“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said. He opened the door and stopped. He gave me a parting glance before studying the door, and it looked as though his eyes were glassy. “I’m really sorry.”

And he left. The door clicked closed behind him, leaving me heartsore and completely at a loss about what the fuck just happened. I stood there for a few seconds, blinking at where he’d just stood moments before, trying to get my head around it. But my phone rang in my hand again. This time it was Rob. I growled at his name on my screen before I answered his call.

“Did Michael get hold of you?” he asked, no hello, no apology.

“Yes. I’m on my way to the office right now.”

“I’ll see you there then.”

Fucking great. I ended the call without another word, sneering at my phone before pocketing it again. My night just went from shitastic to fucking worse. I grabbed my coat, checked my pockets for wallet and keys and, finding both, picked up my messenger bag and walked out.

Chapter Thirteen

Jordan

Motherfucker, motherfucker, mother-fucking-fucker.

I’m so stupid.

I felt awful. My stomach was in knots, my heart was aching, my mind was a motherfucking mess.

I was glad Angus wasn’t up when I got home. As much I probably should have talked to someone, all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and pretend I wasn’t such a goddamned disaster.

But I was.

And it wasn’t bad enough that I could be a hot mess on my own, but I had to bring Hennessy into it. Dear God, the look on his face when I left was something I wouldn’t ever forget. I hurt him. I led him to believe I was someone I’m clearly not.

I wasn’t who or what he needed.

I hurt him, and I hated myself for it.

When I walked in my room, I left all the lights off, kicked off my shoes, but crawled into bed fully dressed, jeans and all.

I reached down to give my dick a squeeze. I wasn’t hard, not even close to it. I slipped my hand under the waistband and cupped my balls and palmed my dick, and… nothing.

Mother fucking nothing.

My head swam, my mind turned in circles. I was so confused. I thought I’d found who I was. I thought I’d found out what I was and found my people like me. And for the first time in years, I’d felt like I’d belonged. Like all the little pieces of me slotted together to complete my bigger picture.

But I was wrong.

I didn’t belong with them, and the picture of my identity was, once more, in a thousand disassembled pieces.