Three days into Gray’s absence, Scottie found himself sitting at a table in the bar portion of the Sin Bin. Several of his friends were in town and had come together to celebrate Remi and Sarah’s wedding anniversary. His brother had joined them as well, only to disappear a few minutes into arriving with Zeb Chardin to go dancing.

French bastard.

Bottles and glasses of various alcoholic beverages littered the table. Scottie had thus far ignored the lot of them, drinking a soda instead. He itched to grab one or seven; anything to wash away the uneasiness that had settled in his gut not long after Gray had left.

“You don’t want that.” Remi’s hand dropped on his arm to block Scottie when he reached for a bottle. “Why don’t we have them clear the table?”

“The fuck I don’t.” Scottie scowled at Remi, who merely glared right back at him. He eventually released the bottle with a resigned sigh. “Thanks, Frenchie.”

Waving off the offer to clear the table, Scottie reminded himself why he’d agreed to come to the club. He didn’t want his life to change just because he’d stopped drinking. The temptation to grab one of the beers disappeared the more he thought about why rehab had been necessary to begin with.

“My cousin is young and arrogant.” Remi drew Scottie out of his thoughts. The Frenchman had clearly decided his scowl was directed at the younger men who’d just walked across the room past their table. “But he’s not prone to breaking hearts or using men if that is your concern.”

Scottie’s eyes narrowed further on Remi. He’d been trying to keep his mind away from Zeb and didn’t want the reminder. “He’s a punk.”

“I believe the phrase is ‘it takes one to know one.’” Remi easily blocked the half-hearted swat Scottie aimed at his arm. “How’s your American doing?”

“Not mine,” he muttered unconvincingly.

“Oui.” Remi saluted him with his glass of wine. “Yes. It seems you are more his than he is yours. Are you confident the lifestyle is one you’re truly ready to submerse yourself into?”

His first instinct was to tell Remi to mind his own business, with a few expletives to add emphasis. Scottie bit back the words, drinking a quarter of his soda to swallow down his anger. He spluttered through the fizzing in the back of his throat, ignoring the amused laughter coming from the man sitting next to him.

Of all his friends, Remi and Taine both had experience in the BDSM and fetish world. The Frenchie probably had the most out of the two. Scottie could likely ask him anything, but he’d never been one to share everything, even with his friends.

“It doesn’t make you weak.” Remi cut the silence with a sharp comment that hit to the heart of his greatest internalised fear. “Sarah would say she retains all of the power in our relationship. It takes a strong woman or man to submit to another. My control comes from doing everything I can to satisfy her needs, even the ones she doesn’t yet know she has.”

“How fucking fascinating,” Scottie said dismissively, though he didn’t quite mean it.

“Do you miss your American?” Remi appeared completely determined to slice away at all of the walls that Scottie had thrown up around himself. “Some submissives can frequently feel the absence of their lover more than others in a less intense relationship.”

The two men had been speaking quietly, allowing the ambient noise of the bar to drown out the conversation. Scottie clammed up instantly when Taine scooted closer to them. He trusted all of his friends, but not with his more vulnerable side.

Despite the numerous lengthy talks with Gray prior to getting involved, Scottie hadn’t expected the man’s absence to throw him. Remi continued to stare at him until he flipped Frenchie off. They returned their attention to the rest of the group.

Heart to heart time is over.

Deciding he’d had enough, Scottie said his goodbyes and headed out of the Sin Bin. Without drinking, he didn’t enjoy the nightclub quite as much. Or maybe I just miss Gray.

The entire way to his flat, Scottie couldn’t quite shake his need to speak with Gray. He had no idea what the time difference was between Cardiff and wherever the man had gone. Trying to talk himself out of texting him seemed a mission doomed to failure—until he arrived home to find his father slumped on the steps leading up to the building.

Ahh, fuck.

Stowing his bike in his parking space, Scottie quickly strode down the walk and up the few steps to his father. He crouched down to ensure his old man hadn’t died. Trust the bastard to drag his drunken arse to my house.

He hadn’t died.

More’s the pity.

I could just leave the fucker on the steps.

Up close and personal, Scottie easily smelled the booze on him. It made his stomach turn—the sour stench of stale beer and body odour. He suddenly found himself grateful for Remi’s intervention at the club.

I never want to be this—to be him.

Ever again.