He dropped the phone on the center console and gripped the steering wheel tight with both hands. Adrenaline had surged in his system, removing any lingering exhaustion that had plagued him during the traffic jams. His focus zeroed in on a single task: get to Julian. Then he’d deal with everything else. Right now, he had more questions than answers.
Julian stared out the large window of the new hotel room. The curtains were wide open, the rest of the small double room was dark, shadowed by the lamp between the two beds and the lights and sounds coming from outside. Marc had pushed the desk chair into the corner of the room where he now sat, watching him closely.
He’d freaked out the seasoned private security guard. Any other time, that might have amused Julian.
The man might be too much of a professional to admit it, but Marc’s eyes had focused only on Julian for the last thirty minutes.
Hell, Julian had freaked himself out. His damn thoughts were scattered all over the place, jumping all around. He tapped his foot in the same frayed rhythm as his wayward thoughts.
He let go of the breath he held, crossing his arms over his chest.
Micah.
What a mind fuck.
At that dickhead’s hand, a pastor’s son, Julian had been badly abused, scarred for life. Yet Julian felt more pity for Micah than himself.
Whatever bullshit the leaders of that abusive church had put Micah through should be held responsible for his crimes. After hours of prayer and lectures from the pastor and deacons of the church, Micah had been sent to conversion therapy. Julian didn’t stick around to find out what his parents had planned for him. Hell, they already treated him like a pariah. He’d been devastated when he’d realized their love was conditional. Their religion held more importance than his wellbeing.
Even with running away from home at sixteen, with little more than the clothes on his back, Julian had clearly gotten the better end of the stick, if Micah’s actions were any indication.
All these little bombs of revelation exploding like unseen landmines inside his head had officially blown his mind.
More interestingly, Julian found his life was far better right now than at any other time before. He had depth. He had friends who loved him and accepted him for who he was as a person, not what he could give them or do for them. There were so many accomplishments that he had achieved on his own. His past felt very much in the past. All the men, trips, and money no longer held the same attraction it once did.
What crazy fuckery was happening?
A rap of knuckles tapped against the hotel room’s door. Julian knew exactly who they belonged to. Marc stood, lifting a hand toward Julian to keep him in place as the guard moved his suit coat out of the way for better access to a revolver Julian had never known was there until that moment.
The sight of the gun brought the danger factor of his life roaring back into focus. Julian turned toward the door, crossing his arms tighter over his chest. Marc quietly checked the peephole before reaching down, unlocking the door, and opening it wide.
When Beckett strode through, Julian’s entire world slowed. Relief washed over him. The turmoil running amok inside him settled. His Beckett had come to him. Julian’s arms dropped, the tension in his shoulders easing. He saw his future so clearly playing out in his mind. Beckett was his one, always by his side, giving Julian strength, encouragement, and love through all the stages of their lives.
They’d be partners.
Friends. Lovers. Equals.
Julian would always be appreciated and unconditionally loved. He’d eagerly return that devotion tenfold for the rest of his life.
Julian’s lips turned upward as he took long, confident strides across the room. Beckett’s hurt and guarded gaze collided with his. The pain he had caused was reflected all over Beckett’s face. Julian absolutely deserved that look but hated he’d been the reason for it. He didn’t stop until he wrapped his arms around Beckett’s waist and chest then stepped straight into the man.
As far as Julian was concerned, he still wasn’t close enough to Beckett to ease his concern. “Tell me I’m not too late,” Julian whispered into his chest.
Beckett. The name ran like an anthem through his head.
His sweet Marlboro Man.
The one person in the world who had literally done anything and everything he could to make Julian happy. He’d been given such a gift. What had he done in return? He’d hurt Beckett.
Beckett’s tense frame didn’t relax, keeping him at a distance, even as Julian tried to plaster himself against Beckett. Self-preservation was written all over his stance. There may not be any physical distance between them, but miles of emotional space separated them.
What if he had messed it up so badly that Beckett was done?