Reluctantly You (Our Exception Book 3)

Gideon

Mitchell is slipping, a chaotic mess. And yet, I want it. I want all of it—the mess, the exploration. I want to be a part of it.

“You need to tell him about your dad,” Shiloh says as we eat lunch together at work. It’s Friday, almost the weekend and I just wanted to spend it buried inside of Mitch. I don’t want to disrupt what we’ve built.

What we are continuing to build.

I’m attached to him, most likely in an unhealthy manner, but then again, when you’re raised like me, nothing is healthy. We do the best we can. We survive. And I want to survive with him.

I want to move through life watching him grow and bloom.

This entire week I’ve watched him, fucked him, spoke to him as I held him in my arms. The more I do all of this, the more I realize I want…more with him.

I want to experience it all.

“I don’t think he needs to know.”

Shiloh arches an eyebrow at me. “That’s bullshit, Gideon, and you know it. This is the entire reason you bought the company. Mitch is a part of that.”

“He doesn’t need to know. It has nothing to do with him.”

“But it did. And now you’re enmeshed.” He lowers his voice. “You’re sleeping with him.”

I shift in my seat, feeling my cock perk up. I am sleeping with him. Every fucking night. And I don’t plan on stopping any time soon.

“I’m not telling him, Shiloh. He doesn’t need to know. His father has nothing to do with us.”

Shiloh sighs and eats a bit more of his salad, looking entirely disappointed in me. Well, he can fuck off. Mitchell doesn’t need to know what his father did. And technically, it’s not his father anyways. That man has no hold over him. He’s just a man. No one of importance.

“How’s work at the junkyard?”

Shiloh scoffs. “Oh, now you’re changing the subject?”

“Just curious about my friend.”

“It’s fine.”

His words are clipped and I know he’s upset with me. Well, he can be upset, he can be furious for all I care. I’m not telling Mitchell a single fucking thing. What our fathers did is in the past.

None of this has any bearing on how much I want that man.

It’s unhealthy and I don’t give a shit.

“Emmy called me the other day,” Shiloh says and stares at his food. “We’re gonna meet up soon.”

“Am I invited?”

“Perhaps. He may have asked me to invite you.”

I sigh and scrub a hand over my face as Shiloh gets up and starts to leave, the paper in his hand crinkling slightly. He doesn’t even want to eat lunch with me anymore.

“You’re like a brother to me, Gideon, so I’m going to say this once more. You need to tell him.”

I ignore it. I ignore the shit out of it.

He goes back to work and so do I, my mind spinning with his words. When the day is finally over, Shiloh’s voice is still ringing in my head. It’s making me feel guilty for wanting to bend Mitchell over my desk, so instead, I just lead him out of the office, a bewildered, questioning gaze on his face.

“Where are we going?” he asks.

“It’s Friday night. I thought I’d take you out to dinner.”

“Like a fucking date?”

“Yeah, like a fucking date.”

He scoffs and his cheeks flame. “I dunno. That’s…that’s a little too gay, you know?”

“Mitchell. You beg for my cock in your ass,” I whisper, making his breathing come out a little less steady. “I think dinner with me isn’t too gay. Plus, you admitted it the other night. Own it. Own yourself.”

He frowns at me as I link a finger with his, leading him to the elevator. He follows along, his footsteps unsteady. I know I’m pushing him, that this may be one step too far, but god, the way he caves. The way he wants it all but just can’t ask for it.

One day. One day he’ll tell me exactly what is in that head of his, but for now, I’m going to take it. Take and take until he tells me to stop. Only then will I give him his space.

“Where are we going?” he asks when I pull out of the parking lot and head toward a favorite restaurant of mine.

“An Italian restaurant. I made reservations.”

“Hm,” he says, peering out the window, his hands fisted in his lap. I pull one into mine, lacing our fingers together. His eyes fall to where we’re connected and his lips roll between his teeth.

A slight squeeze and the way his thumb brushes against mine makes me realize that he wants this just as much as I do.

“How was work?” I ask, wanting to fill the silence.

“Good.”

“You satisfied?”

His eyes turn out the window and I can see the blush creep up his neck and cheeks. “Yeah, mostly.”

I’m not sure what that means, but I let it go. I want to spend the evening with him, getting to know him better. I want to date him.

God, how things have changed for me.

A month ago I wanted nothing to do with him and now here I am. Obsessed.

