Resist (Sphere of Irony 3)

“I’m sorry, Mitch.”

“I should have known. I was…I am a brilliant profiler, but I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.” I drop my head into my hands, unable to meet Gavin’s gaze.

“Hey.” Gavin reaches over and pulls my chin up until our eyes meet again. “It’s not your fault, and I’m not judging you. People can be cruel.”

Gavin lets go and sits back, placing a comforting hand on my leg. That beautiful face pulls into a menacing scowl. “So, how did you find out what an twisted fuck he was?”

My eye starts to twitch and I feel the noose around my neck tighten. It squeezes, forcing me to consciously repress my gag reflex. I pluck at the loose collar of my shirt uselessly.

“Mitch, stop.” Gavin gets up and straddles my lap. I let my head drop back, staring up into those bright blue eyes. He lowers his mouth to mine and a wave of serenity washes over me, taking with it the anxiety. I grab his waist and kiss him back, accepting the comfort he’s offering.

We break apart when air becomes a necessity, but Gavin keeps his face close, brushing his nose alongside mine. “You don’t have to tell me, Mitch,” he whispers against my lips.

“I do. I need to get rid of it. It’s been tainting me for so long. He’s all I knew for years. I didn’t even date. Six years, Gavin. Alone. It’s been…” I choke up. “It’s been difficult. But now,” I put a hand behind his neck, keeping him close. “Now I have you and I don’t want my past ruining it.”

Gavin nods almost imperceptibly.

“He came into the office the day after we broke a huge case. We were together day and night for weeks working on it. Grant tortured me more in that small period of time than all the years before it combined. I honestly thought he was beginning to have feelings for me.”

I close my eyes and swallow thickly.

“It was all a game. He was playing me, ramping up the innuendo, the looks, the flirting, just to destroy me with one jab of his knife.” I lick my lips and open my eyes. “He announced his engagement in front of a group of coworkers, staring at me arrogantly as he did it.”

“He what?” Gavin sits back, outraged.

“I didn’t even know he was dating someone. He never told me. Apparently, I knew nothing about the man. I was so hurt, so betrayed, I went home, got shitfaced drunk, and called him. Grant came over and I confronted him about everything, thinking I could convince him to break off his engagement if he knew how I felt about him.”

Gavin tenses under my hands.

“I kissed him and he punched me, choking me with my tie until I nearly passed out. His attack surprised me so much that I didn’t get a single hit in. He called me a bunch of slurs, stomped all over my heart, and left me lying on the floor of my condo, gasping for air. I resigned the following week without ever facing him again.”

“Mitch—”

“It’s over, Gavin. I was never in love with him. I know that now.”

“You sure?” he rasps.

I bring him in for another kiss. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Gavin

What used to be the worst part about this tour is now the best. When I hold Mitch’s hand at events, I’m no longer pretending. When I give him a kiss for the cameras, it’s real. When we go back to our suite at night, we tear each other’s clothes off and go at it like animals.

I glance offstage during a concert in Dallas, looking for Mitch in his usual spot. Unable to find him, I check the other side of the stage. He’s nowhere to be seen. Dax gives me an indecipherable look when I flub a few notes.

Shit.

As hard as it is to do, I can’t let myself worry about Mitch when I’m performing. He’s a grown man and can take care of himself.

Forcing the unsettled feeling out of my head, I focus on the music. The crowd is an undulating mass in the dark arena, difficult to see with the bright lights aimed at the stage nearly blinding me. The fans sing with us as Adam runs along the edge of the stage, working his magic on the masses. There’s not a feeling in the world that can compare to the rush of a live performance.

By the time we’re done, I’m sweaty and elated. Someone hands me a bottle of water. I scowl in irritation. Mitch is always waiting with water for me.

“Where’s Mitch?” I ask the girl.

She shrugs, unable to provide an answer. I drink until the bottle is empty and follow the rest of the band down the hall to the private rooms. Adam and Dax are pushing and shoving each other, laughing and acting like idiots as usual. I head for my own dressing room, eager to see if Mitch is there, but Ross stops me before I reach the door.

“Wait,” he says, holding up a hand. Ross’ eyes are troubled, his posture tense. His normally perfect appearance is marred by sweat on his brow and a loosened tie at his neck. The man is as pale as a sheet.