Outsider (24 page)

Sudden
shouting from around the corner of the building made Trey cringe. He recognized
Reagan’s and Ethan’s raised voices, and a knot formed in the pit of his
stomach. His hurricane had arrived.

The
last thing Ethan wanted to deal with was another goddamned reporter, so of
course half a dozen swarmed around Reagan as soon as she stepped out of the car
near the mortuary. Did these people have no shame? Someone had died, and yet they
carried on as if the only matter of any importance in the entire universe was the
question of who Reagan Elliot was fucking.

“Stop
following me,” Reagan insisted. Her short heels clicked against the pavement as
she trotted across the parking lot toward the enormous white building.

Ethan
slammed his door and hurried after her. He’d told her to stay in the car until
he could let her out—it
was
his job to guard her body, after all—but
she’d mistakenly thought there weren’t any paparazzi around when they’d arrived.
As they’d driven through the entry gate, she accused Ethan of being
overprotective and silly. As soon as she’d set foot on the curb, however, several
photographers had literally jumped out of the bushes. Others had climbed out of
an SUV parked several spaces down the row. All of them were snapping pictures
and shouting questions at her. He wasn’t sure how they’d gotten through the
gate. Surely they wouldn’t claim to be guests just to get a scoop on a story.

“Are
you and Trey Mills breaking up?” a woman with sleek black hair asked.

Reagan
stopped trying to escape and turned to face the woman. “Why? Is that what he
said?”

Ethan
found himself behind half a dozen reporters surrounding Reagan like a swarm of
flies on shit. And based on the devastated look on Reagan’s face, she was
feeling like that particular fly attractant at that moment. He waved, trying to
gain Reagan’s attention and prevent her temper from making her do or say
something she’d regret. Ethan was positive that even if Trey was considering a
breakup—which seemed impossible—he would never make that information public.
She didn’t really believe Trey would break up with her—with
them
—did
she? Yes, Trey had been distraught when he’d left the apartment, but he loved
them both. Ethan would never doubt that.

“Maybe
he did,” the reporter said. “How is Trey coping with the knowledge of your
affair with your bodyguard?”

Ethan’s
stomach sank as half the reporters turned disgusted looks on him. The other
half were waiting for Reagan’s reply.

“It’s
none of your business who I sleep with,” Reagan spat.

Ethan
cringed at Reagan’s all-but admission of guilt.

“Trey
was seen leaving your apartment an hour ago,” the black-haired woman said. “He
was obviously upset. Maybe he’d feel better if you found a different bodyguard.
One you
aren’t
having an affair with.”

Several
additional disgusted glares were tossed in Ethan’s direction. He wondered how offended
they’d be if they knew the truth. He was trying very hard to keep a handle on
his temper. He’d lost it with that photographer waiting in front of their
apartment building, but he was more prepared for the invasion of their privacy
this time. With a little jostling—involving a bit of brute strength—Ethan
managed to squeeze through the throng of busybodies and get a hand on Reagan’s
upper arm.

“Excuse
us,” Ethan said, his voice calm but authoritative as he addressed the press. “Miss
Elliot is already late for a somber occasion. We appreciate your cooperation in
allowing her to attend the visitation without further interruption.” What he
really wanted to say was
fuck right off, assholes
, but he’d try a less
combative tactic fist.

He
tugged on Reagan’s arm gently to get her feet moving again. For a moment or two,
Ethan thought the paparazzi were tactful enough to leave them be. No such luck.

“
Miss
Elliot,” the black-haired report said snidely. “Do you use what’s between
your legs to control every man in your life or just—”

Ethan
knew the woman was trying to goad Reagan into revealing something—and maybe
Reagan realized that too—but he didn’t blame her for flying toward the rude
woman in a rage. Ethan caught Reagan’s flailing body around the waist, lifting
her feet off the ground as she reached for the woman who’d insulted her. Every
camera around them was snapping successive shots. Photos of Reagan struggling
for her freedom, her face contorted with hurt and anger. Photos of Reagan
taking wild swings at the object of her fury. Photos of Reagan spewing curses
so loud and blasphemous that deaf sailors in the middle of the Atlantic would
have blushed.

Ethan
leaned close to Reagan’s ear to talk soothing words of sense to her and got a
head butt to the nose for his troubles. The damned thing had been broken more
than once, so it didn’t take much force to make it bleed. Ethan supposed that
meant there would be pictures spread across newsstands of him with a bloody
nose as he struggled to control a small woman with an enormous temper without
hurting her.

“Reagan,”
Ethan bellowed. “Chill the fuck out!” She stiffened as if he’d head-butted
her
in the nose, and then covered her face with both hands. Her piteous sob squeezed
his throat, choking off his airflow. He realized she was more hurt than angry
and as pissed off as she’d been seconds ago, he could only imagine how her
passionate heart ached.

He
scooped her into his arms, probably revealing a bit too much of her thigh as his
arm slipped beneath her knees. “It will be okay,” he murmured to her, fighting
the instinct to brush comforting kisses to her forehead and temple.

He
shifted her into a more secure position, and her arms went around his neck for
stability. Her tears soaked the crisp black fabric at his shoulder as she
sobbed uncontrollably. Ethan turned to carry her toward the mortuary, praying
that the assholes didn’t have the audacity to follow them inside, and noticed
the crowd emerging from the open front doors of the sprawling colonial
structure. Sed headed the group. His strong face was such an angry shade of
red, Ethan wondered if he’d kissed the sun.

“How
did you get inside the gate?” Sed asked the nearest photographer.

