“You can laugh,” he mutters, and I fall back on the bed, clenching my stomach. Am I going crazy? I shouldn’t be laughing. Not after the shitstorm and avalanche of information I’ve been hit with. I should be rocking back and forth in the corner. Crying. Screaming. Booking a lifetime’s worth of therapy sessions, but, instead, I’m laughing.
My body jerks, and I sigh, laugh, sigh, laugh, unable to get a hold of myself. Wiping at my wet eyes, I open them and come face to face with James. He’s bemused, his forehead a map of lines. “You done?”
And then I burst into tears. What the fuck is wrong with me? My sobs rack my body as much as my laughing fit, and I cover my face, hiding. “I don’t want to do it. I just want to disappear.”
“We can do that.” He lays himself all over me, not resting his entire weight, cupping my cheeks with his big hands. “Disappear. I’m a master at it.”
I laugh over my sob, and James dips and kisses the wetness away from my cheeks. “I’m just fed up with fighting everyone. Why can’t they just leave me be? Ollie calling Nath, Lawrence calling everyone, Dexter turning up at Nath’s—all to deal with me. I’m fine.”
He’s quiet for a while, looking at me in a way that suggests he feels as sorry for me as I feel for myself. “What do you want to do?”
I know what I want to do, but I can’t do it. Lawrence would have a breakdown if I disappeared. I have to clear the air with him. Make him see James is good for me. It shouldn’t be too hard. After all, to Lawrence, James is just a regular man with a regular job, living in a not-too regular glass box. For fuck’s sake. “I should see him.”
He nods and stands, pulling me to my feet and handing me my jeans. “It’ll be okay.”
I pull them on, and James reclaims me. I wish I could believe him. I don’t know what happens after today. After Lawrence. After Nath. My father doesn’t matter, and neither does Ollie. All I know is we can’t stay here, and James must already have plans in place because he’s asked if I have a passport and those bags are still by the door.
The sound of the elevator opening has my hand squeezing around James’s tighter, and when we make it to the top of the stairs, I see him. My uncle. And Dexter. Neither man can hide their awe as they step off, gazing around. “Makes sense now,” Dexter says quietly, grunting when Lawrence’s elbow sinks into his side.
They both see us coming down the stairs at the same time. “Oh God,” I breathe, feeling James’s thumb stroking over the top of my hand.
“It’s fine.”
Is it? Not judging by the look on my uncle’s face. “Hi,” I say as we reach the bottom, letting James guide me to a stool at the island. Lawrence doesn’t reply, his eyes following us the entire way. The silence is so awkward.
“Can I get you a drink?” James asks, going to the fridge.
“We’re not staying.” Lawrence appears to roll his shoulders. “Would you mind giving us some privacy?”
James’s motions falter, his hand on the door, two bottles of water in his other hand. He slowly shuts the fridge, nodding mildly to himself. “Beau?”
“Maybe it’s best,” I say, needing to be rid of this awful atmosphere.
“For whom?” James counters, sliding one of the bottles across to me. “Not for me. And not for you.”
“James,” I plead, looking at him with imploring eyes. “Please.”
“Are you worried we’ll make her see sense?” my uncle asks.
“Lawrence,” Dexter pipes in warningly.
“Listen to your lover.” James grinds the words out, not looking at either of them, his focus set on me. “This doesn’t have to be difficult.”
“Why, what will you do?” Lawrence steps forward, and I stand, ready to stop him getting into something that he really isn’t equipped to deal with.
“Stop this madness,” I snap. “Why can’t you be happy for me?”
“Happy?” He laughs sardonically. “Beau, you hardly know this man. And since you have, you’ve sustained more injuries in a few weeks than you have in your entire life.” My guess is he’s now focused on the bruise forming on my cheek, courtesy of Goldie. I look to Dexter, willing him to step in and reason with Lawrence. But he doesn’t, his loyalty to my uncle preventing him.
“Stop dreaming up issues.” James rounds the island and takes a stool next to me, showing his position. Unmoving.
“I thought you were leaving,” Lawrence spits.
“I’m exactly where I should be.” James takes my hand, and the look Lawrence throws his way as a result is pure filth.
“You will know when I talk to you because I’ll look at you.”