We stride inside the dimly lit romantic restaurant, side by side, and the hostess leads us to our table. I pull his chair out, and he grumbles in annoyance, but still sits down, letting me tuck him under the table.

The waitress comes over and hands us our menus and asks us why we’re here, if we’re celebrating anything. I glance over at Mitchell and then answer for him.

“A date. After work.”

She beams at us and Mitchell’s cheeks flame.

“Fuck off, you did that on purpose.”

“I don’t want you ashamed of us, of this.”

I pick up the glass of water and sip at it, tugging on my tie.

He shifts in his seat. “I’m not ashamed.”

“Hm, you’re definitely not ashamed when I’m fucking that wet hole.”

He chokes on his water just as the waitress returns with a bottle of wine.

“We didn’t order this,” I say but she shakes her head.

“It’s from the gentleman over there,” she replies, and I turn to stare, taking in the sight of Jack Morris glowering at us.

That fucker. Does he have nothing better to do than eat out all the time?

I turn my gaze and see the two men next to him. Neither of them notice me, but Jack does.

That fucker knows why I’m here.

Luckily, Mitchell hasn’t noticed who’s behind him. He’s just watching the waitress uncork the bottle of wine and pour it into our glasses. My eyes meet Jack’s once more, and I lean forward, clinking my glass with Mitchell’s.

My gaze is no longer on his dad’s, it’s on the man before me.

That piece of trash isn’t worth my time.

“To many more late night dinner dates.”

He lowers his gaze and those lips wrap around the rim of the glass. The red wine stains his lips and fuck, I want to lean forward and lap at them, want his shit-stain of a father to know who he is to me.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I want to kiss you,” I say as I sip at my own wine.

His cheeks are now the color of the Cabernet swirling around my glass.

“Not here,” he says, but his gaze falls to my lips.

“And not now,” I add. “There’s someone watching.”

He huffs, shifting in his chair just as a shadow falls over us.

“Am I interrupting something?” a low voice says, and Mitchell’s head whips around, his eyes wide.

I see his mouth open and close, his hands trembling slightly.

“Dad,” he says and that man just scoffs.

“No son of fucking mine,” he replies, and my fingers tighten on my wineglass, almost to the point of breaking. I’d very much like to lean up and stab him with it. I’d very much like that, indeed.

“I called you,” Mitchell says, his voice hoarse. “Why didn’t you call me back?”

His dad only scoffs.

“No need for that look, Mr. Morris,” I bite out. “We all know exactly what you are.” His eyes slam into mine, and I add, “A worthless piece of shit.”

I grin evilly and link my ankle with Mitchell’s, showing solidarity in the midst of this. I have his back. I will always protect him.

“And yet, here you are. With him,” his dad says.

Mitchell’s face pales, knowing what his dad is inferring.

“Preying on someone like this. It’s pathetic.”

“The only one pathetic is you,” I counter, but Mitchell stops us.

“Why are you here, Dad? Seriously, why haven’t you called me back?”

“I have nothing to say to you, or your whore of a mother.”

I feel my nails dig into my palm. I want to press him into the wall and knock his teeth out. It would be very satisfying, watching him spit them out. One by one.

“But if you must know. I’m meeting up with associates. Going to start a new company, a nice one without the weight of the Masters’ baggage attached to it.”

Mitchell’s eyes move toward mine and he cocks his head.

Well, fuck.

“I’m assuming he hasn’t told you,” Jack begins, but I cut him off.

“Not here.”

“What the hell is he talking about?” Mitch asks.

It’s Jack’s turn to laugh evilly. “So you’re fucking him, but he doesn’t know who the fuck you are.”

Mitchell looks as if he’s going to fall into the ground and never reappear.

“We aren’t fucking,” he murmurs.

“I can tell you are. You’ve always tried to hide it, but I know exactly what you are,” Jack hisses.

I stand up so quickly that my chair nearly topples over. We’re creating a scene. Everyone is looking, staring, whispering.

I throw down a few hundreds on the table for the inconvenience and then reach out to Mitchell, grabbing on to the back of his neck and helping him to his feet.

“We’re done here,” I spit, and Jack just chuckles lowly.

I may have to burn his house down. I may know someone.

May have to give them a call.

We walk outside, Mitchell stumbling next to me, his gaze straining over his shoulder, looking back at the man who raised him, who seems to feel no remorse for how this ended, for who they are to one another.

How could he just discard him like that?

But then again, that happened to me as well. Parents tend toward shitty. Never met a good one, to be honest.

