Vivienne had loved him, but she didn’t trust him.
She didn’t trust him now.
And now he was lying in black satin sheets and brooding, which was frankly humiliating.
Rhys sighed and heaved himself up in the bed just as his phone went off on the nightstand, and his stupid, treacherous heart immediately leapt, thinking it might be Vivienne.
But no, it was Bowen on a video call, and as Rhys answered, they both stared at each other in horror.
“What’s happened to your face?” Rhys asked just as Bowen scowled and said, “You’re naked.”
Sitting up higher in the bed, Rhys dug the heel of his free hand into one eye. “No, I’m not, I just woke up, and—”
“Why would you answer a video call naked?”
“Why would you attach a badger to your face?”
For a moment, the two brothers glared at each other through their respective phones, and then a smile cracked through all that beard. “It is kind of out of control, isn’t it?” he asked, rubbing his jaw.
“It needs its own post code, mate,” Rhys replied, but he was smiling, too. Bowen, was, like Wells, a right pain in the arse a lot of the time, but it was also good to see him, even if he had grown the world’s most terrifying beard.
“Wells told me you fucked up,” Bowen said, to the point as always. “Got yourself cursed.”
“It’s a long story,” Rhys warned, but Bowen only grunted, pulling the phone back to show Rhys the desolate mountainside he was sitting on.
“I could use the entertainment.”
So Rhys told him, all of it, starting with the summer nine years ago, ending with Vivienne walking out of his house in tears last night.
When he was done, Bowen was frowning, but since that was one of Bowen’s default expressions, Rhys wasn’t that concerned.
“She’s right,” he finally said. “About you never taking shite seriously.”
“That’s not true,” Rhys objected. “I take lots of shite seriously. My business. Her. I would take you seriously, but I can’t because of that beard.”
“See, that’s what I mean,” Bowen said, pointing at the phone with one finger. “Always taking the piss, making jokes. You say she doesn’t trust you, but how can she when you act like nothing matters to you? Like it’s all a big fucking lark?”
Rhys blinked. “Have you started giving free therapy to sheep up there, Bowen?”
Bowen’s scowl deepened, and Rhys held up a hand in surrender. “Right, right, I get it, I’m doing it again.”
He didn’t know how to explain to Bowen, a man who had always said exactly what he was thinking in the bluntest way possible, that it was easier for him to dodge and weave, not to let anyone know things ever got to him. To live life right on the surface and not worry about getting too deep.
But the thing was, he was already in too deep. He was in love with Vivienne. Had, he was beginning to realize, never stopped loving her. That summer hadn’t just been a fling—it had been the real deal.
And he’d fucked it up. Just like he was fucking it up now.
“Tell her how you feel,” Bowen said now. “Be honest. Oh, and also don’t die tonight.”
“Thanks,” Rhys said with a rueful smile. “Take care of yourself up there. And shave.”
Bowen flipped him off, but he was grinning as they hung up, and Rhys got out of bed feeling a little bit better.
He just needed to see Vivienne and tell her the truth. Tell her he was head over heels for her, and that yes, tonight scared him shitless, but he trusted her.