Diary of a Bad Boy(99)

“The fuck?” Rath blinks a few times. “Start from the beginning.”

I spend the next few minutes recollecting everything from seeing Sutton after two long-as-hell nights alone, to the douche trying to move in, to spotting Foster, to finding out about his relationship, to Whitney’s slip only to follow it all up to the fight in the hallway.

“Holy shit,” Rath breathes out heavily. “So Foster dragged you out of the restaurant. He couldn’t have been happy.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” I stare straight ahead as the words he spouted at me reverberate in my head. “It’s as if he took all the things I hate about myself and confirmed them.” I shake my head. “You should have seen the look in his eyes. I know I’m his agent, and we have a business relationship, but I’ve always looked up to the man, and I’ve never felt so sick for disappointing someone. That’s what he was, disappointed. He thought I was fighting to fight and then said . . .” I let out a long sigh. “Shit.”

What the fuck is happening?

Tears start to form in the back of my eyes and I swear to Christ if they fall, I’m going to go ballistic.

Deep breaths, just like the therapist said.

“Dude, are you okay?” Rath asks, seeming worried. He should be, I’m about to have a goddamn moment.

“No, I’m not.” I lean my head back and try to ease the tightness in my throat. “I’m such a fuck-up, Rath. When it comes to business, I’m unstoppable, but anything to do with my personal life I can’t get right.” I drag my hand over my face. “I love her, man. I love her so goddamn much.”

“What did Foster say to you?”

“Just told me the truth I already knew. That I’m not good enough for Sutton.”

“He said that?”

“Something like that. But to sum it up, yeah, I’m not deserving of his daughter.”

“Shit . . . he’s not right, you know.”

I scoff at that. Okay, maybe Rath has been drinking, and I didn’t know about it until just now. “He’s dead accurate.”

“He isn’t.” Rath says, shaking his head. “You are more than enough for her. From what I’ve observed, you balance each other out. Fuck, within minutes of meeting me, she boldly asked if I liked nipple play. That was funny as fuck, man. Green was blindsided. Given time, he’d see that you worship the ground she walks on, and show her the same loyalty and attention that you do to us, and to your clients.”

I shake my head and then down a large gulp of whiskey, feeling the amber liquid settle into my stomach. “There’s a reason my family wants nothing to do with me, Rath. I’m not the type of guy who gets to ride off into the sunset on a horse with the love of his life, a happily ever after right around the corner. I’m not Bram. I don’t have the capacity to truly give a woman what she deserves, because I don’t know how to do that.”

“Just because you don’t know how doesn’t mean you throw in the towel. You learn, you adapt. You didn’t know shit about being an agent, but you found your way to the top. This is the same thing. You have to teach yourself, and it will come to you. You have the capacity to use your heart. You do it with me and Bram.”

“You’re different.”

“We’re not. It’s still a relationship, one you’ve held on to for over twelve years. To me, that’s something to be proud of and it proves to me that you are more than capable of being in a relationship with Sutton.” It reminds me of what Sutton thought. Of what I temporarily believed. The word relationship doesn’t just lend itself to romance, Roark. You’ve been in relationships with people for many years . . . It’s as though you’ve hidden behind a fa?ade of indifference and assholery . . .

“What the fuck ever, Rath,” I answer. I’m so tired of this shit. Sutton’s gone from my life now. I place my empty glass on the table and lift off the seat. I stumble down the hall, pressing my hand against the muted grey wall.

“Where are you going?”

“To bed.”

“We’re not done here, Roark.”

“We are,” I call over my shoulder. “There’s nothing you can say that will change the aching realization that Sutton and I are not meant to be.”





Chapter Twenty-One





Dear . . .

Where do I even begin?

I’m broken, in so many ways from my bloody nose to my shattered heart.

My lungs don’t seem to be working like they used to, as if a heavy weight is now resting on them, making it impossible to catch a full breath of air.

And instead of drifting off into an alcohol-induced coma, I’m wide awake, staring at the ceiling of Rath’s penthouse, replaying the night over and over in my head: The look on Sutton’s face. Foster’s cruel, yet accurate words. They keep crashing into me like a tidal wave on repeat, drowning me, suffocating me in sorrow and loss.

Loss for something I never knew I wanted, but feel desperate to have again.

She keeps trying to contact me though. I turned on my phone to see five more messages from her. She wants to see me, talk to me.

I’m tempted. Fuck do I want her.

But I know deep down, even though breathing would be so much easier with her by my side, I’m going to have to live with shallow breaths for the rest of my life.