Mitchell is silent when he slips into my car, his body turned away from me, his forehead resting on the glass.

“Mitchell,” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“Just tell me what my dad meant. So I can know the truth. I’m so fucking sick of people keeping shit from me.”

I sigh and start the car up, locking the doors so he doesn’t try to make a hasty escape. Then I hit the child locks. Better safe than sorry.

“It’s not as vindictive as you think.”

“Fuck off,” he murmurs, still not looking at me.

“I won’t. You should know that by now. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah, but maybe I will,” he murmurs and I sigh, my hands strangling the steering wheel. I don’t want to tell him, but I should.

Goddamn Shiloh. He was right. It’s time.

“Your dad and mine were in business together, many years ago. Jack pushed him out when they grew successful.”

Mitchell peers over at me, his face drawn, unreadable. It makes my stomach roil.

Shit, I’ve fucked up. I need him to understand. To know…

“It’s the reason my dad gave up…why he…” I swallow roughly, “Why he got into drugs and then killed himself. He was so mad, so upset. Lost, destitute. He couldn’t move past it.”

Mitchell sits with that for long moments, past several green lights, until finally he utters, “And you blame my dad for that.”

“Yes. I do. He’s at fault. A greedy man with no care for anyone else.”

“And that’s why you bought the company.”

“Yes.”

“And why you’re fucking me now. As revenge.”

I pause, far too long, and Mitchell’s body turns away from me.

“I get it.”

“It’s not like that. I bought the company to spite your father. It wasn’t doing as well as he’d hoped and I came in to change that. To give something back to my dad that he never had while alive. But you…you weren’t part of the plan.”

“But you knew I was working there. It’s why you came in and took my office. You were proving a point.”

“Yes. At first, I hated you, loathed you by association. I wanted you beneath me for all the wrong reasons, but I got to know you…and I wanted you. I want you.”

He huffs and his shoulders draw in on themselves. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth, Mitchell. You were never part of the revenge, never part of the plan. And yet here we are.”

He’s deathly silent, ominously.

“Fuck, Mitch,” I continue, a shake in my voice, my whole world seeming to fall apart rapidly. “You have to believe me. I wanted to hate you, I fucking tried. I did. But you worked your way under my skin before I even knew what was happening. I didn’t plan for this, but I’m fucking glad it happened this way. I’m glad you’re in my life, because I want you, Mitch. No, I need you.”

He doesn’t reply and my chest constricts further. I know why. All this time, Mitch has thought he’s never been wanted.

Now he thinks I don’t want him either. My words won’t change that, not with him. Words mean nothing.

When I pull into his driveway, I start to follow him out, but he stops me.

“Need some time,” he murmurs, and I allow him that.

He deserves a chance to mull it over. I’ll wait for him. I’ll fucking wait.

“I want you, Mitchell. Jack has nothing to do with it.”

He doesn’t meet my gaze as he disappears inside, but I still wait in his driveway for hours, my mind a chaotic thing, swelling and moving with thoughts and regrets.

So much regret.

I should have told him right away because now he thinks that this was all some kind of plot, some kind of revenge and it never was.

Not with him.

He was just unexpected.

The exception to all my rules.

Fuck, and I know words don’t count with him, but actions do. I’ll just have to prove it to him, to show up every day and remind him that this is more than that.

I start the car and drive back to my house, cavernous and empty, my chest aching.

I leave him a message, telling him that I’ll be by tomorrow, that we can talk some more after he’s had the night to think on it all.

I’ll answer any questions he has, give him any reassurances. Fuck him nice and slow.

But when I return the next day.

He’s gone.

For an entire day, I wonder if perhaps he’s just gone for a long drive, avoiding me to blow off some steam, but when he doesn’t arrive home later that first night, I realize that something is very wrong.

His car is in the garage, but he’s not there. And Little Pants isn’t meowing when I knock on the door. Nor do I see her on the windowsill, staring outside, begging for food.

When I peer in the windows, I don’t see any sign of life. It’s like he’s ceased to exist. Like he was never mine to begin with.

Fuck, I should have told him the truth sooner. It holds no bearing on what we have now. My dad and that piece of shit don’t matter, they never have when it comes to Mitchell. This thing between our families was never about him.

It was about me and my sick need to get revenge. To take back what was stolen.

And Mitchell isn’t even related to him.

“Fuck,” I murmur when I try to lift the window, wanting to break in and see what’s going on inside. Fuck, he better not be dead, he better not have decided death was better than me.

