Marc Jillson & The Gazebo (Love Inscribed 2)

The silence that followed was thick and Kyle rubbed his chest. His voice crackled. “He never would have accepted help if he knew it came from me. Are you here to negotiate the Gazebo for your silence?”

I frowned. “What?”

“That’s your hand, isn’t it? You’ll tell Victor unless I stop the redesign of Lover’s Loop.”

I rubbed my forehead.

Kyle Gable Green picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts.

All we’d have to do was keep quiet, and our gazebo—Hunter and Uncle Ben’s gazebo—

would be saved.

I should have shut up, not exclaimed vehemently, “The fuck?”

Kyle’s eyes shot to mine. Same with Hunter’s.

“You are still in love with him!”

Kyle set down his phone. “Your point?”

“Give him those letters. Tell him your secrets yourself.”

“I vowed to look after him.”

“Excuse me, but what the actual fuck?”

Hunter choked and coughed into his fist, but I didn’t care for propriety.

I continued, “You still have many years left. Don’t drown in miscommunication. Talk.”

His stubborn jaw twitched, but it was only to hold back the water building in his eyes. “Do I have your promise you won’t share your findings with any Albacores or anyone else? Your gazebo is at stake.”

Yes. That was the right answer.

Saving the gazebo was my mission to prove I was good enough to be Hunter’s boyfriend.

What if it were Hunter and me distanced by war and past transgressions? If it were Hunter who had cast me out of his life?

Because he was afraid I’d break his heart first?

Afraid I didn’t truly love him?

“I would never out you to the public, but in the case of Victor . . .” I set my water on the desk. “He deserves to know he’s been loved this whole time. Tell him by Monday after the gazebo is gone, or I will. He deserves that much.”

“I will not risk his health and security by telling him.”

I thought of the framed gazebo picture in Victor’s office. Right on his bookshelf in easy view from his desk. “Why do you want to take it down?”

“Because every time I see it, I remember.”

I stood. “Others love looking at it to remember.” I looked at the box under his hand. “Victor will want those letters.”

We exited Gable Green’s mansion offices and two women were taking a smoke break on the ramp.

“Out of the way, please,” I said, storming down first, clearing the path.

Hunter rolled after me. “Hold on, Marc. What’s up?”

“I cannot believe this.”

“Okay, you sound pissed.”

I threw my hands up in exasperation. “Of course I’m pissed.”

“Why?”

I whirled around, facing him. We were halfway down the path, surrounded by manicured grass and all those damn scampering squirrels. “On missions, when I make a grave mistake, you always sweep in and save the day.”

“I do, don’t I?”

“Yes, and I almost always appreciate it.”

Hunter dimpled, deep.

I scowled. “Why didn’t you stop me? Why didn’t you shut me up and take his offer?”

Hunter scooted closer, tugged me onto his lap, and nipped a kiss on my jaw.

“I’m still pissed,” I grumbled.

He rolled us toward his van. “Maybe I didn’t think you needed rescuing?”

“But your gazebo. I just lost it.”

“No, we lost K’s support, we’ve still got moves.”

“Like what?”

“We can chain ourselves to the pillars.”

I snorted and kissed him back. “Don’t think I won’t.”

In the van, I rubbed my hands over my knees. “How do we feel about making Victor a quick visit?”

“Thought you were giving Kyle time until Monday?”

I shrugged insolently. “I want to invite him to the goodbye-gazebo party.”

His eyes twinkled. “There’s a goodbye-gazebo party?”

“I’m thinking Monday morning around eleven?”

“What makes you think Victor will come?”

The photo of the gazebo in his room indicated it held sentimental value for him. Besides, if he knew what was really at stake . . . “What makes you think he won’t?”

Hunter hummed. “If it were me . . . I’d come.” Sunlight glittered over his lashes. “Do you have a date to take to this party?”

I whispered at his earlobe. “I sure do, and he’s got some questions to ask me once the gazebo is saved.”

Hunter side-eyed me. “You have nothing to prove.”

The fuck I didn’t. “Get driving.”

“Liam and Quinn are coming over for pizza tonight,” Hunter said after a brief visit to Victor, who’d paled at the idea of Monday’s demolition.

We waited in line at an intersection. Left led back to my place. Right, his.

I rubbed my knees. “Will there be Supreme?”

“So you’ll come?”

“If the invitation is extended to me.”

“Consider it always extended to you. Just . . . it’ll only be us four.”

Quinn, Hunter, Liam, and me.

I nodded, properly exfoliating my palms. “Sure. Great. Bring on the BFFs.”

The BFFs showed up at eight with pizzas. We ate, crowded around the table, Hunter entertaining us with underdog sports tales. He spoke with his usual confident charisma, but at the edges, it sounded forced, like he needed for us all to get along.