Chapter 6

Grinding my teeth, I went to him, putting my hand over his on the cold slab of granite of the kitchen island. “I…am horrible at giving advice. I tried, but nodding and saying the right words clearly didn’t work. Do you want to know what I really think?”

Cocking his head, Luther met my eyes. “It worries me that you have to ask.”

“You owe the man nothing, Luther. And that’s not what you wanted to hear, so I didn’t say it. You don’t have to forgive him.” My tone sharpened as the anger I’d been holding back flowed freely. “You missed your mother’s funeral because he refused to call you. He didn’t call your father either. He’s a selfish asshole and I don’t want him given a chance to hurt you again.”

Wincing, Luther lowered his gaze. “My father forgave him.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “His choice. One he had every right to make, but pulling away from you because you didn’t make the same one was fucked up.”

When Luther went still, not looking at me, not replying for the longest time, I cursed myself for opening my fool mouth. I had no right to judge his family. My parents were both alive and liked pretending I was dead. Changing my last name had helped them. Those who hadn’t known me before I’d been disowned didn’t connect me to them now. If not for the infrequent articles mentioning my past as the heir to the Redstone oil company, a multi-billion dollar legacy I’d lost by choice, I’d be completely erased.

“You’re right.” Luther let out a soft laugh and cupped my cheek in his hand, a tender gesture it was hard not to pull away from. I would have once. Instead, I met my man’s calm gaze as he continued. “Everything you’ve just said occurred to me, but forgiveness is always expected. The pain someone causes you is always less important than your willingness to accept an apology. As if words heal a damn thing. As if easing guilt is now your responsibility.”

I inclined my head. “If I’d told you not to go—”

“I’d have been angry with you. Stop wondering if you’re behaving human enough, Xavier.” Luther pulled me against him. “The man you are hasn’t been with us long. And yet, I love him as much as I loved the man you’d tried so hard to be.”

That made me laugh. “I am the same person, Luther. A new name didn’t change that.”

“I disagree. Edmund Redstone The Third was a talented young man, but his family was killing him. Smothering him with expectations.” Luther fisted his hand around my tie, his deep brown eyes darkening as he held my gaze. “Xavier Ashburne is a survivor. And he shut away—you shut away—the fragile side of yourself. And I understand why you did. But you’re slowly letting it back in. Edmund is gone. But who you are is who he’d have wanted to be.”

Shaking my head, I grinned up at Luther. “You’re a sentimental fool. And I love that about you.”

“Which is why you won’t stop me from leaving in the morning.”

“Yes.” I groaned as the point of the conversation hit me. Luther didn’t need me to help him sort out his misgivings, he’d already come to peace with them. He appreciated my honesty, but this was one of his lessons. “Loving you doesn’t mean shielding you from pain. It means being there as you heal, someone you can count on not to hurt you.”

“You always try not to, Xavier. None of us are perfect. You’ve hurt me when you’ve shut me out. You were afraid to love me. Just like you’re afraid to love Alexander.” He smoothed my tie and stepped back, as though to avoid his touch distracting from his words. “He sees you’re trying. And when he’s hurting, he’ll come to you. Let him fail. Let him be the one to tell you if you’re not giving him what he needs. Let what you share be imperfect.”

“Unless what we’re sharing is him tied up and opened wide for my pleasure.” My lips slanted. “Then mistakes aren’t an option.”

“True. Don’t break him.”

“Even a little?”

“You scare me when you’re trying to be cute.” Luther smirked. “Or is this an invitation?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I leaned back against the island, smiling at him, eyes hooded. “And I’m never cute.”