More Than Hate You (More Than Words)

“I’m not. Well, I am, but not for the reason you think. Nia proved to me that the heart wants what it wants, and lying to yourself is pointless. You knew I didn’t love Becca. As the man who did, you wanted what was best for her. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to see her miserable and feel powerless to make her happy.”

Fucking awful. “It wasn’t my place.”

But while she was alive, I wished like hell it had been. At times, I resented my best friend for taking up Becca’s time, for filling her life and her womb when he wasn’t as devoted to her as I was dying to be. Hell, he wasn’t even with her the day rain-slick streets claimed her and their unborn child because he’d been immersed in work.

Evan sighs. “Maybe it was more your place than mine. I just didn’t see it.”

“It’s done. Nothing we say will change that.”

“You’re right, but I still want to thank you. You could have taken Becca from me, royally fucking my business in the process. You didn’t, and I appreciate it.”

This is so like Evan. No matter what, he’s the most true-blue friend I’ve ever had. That I ever will have. He’s right; I had choices. I could have made a play for Becca. When she was alive, I sometimes wondered if she cared about me, too. There were hints. Knowing what I know now, she would have run away with me. It’s possible we would have been happy…at least for a while.

But the truth is, no matter what my feelings were for Becca, I didn’t turn my back on Evan. I couldn’t. I chose him over her. Sure, I also chose my self-respect and my ethics—what few I have—over a woman. But I chose.

If I had to choose all over again, I would make the same choice.

“I wouldn’t do that,” I swear. “You’re my ride-or-die, man.”

He claps me on the shoulder. “Same. And I hate to ask more of you, but I need your help.”

“You got it.” No questions asked. “Tell me what’s up.”

“My talks with Michael Astor at Wynam have stalled. It’s taken me a while to get that stiff Brit to tell me the problem, but—”

“Let me guess. Bruce Rawson’s merry band of assholes has been up in our potential customer’s face, trying to convince them that their on-site solid-state solutions are best for their company’s data storage needs.”

“Exactly. I’ve tried logic. I’ve sweetened the pot. I’ve all but tongue-bathed my contacts at Wynam to close this deal. Landing it would give us a huge leg up in the UK and Europe. I’ve got a lot riding on this financially. I can’t lose the deal. I won’t.”

So Evan needs me to do something. He can manage the aboveboard back-and-forth of dealing with the folks at Wynam, one of the biggest computer resellers to businesses abroad. He can do the schmoozing, the contracts, and the handshakes. But when business gets dirty…he calls me. I’ve always taken care of shit like this. I always will.

“Sure. Leave it to me. Any ideas where to start?”

My best friend frowns. “I wish I had some. Sorry.”

“No worries.” I’ve started with less. “Timeframe? Are you still looking to close this deal by the end of second quarter?”

“Yeah. Nia’s father is still making noise like he’d love to buy me up, supposedly for the right reasons this time. The bad blood between us is over, and I’ll be nice for Nia’s sake.”

But Evan doesn’t want to sell—to anyone. I hardly blame him.

“I’ll figure out how to make Rawson and the rest of Reservoir, Inc. fade into the background pronto so Wynam focuses on Stratus.”

“Perfect.”

Evan never asks how dirty a job is. He doesn’t want to know. He’s too nice, and he wants plausible deniability. Fine. He has no idea just how underhanded I am when it comes to saving Stratus and his ass, and he wants to keep it that way. Also fine. That’s what he’ll get.

I owe him.

“Don’t mention it. I’ll get back to you once the situation is resolved.”

He smiles. “Even if you weren’t my best friend, there’s no one else I’d rather have watching my back. Thanks, buddy.”

I stifle my guilt and vow I’ll never let him down again. “No thanks necessary.”

I start making phone calls the next day. A question here, calling in a favor there. It takes longer than I want and impatience rides me, but by the following weekend, I have my answer. So Monday, I pick up the phone and dial an old frat brother of mine. It’s a stroke of luck that he’s in the middle of this cluster. Now I just need to find the right lever to pull to get him the hell out of it.

Thankfully, he answers on the second ring. “Holy shit. The great Sebastian Shaw is calling me on a Sunday morning. How the hell have you been?”