborted movement makes my chest ache.

I can’t tell him now. I know that.

How can I possibly explain that everything between us started as revenge? That I deliberately orchestrated our meetings, our friendship, all of it born from a desire to hurt him?

I can’t tell him the first guy he ever had sex with only got to know him because he wanted to get revenge on him, that the first person he ever confided in about his stepfather’s abuse was someone with ulterior motives.

My hands shake as I attempt to make coffee. The machine gurgles ominously, probably sensing my distress.

“Are you okay?” Justin asks softly. He’s moved closer, and I can smell his cologne.

“Just tired,” I say. Another lie to add to the growing pile between us.

“Listen, I was thinking…” Justin lowers his voice. “Maybe we could grab lunch together?”

The hope in his voice slices through me. I stare at my coffee, watching the steam spiral up like all my carefully constructed plans disappearing into thin air.

“I can’t,” I say. “I’ve got…meetings.”

It’s the coward’s way out, but maybe that’s what I need to be right now. A coward. Because the alternative, watching Justin’s face change when he learns the truth, is unthinkable.

I need to leave. Not just this conversation but DTL Enterprises. London. Everything.

I could fabricate a job offer. Something too good to pass up. A clean break before Justin discovers who I really am. Before I can hurt him.

The thought of escape buoys my spirit for a second.