Chapter One—Declan
I shifted around on the cushy bar stool, sipping my third scotch and cursing myself for not using the company jet. I was stuck in the middle of a layover from hell in Chicago. Weather or some shit. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that I didn’t like to be kept waiting for anyone or anything ever.
There was barely anyone in the first-class lounge. Of course, why the hell would there be? It was eight-thirty at night on Thanksgiving. Normal fucking people were at home with their families. I looked around the bar and counted six of us and tried to ignore the dark-haired, dark-eyed man sitting at the other end of the bar who hadn’t stopped eye-fucking me for the last hour.
My jaw clenched as I took another sip of scotch and lifted my eyes toward the stranger. He took another draw from his beer and took a step down from his stool. The corners of his full lips turned up as he nodded his head toward the men’s room. There was no mistaking what he wanted. I shouldn’t have even considered it. But it was a shit day. I’d had three scotches. I’d let down the only two people who mattered in my life. I needed a release.
I waited a couple of minutes and walked toward the men’s lounge. I pushed open the heavy wooden door. He was standing at the sink washing his hands. I turned the lock on the door. The man smirked at me. “What’s up?” I shrugged as he walked toward me with his hand held out. “I’m John.” I took his hand and pulled him toward me and then shoved his back against the door pinning both of his arms above his head. I ran my tongue down his neck. He gasped breathlessly, “What’s your name?”
I whispered in his ear, “Steve.” I didn’t know if he wanted to pretend that what we were doing was something that it wasn’t or if he was just asking to be polite. But either way, I didn’t give a fuck. We both knew that “John” and “Steve” weren’t our real names. I let go of his hands and unbuckled his pants and he returned the favor. We had our hands around each other’s cocks when he tried to kiss me on the mouth. I grabbed a fistful of black wavy hair and pulled his head back and kissed my way down his neck and then pushed his head down toward my chest hoping he would get the hint.
He dropped to his knees. As soon as his lips were wrapped around my cock, I’d forgotten what he looked like. It didn’t matter. I just wanted to cum. I growled down at him, “Take your cock out, John. I want to watch you jerk off while you suck me.” He did what I asked. I didn’t really care about watching him jerk off. I didn’t want to return the favor. I needed us to get off at the same time. Yeah, I was a selfish bastard and I knew it and I didn’t care. I felt the vibrations of his moans against my dick and came as soon as I saw the first sign of his orgasm. “Fuck!” I whispered as he swallowed every drop.
“John’s” face was red when he stood up and walked over to the sink to clean up. I walked into a stall hoping he would leave before I came back out. My hopes were dashed after I stood in there for a minute or two and I hadn’t heard him leave. I walked out and he spoke to me. “So, do you live in Chicago, Steve?”
I thought to myself, Oh Jesus, we aren’t really going there, are we? No. Fucking. Small talk. “No, man. Just passing through.” I didn’t bother to look at him when I spoke. “You go out first. I’ll wait a minute or two.” The fucker finally got the hint and walked out. I splashed some cold water on my face and stared at my haggard face mirror and muttered to myself under my breath, “Christ, Declan, you’ve sunk to an all-time low, even for you.” I ripped some paper towels out of the dispenser and shook my head. “Fuck! An airport bathroom, could you get any more fucking cliché?”
Thank God, my flight was boarding the second I got out of the restroom. I settled into the first-class cabin for the two-hour flight to Atlanta. I ordered a double scotch on the rocks from the flight attendant and sunk down in my seat, lay my head against the headrest, and sighed, wondering how many nameless, faceless men had wrapped their mouth around my cock over the last few years.
I’d known I was sexually attracted to men for a long time—probably since puberty. But I didn’t feel gay. I didn’t even know how to be gay. As far as I was concerned, my sexuality was a weakness, a failing. I knew I had a fucked-up view of things. I had my old man to thank for that. But it didn’t really matter. I made rules for myself and they were working. I didn’t kiss men on the mouth. I didn’t fuck men, and there was no way I’d ever let a man fuck me. No names. No strings.
For a long time, I deluded myself and dated women. The companionship was nice at times, but trying to convince them that I was sexually attracted to them, when I wasn’t, was exhausting. It had been a couple of years since I’d dated a woman—after my father died, there was no use in keeping up the charade.
It didn’t really matter, work was my focus. I’d taken Marsh Mergers & Acquisitions to a whole new level after my old man died. I’d turned a moderately successful firm into a force to be reckoned with. In less than five years, I’d doubled my net worth, and became one of a handful of billionaires under age thirty in the entire country. I was twenty-eight years old and I had more money than I could ever spend in a lifetime. I made my fortune buying distressed companies and then selling them off piece by piece. I was damn good at what I did, probably the best. There was no room for weakness or mercy in my business. And there sure as hell was no room for it in my personal life.