He better not. I couldn’t bear it.

The thought pulses through me and I find myself breathless for a moment before I discard it. He’d never hurt Little Pants.

The guy loves that cat more than he cares to admit. He’d never leave her alone like that.

“Sir, excuse me, sir,” a deep voice says behind me.

I startle and turn and see a cop with his hands on his hips, his brow furrowed in concentration. He looks confused that a man like me is trying to enter a home through a window.

“Yeah?” I ask, realizing that despite the suit and tie, I am trying to break and enter.

Fuck, I don’t have time to go to jail. I have shit to do. I have to find him. If he doesn’t come back tomorrow, I’m going to file a missing person’s report.

Or at least, contact his brothers and see where he’s gone.

Yes, that’s far more reasonable. They have to know where he’s gone.

“Sorry, can I help you?” I ask, smoothing down my tie as I turn to face the policeman.

“What are you doing in the bushes?”

“I…my friend lives here and I’m worried about him.”

“If that’s the case, you need to call in for a welfare check. You don’t try to go in through the window. The neighbors are concerned.”

“Right,” I reply as I stumble over the hedges and right myself. “I can do that.”

I won’t fucking do that.

“See that you do. I’m sure your friend just doesn’t want to see you. Perhaps that’s the case.”

I scoff and then school my face. He has a point. He does seem to have run from me.

“Don’t let me catch you here again,” the policeman says, and I nod, swallowing roughly.

I mean, he may catch me here again. I plan on returning. Often.

And I do. The next day and the next, all while leaving unhinged messages on his voicemail.

What the fuck is he doing running away without telling me?

Why doesn’t he at least text me?

Call me.

Come home.

I miss you.

He doesn’t respond.

It takes two days of silence for it to sink in. For the true horror of what’s happened to settle in my bones. For me to realize the truth I’ve been trying so hard to ignore.

I finally realize that I may have irrevocably broken what I slowly pieced together. That perhaps Mitchell won’t be coming back.

That maybe I’m not worth the fight.

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Matt asks as he opens Mitchell’s front door. Mitch has been gone for three agonizing days. A moment of sheer panic had me planning to, once again, try breaking in, but Shiloh stopped me. A well-placed call to his brothers did the trick. One of them had a key.

“He’s gone,” I reply and step inside, taking in the house. It doesn’t look as if he abandoned it, but the missing cat and litter box are all I need to know. My heart skips a beat and I feel my heart sink.

He left. He fucking left me. Just like my dad.

No, he didn’t leave me. I pushed him away.

“He didn’t take his car,” Matt says, and I stare at him.

“Maybe he took a bus.”

“Or bought a new one,” Max replies as he peers into the fridge. “It’s empty. Probably threw shit out, which means he’s gonna be gone a while.”

I scrub a hand over my face, my chest clenching.

“Can you call Magnus and see if they’ve been in contact?”

“Why would he have contacted him and not us?”

“Because even though you’ve done better recently, you abandoned him,” I nearly shout, feeling only slightly bad at the admission. “You left him when he needed you the most. The only one who didn’t was Magnus.”

“Shit,” Max says and then punches something into his phone.

A moment later, Magnus’s voice sounds over the phone. “Hey, Max, what’s up?”

“You know where Mitch went?”

“Maybe, although I promised not to tell.”

“Shit,” I murmur and then sink back slightly when he says, “Gideon did a terrible thing and Mitch needs some time apart.”

Max and Matt turn their gazes toward me, and I shake my head. “I didn’t do anything.”

“He used him,” Magnus counters, and Max’s jaw clenches.

“I didn’t use him. He thought I did. He has nothing to do with my takeover of the company.”

Both Max and Matt seem to grow in size.

“I did offer to send Sem over to beat him up, but Mitch just wanted to go off quietly. Tell Gideon that he can go fuck himself. I’m not telling him where he went.”

Fuck, the psychologist told me the same thing.

“I can’t tell you where he is, Gideon. You know this.”

I’m losing my fucking mind.

“But he’s okay?” Matt asks, and I hear Magnus mutter that he is. He’s safe and happy, far away from me.

I deserve it. I really do. Shiloh was right. God, I don’t want to see his face when he tells me he told me so. He’s held off because I’ve been so obviously miserable, but I know it’s coming.

Fuck, I have to see him tomorrow for dinner with Emmy and August. Rory will be there too. They’re all going to ask where Mitchell is, and I’ll have to admit that I fucked up. I kept a secret too long and in doing so, ruined everything.

