Pushing the Limits (Secrets Kept 2)

Ryder had left water and aspirin for me.

I struggled to get into bed, then pulled the blankets up. “Your boyfriend’s nice.”

“He’s Maddy’s ex-husband.” Maddy was Hutch’s sister. She’d been sick off and on with cancer as a kid and was incredibly spoiled in their family, to the extent that Hutch had taken a back seat to her his whole life.

It was clear how much agony Hutch was in over his truth, how terrible he felt, but he shouldn’t. Hutch deserved to be happy, and hell, at least he wasn’t in love with his brother.

I put a hand on his thigh. “The keyword being ex.”

“That means it’s okay?”

“Is it ideal? No. But it’s not the end of the world.” I’m in love with Lane. He doesn’t feel the same. He only sees me as a brother, and I can’t figure out how to live with that. Even if he did feel the same, our only option would be to break our parents’ hearts.

Which was what Hutch said would happen to Maddy, that he would break her heart, and how his father would never forgive him.

“No offense, but your dad is a dick and your sister is spoiled.” I winced. “Sorry. I wouldn’t have said that if I wasn’t drunk, but it’s true. Maddy will get over it. She loves you and wants you happy. Your dad…well, I don’t know, especially with the business stuff.” Hutch’s parents had been in business with Ryder’s, but it had dissolved along with their friendship when Ryder had come out as gay and ended his marriage with Maddy. “But you deserve to be happy. Love doesn’t happen every day, and not everyone’s lucky enough to have those feelings returned.”

“Hey…what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing. I’m just drunk and being weird.”

“Isaac…” My name was said almost like a warning, the way Lane did.

“Leave it alone, Hutch,” I bit out. “Now, you have a gorgeous man on the other side of this condo who’s crazy about you. I could see it. Go ravage him while I lie here being depressed that the rooms aren’t closer so I could at least listen in and jerk off.” Hutch chuckled, and I added, my heart and truth in my words, “Seriously, though…it doesn’t work out for everyone. There are much worse things than falling for your sister’s ex. If you and Ryder can find a way to make it work, do it. You deserve love.”

“You do too.”

“I’m not so sure of that.” When he tried to respond, I cut him off. “Good night, Hutch.”

“Good night,” he replied, and went.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Lane

I didn’t sleep all night, hadn’t yet this morning either. My thoughts wouldn’t shut down, wouldn’t stop running out of control, tangling past and present, and my muse was in hyperdrive.

It was midmorning before I realized what I’d done, that I’d left Isaac alone all night, that I didn’t know where he was, or if he was okay… And what were we going to do? Jesus Christ, what the fuck were we going to do? How had it taken me so long to see? To admit to myself what I’d most likely known for years but wouldn’t let myself acknowledge.

Thinking about Isaac and painting had cleared my head, had opened my eyes, had—

The sound of the door opening came from the other room, and then it closed, echoing through the condo.

“Isaac?” I rushed down the hallway. I was a mess, in nothing but my underwear. I’d lost control last night. Had been frantic and hadn’t let myself see past getting the image out of my heart and onto the canvas. I’d spilled paint and had gotten it on my stomach and my fingers and who knew where else. My pulse was racing, my chest ready to burst open, as my feet slid on the floor and I rounded the corner.

He was there, in the kitchen, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. I could see the exhaustion that clung to him, could see it in his melancholy eyes, and the curve of shoulders, and the way he looked at me, lost and unsure.

So…in love. How had I been so blind?

“You didn’t sleep,” he said, his voice rough and broken.

“No. You didn’t either.”

“No,” he answered.

I couldn’t stop looking at him, seeing everything clearly in a way I’d never allowed myself.

Isaac looked down, his insecurity there, in the way his gaze found the ground. This bit of him he wouldn’t let anyone see but me. How many gifts like this moment had he given me, just me, over the years?

I took him in, the golden tan of his skin, and wished I could see the blue gray of his eyes. He was tired but looked more put together than I ever felt I was, even on days when I hadn’t spent a night awake and painting frantically. His hair rested as if he’d done it, and his stubble was perfect. And Jesus, why had I never let myself see it before? Really see?