I stopped giving a shit about what others thought about me a long time ago. But I wasn’t about to make some big production of ‘coming out’ or some shit like that. What was the point? I was never going to have a real relationship. There may have been a time once, back in college, that the idea crossed my mind. But that was a long time ago and I was a different person back then.
When the plane touched down in Atlanta, my mind drifted to my sister Eleanor and my niece, Emily. I was going to have to work hard to earn Eleanor’s forgiveness. I had promised her weeks ago that I would visit for Thanksgiving. I changed my flight plans at the last minute yesterday just so I could get five minutes with the CEO of a tech company I was considering buying. It was a long shot, but if I put the deal together, it would be worth millions.
Eleanor didn’t give a shit about any of that though. What made it even worse was that I promised my five-year-old niece that even though I wouldn’t be there for turkey dinner, I would be there for the tree-lighting ceremony downtown. She made me “pinky promise” over the phone and I did it. And thanks to my layover in Chicago, I was two hours late.
I hated myself as I stepped off the plane. They were the only two people in the world who mattered to me and they were all alone. I was a selfish bastard. My guilt grew with each step I took up the jet way. Emily’s father was a Marine. He was killed in action in Afghanistan before Emily was born. He was an only child and both of his parents were dead. Since Eleanor and I were orphans too, it was just the three of us left. There was no other family. I begged her to move out to San Francisco so they’d be closer to me. But she didn’t want to uproot Emily.
As soon as I got inside the gate, I turned on my phone. I had twelve missed calls, all from my assistant, Tasha. I quickly tapped the button to dial her number. She answered on the first ring. Something was wrong. “What the hell, Tasha?”
“Thank God, Declan. It’s Eleanor. You have to get to University General right away. There was some sort of car accident. The hospital called. They wouldn’t tell me anything. I booked a car and driver. He should be outside the airport with a Marsh M&A sign. God, Dec, I’m so sorry. My phone’s on. Anything you need, okay?”
I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to scream at her and make her tell me that Eleanor and Emily were okay, but I knew she didn’t know anything more than what she just told me. Tasha had worked for me for five years. I trusted her implicitly. “I’ll call you as soon as I know something.” I ended the call.
It seemed like hours went by before I made it to the hospital and found someone who would talk to me. I knew it was bad when they put me in a private room and an ER doctor and the hospital chaplain walked in. Eleanor was dead. A drunk had run a red light. She was killed on impact. Emily was alive. She was uninjured. She had been in her booster seat in the back on the passenger side. She was waiting with a social worker down the hall for me to come get her.
I felt like I was moving in slow motion as I walked down the hospital corridor toward Emily. I was overcome with grief, guilt, anger, and fear all at the same time. I wanted to run out of there. I wanted to drink a fifth of scotch, I wanted to pretend like it never happened, and I wanted to kill the bastard who killed Eleanor. But I couldn't do any of that. Because there was a five-year-old little girl waiting for me and I was all she had.
I opened the door and watched for a second as Emily clung to the strange woman sobbing and calling for her mommy. It broke every single thing inside me. The woman rubbed Emily's back as soon as she saw me. “Look, Emily, someone's here to see you.” Emily looked back at me. Her face was bright red. Her big blue eyes that were same as Eleanor's were pooling and tears streaked her little puffy cheeks. Her long blonde curls flew behind her as she ran toward me. I scooped her up in my arms and she wrapped them tightly around my neck. “I wanna see Mommy, Uncle Dec.”
I kissed her the back of her head. “I know Em. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Please, Uncle Dec, please let me see her.” I couldn't remember the last time I cried. It was when I was a kid. My father made it very clear that tears were a sign of weakness. Fuck if I could stop the tears from flowing that night.
“Sweetpea, I wish I could give you that, more than anything. But I can’t. She isn’t here anymore. She’s gone.”
“I still wanna see her,” she whispered against my cheek.
“I do too, Em. So much.”
I don’t even remember how we made it back to Eleanor’s house that night, but I didn’t even bother with getting either one of us ready for bed. I just fell with her down on the couch. Her little arms clung to me as she lay on my chest. My shirt was soaked with her tears. I lay there with my arm around her. There wasn't a damn thing I could do for her. I had enough money to buy a small country, but I couldn't make this okay. Eventually, her whimpers stopped and her breathing evened out.
I kissed the top of her head. “It’s just you and me now, Sweetpea.”