Everyone is going to hate me and rightfully so. People love Mitchell more than he realizes. He doesn’t see it, but I do. He’s an integral part of them.

Magnus gets off the phone and I’m left standing in the middle of his empty house, my entire body slumped in regret.

“You hurt our brother,” Max says lowly, and I look up at him.

“You did too. We all fucking failed him.”

Matt glances away, looking guilty and Max eventually does the same. My eyes are wet, stinging, and I swipe at them as I take in the space.

And that’s when I notice it.

The paint supplies are gone as well.

He left and took a part of me with him.

“Why isn’t Mitchy here?” Emery asks as he rounds the table toward me, pulling me in for a long hug. “Is he okay?”

I take in a defeated breath. I need to fess up. I’m not the man I thought I was. I’m not strong or put-together. I’m a fucking mess.

I’ve been going to work, going through the motions but deep down, I’m falling apart.

It’s been four days and no word from him. Nothing. Just silence. It sits heavily on my chest, making me sleep terribly, making my appetite plummet.

I failed him just like everyone else in his life.

I’m no better than his shit stain of a father.

“Why do you look so sad?” Emmy asks, pulling away from me and staring intently at my face.

“He left me,” I mutter and then clear my throat and say it a little more clearly. “Mitchell left and isn’t coming tonight.”

“Oh,” Emmy says and then hugs me again, squeezing me tightly. “Well, that is shitty news.”

I peer over at Shiloh and Rory and see them watching me carefully. They both know what had happened by now, I’m sure. My mood has been indicative of it. I just haven’t had the words to admit it.

“Do you know where he is?” Emmy asks, and I shake my head.

“No. He hasn’t told me. The only one who knows is Magnus.”

August perks up, moving from the kitchen and wiping his hands. “Is that so? We’re friends with Magnus.”

“Oh, August, you should get Mags to tell you where he is so we can tell Gideon,” Emmy says, bouncing on his toes. “That’s the nice thing to do. We are great friends.”

“I doubt he’d tell me,” August replies and then gestures us toward the kitchen. “But I do think we could use a drink.”

“I do need one,” I murmur as I follow him into the small kitchen.

“What would you like? We have it all.”

I arch an eyebrow at him and he shrugs. “I like to experiment with different combinations. Especially with Emmy. Alcohol isn’t good with his diabetes, but sometimes he’ll have one of those fruity drinks.”

“I think I’m gonna need something stronger. Whiskey?”

He pulls out a bottle, something cheap, but I don’t say anything. I’m just happy to have some liquid courage to get me through this fucking nightmare.

“Sure thing,” he says as he pours me a glass and hands it to me. “And honestly, Gideon, with what you did for Em, I’d tell you in a heartbeat where Mitch is. I promise. I really don’t know.”

I scrub a hand across my jaw. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

Taking a long sip of my drink, I follow August out into the other room, watching as he pulls Emmy into his side and presses a kiss to his temple.

That could be me and Mitchell. It could be us, but it’s not.

We’re nothing.

He left because he didn’t believe in what we could be.

Or because I wasn’t honest with him. Fuck, I hate that I’ve fucked this up so badly.

I manage to make it through dinner, my stomach in knots as I force the food down my throat and into my stomach. It rolls and pitches as I drive home, my mind floundering, all of my perception gone.

I just want him.

I can’t think of anything but him.

I fall into bed and pull out my phone, sending him another long-winded message. He has to listen to these. He has to hear what I have to say.

I hang up and then send another, wanting it to be more concise.

“Mitchell, where the fuck are you?” I ask before clearing my throat. “I know you don’t want to answer, to speak to me, but just know that I miss you, I’m thinking of you. Please call me when you can. Fuck. Just call me, Mitchell. I want to hear your voice.”

I hang up and stare at the ceiling.

Minutes later, my phone buzzes and I see his name on the screen.

Mitchell

I’m okay.

I stare at the message and my heart thunders in my chest. I call him, but he doesn’t answer, so I quickly text him once more.

Me

I miss you. Please call me.

He doesn’t respond, for hours it seems, until my eyelids droop with weariness.

Mitchell

Miss you too. But I can’t.

It’s not a phone call, but it’s something. It’s enough. Those words, it renews something inside of me. Even if he can’t. I can.

I’m going to find him, going to tell him how much he’s wanted, how much I want him. If it’s the last fucking thing I do.