“It
was open, so we came in,” he said, nodding in the direction of the iron gate at
the end of the drive. Ethan knew better. When he’d arrived he’d had to identify
himself as a guest of Phillip Lionhearts’s visitation. Still, they hadn’t
checked a list for his name. He assumed they were a little more careful about
who got in to funerals for celebrities.

“See
your way back out, you’re not welcome here,” Sed continued. The three members
of his band flanking him nodded in agreement. Trey was conspicuously absent.
Ethan had recognized Trey’s car when they’d pulled up, so he had to be around
somewhere. He probably wanted to avoid the press.

“This
doesn’t concern you,” the black-haired reporter told Sed. “We’re just trying to
get Reagan Elliot to answer some of our questions.”

“It
does
concern me,” Sed boomed, his face now an alarming shade of purple.
“Reagan is my guest. She came to offer her support to me as a friend. My father
died unexpectedly two days ago, and I sure as hell don’t want to deal with this
right now. This is private property, and you’ve been asked to leave. You can do
so now or explain to the police why you’re trespassing.”

“Let
me down,” Reagan said quietly to Ethan.

Ethan
had been so caught up in Sed’s interactions with the press that he’d failed to
notice Reagan had stopped crying and was tugging at her skirt to cover her thighs.
He set her on her feet and dabbed at the blood trickling from his nose with a
shirt cuff. Reagan smoothed her skirt with both hands before straightening. She
approached Sed and gave him a huge hug—which inspired another flurry of photos.

“I’m
so sorry this mess followed me here,” she said, staring up into Sed’s troubled
blue eyes and laying a palm on his cheek amid additional shutter clicks. “Let’s
go inside. Out of sight, out of mind.”

Sed
smiled and nodded. He placed a hand on one side of Reagan’s head and pressed a
gruff kiss to the opposite side. Ethan had seen Sed do the same to Trey and to
just about anyone he considered a friend, but the excited murmuring among the
paparazzi as they jotted their notes and took their fucking pictures worried Ethan.
What twisted angle would they assign to Sed’s tender show of friendship? Ethan
followed Reagan and Sed’s other guests into the mortuary fantasizing about
grabbing a sledgehammer and destroying a truckload of expensive cameras. He was
less inclined to admit that he wouldn’t mind taking the same sledgehammer to a
few fingers as well. But he no longer solved his problems with violence.

As
he stepped under the entryway’s roof, he noticed Trey standing in the shadows
near the open front door. Reagan was caught up with offering her condolences to
Sed, so Ethan broke off from the group to speak to Trey. Before he could reach
him, Trey slipped around the corner and disappeared into an alcove just inside
the front entrance.

Ethan’s
heart thudded. Did that mean he didn’t want to be bothered? Too bad. Ethan
wasn’t going to let him hide. Ethan had a whole lot of apologizing and
groveling to do. He wasn’t sure this was the time or the place, but he needed
to start now.

Trey
stood against the wall—his back pressed to the smooth surface, his chin ducked
so that his long bangs hid his expression.

“I
really am sorry, Trey. I didn’t know you wanted to hide your affair with Brian
from Reagan.”

Trey’s
head lifted. His crumpled brow and set jaw told Ethan he’d gotten his apology
all wrong.

“I
don’t want to hide anything from Reagan.” He reached for a box of tissues and
pulled a sheet free. Handing it to Ethan, he asked, “Why is your nose
bleeding?”

“Reagan
bumped it with her head. I thought it was accidental, but seeing as I’m a huge
jerk, maybe she did it on purpose.” Ethan wiped at his nose, finding the
bleeding had almost stopped.

“You
are a jerk,” Trey said.

“I
probably should have warned you about that before I made you fall in love with
me.” Ethan had hoped his jest would provoke an ornery grin, but Trey merely sighed.

“You
should definitely wear a warning label.”

“I
didn’t mean to hurt you. How can I make it up to you?” He reached for Trey,
wanting so badly to touch him that his belly ached, but people were milling
about everywhere, so he dropped his hand.

“Do
you really want to know how to make it up to me, or are you just offering out
of stupid courtesy?”

“I
really want to know.”

“Kiss
me.”

Ethan
grinned. “If that’s all it takes, I’ll take you to bed and kiss you for hours.”

“Not
in bed—here, in front of everyone. One deep, demanding, unquestionably sexual
kiss. That’s what I want.”

Ethan
glanced around, hoping by some miracle that everyone in the vicinity had been
stricken with complete blindness. If he kissed Trey here and now, there’d be
more than one witness. And he was pretty sure the unfamiliar person watching
them from near a pillar was an incognito member of the press.

“I
can’t do that, Trey. Not here.”

Trey
closed his eyes and nodded. “I figured as much. You don’t even love me enough
to claim me as yours.”

He
pushed off the wall and brushed against Ethan’s arm as he passed. With his
heart trying to crawl out of his throat, Ethan grabbed Trey’s arm and spun him
to face him. One kiss was all he’d asked for. One kiss. And yet, as Ethan
searched Trey’s troubled green eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was
terrified of the backlash. An easy kiss had never been so daunting. A simple
kiss had never been so complex. He had to trust that Trey would understand why he
couldn’t grant his small request. “I’d die for you, Trey,” Ethan told him,
squeezing Trey’s arm so he’d know how much he meant it. “I’d
die
for
you.”

“Dying
is easy,” Trey said. “Living with who you are is the hard part.”

He
pulled away and before Ethan could regain his attention, Trey brightened and
waved at his brother and parents, who’d just entered the building.

Living
was
the hard part, especially if he ever had to go on without Trey in
his life. How would Ethan ever find the strength—the courage—to be the man Trey
needed? Be the man Trey deserved?