Laird's Choice Remmy Duchene (good inspirational books .txt) 📖

He shook his head for he could find no words. His thoughts were muddled.

"Xavier, I… I…"

Xavier hurried across the room and pulled him into a hug. "Breathe, Laird. Take your time."

"I hurt him…"

"Who?"

"Race… I hurt him in the worst way possible."

Laird gripped the back of Xavier's shirt, holding on tightly.

"I'm sure it's not that bad."

"He asked me if I thought he did it."

"You said no… right?" Xavier released Laird and their eyes met. "Laird."

"I just wanted to get out of there. I just couldn't…

he was convicted, X."

"For a smart guy, you sure are a dumbass. He was convicted of murder—that carries a penalty of life. He was out in eight years because he was acquitted… they cleared his record. Why? Because he didn't actually do it."

Laird felt weak then. His knees shook as he fell

backward into the chair behind him. "How… what happened?"

"I'm not going to do your job for you," Xavier said.

"You're going to have to ask him yourself. So, do I tell Rajan you're not coming today?"

"Yeah…" Laird replied. "I'll call later."

Laird laced his fingers to hold his head up while bracing his elbows on the desk. He sat there in silence for a long time wondering if he could go back and ask Race what really happened all those years ago.

Chapter Eight

Race jogged along the water, going as far down the beach as possible before turning around. By the time he arrived back at his house, his lungs were burning, his chest was heaving, and his knees wanted to give out. He fought to catch his breath, and even though he was in the house, he stopped only long enough to grab some water before pacing around. The last thing he wanted was for his muscles to seize up. Lifting the water to his mouth, he took a long, satisfying drink. When he didn't feel as if his lungs would explode, he turned for the stairs when the doorbell rang.

Glancing at the clock, he wondered who that could be. Winston was in court and he didn't associate with anyone else. Shaking off the urgency he felt at being possibly burnt at the stake as being overly dramatic, he yanked the door opened and instantly wished he hadn't.

"Hi, Race."

"What do you want, Laird?"

"You haven't come to see me."

Race held his breath, bit his tongue, and began

closing the door.

"Race, please!"

When it came to Laird Anatolis, Race seemed not to have any common sense. A tiny voice deep inside screamed that he should just slam the door, climb the stairs, and crawl into bed. That small voice was quickly silenced by the aching arousal between Race's legs, the loud throbbing of his heart, and the little flip of joy his heart did. Soon the little voice was no more and against his better judgment, he stepped aside and allowed Laird to walk by him before closing the door quietly behind him. He led his former lover through the house to the sitting room where the sun seeped through the glass and sounds of the ocean floated in through the window. Flopping to a seat, he motioned to the one across from him but Laird didn't sit. He walked instead to the window.

"I need to talk," Laird finally spoke. "I know I was being a coward but all I wanted to do was get away—get away from you, your touch, every thought of you."

"What precisely do you want me to say to that?"

Race questioned.

"I don't know." Laird still hadn't turned around to face him. "I just couldn't find the right words and I still don't know what to say; how to begin."

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm here…" Laird turned then, "…because I need to be. I fear if I didn't come I'd lose you and the thought of that broke me. Look, I don't know what happened in your past. I can't even begin to imagine but you have to understand how shocked I was."

Race frowned. "You think I didn't understand? I understood. But I expected you to corner me—ask me questions, demand the answers. Not to run away like some scared little boy!"

He saw the impact his words had on Laird, but the anger simmering inside Race's body just couldn't let him care.

"Can we please get past that? I don't know how to react to things like that. It's not every day someone tells me the man I've been making love to was a convicted felon."

Race rose from where he was and made for the

door. But Laird caught his arm before he could get through.

He whirled around to face him. "If anyone else called me that I wouldn't care… but from you…"

"I'm sorry… damn. I keep putting my foot in my mouth. The truth, right, Race?"

Race said nothing. He didn't care what Laird's truth was anymore.

"I'm falling in love with you!"

Those words stopped him cold. A silence rang after them that pounded inside his head. Had Laird actually said anything? He was afraid to hope, afraid to think about it, afraid to breathe. Finally he decided Laird hadn't said them.

Shaking his head, he walked off again and this time he didn't stop until he was in the kitchen with a glass in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other. Laird entered and frowned.

"Did you hear me?"

"I'm hoping to drink enough so when I open my eyes you'll only be a nagging nightmare," Race muttered.

"Tough." Laird snagged the bottle then the glass. "I need you to be clear for this."

"What the hell do you want from me? I know this is a joke for you. It has to be."

"No jokes…"

"First you ran when you found out what I am. Then you come back and tell me you're falling for me? How does that work? Tell me what you want from me so I can give it to you and you can leave me in peace."

"That's just it, Race. I don't want anything from you.

What I need from you is for you to forgive me."

Race walked