Crossing his arms, Gavin leaned against his desk as he stared Dillon down from across the room. “Maybe if you treated Emily the way she’s supposed to be treated, I wouldn’t have done it. Ever think of that?” he asked, his voice measured, but his thoughts weren’t even close. Between thinking about the way he’d grabbed Emily and the fact that she had gone against his plea by saying something to Dillon without him being there, Gavin was ready to draw blood.
Dillon remained as still as stone. “I shouldn’t have to think about anything, bro. You had no fucking right doing what you did.”
“I might not have, but what’s done is done,” he stated firmly, reducing the distance between them by half. “Perhaps I need to reiterate it for you. If you’d treated her the way a real man treats his woman, maybe things would be different for you right now.”
“I was drunk. I would’ve never touched her if I wasn’t,” he said, his eyes still glued to Gavin’s. “You fucking sucker punched me. That wasn’t fucking cool, man.”
Gavin rubbed at his chin absently. It was apparent to him that Emily hadn’t said anything yet. “Wow, that’s original. ‘I was drunk,’ so that makes it okay?” He didn’t let Dillon respond as he continued, “So let me get this straight…” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re here to talk shit to me because I knocked you out for manhandling Emily the way you did?”
“Yeah. Why the fuck else would I be here?”
Gavin decided to skirt over that particular question with one of his own. “What the fuck are you really here for?” he asked, his brows furrowed. “Because let me make myself very clear about the way I roll, Dillon. If I would’ve seen you do that to a dog—let alone Emily—I would’ve still done the same thing. When have you ever known me to sit back and watch a man do that to a woman? Tell me because I’m honestly fucking curious now—and quite amused by the whole fucking thing.”
Dillon’s granite expression softened almost imperceptibly. “Look, I don’t want to argue with you. I’m—”
“Oh, you don’t?” he interrupted. “It sure as fuck seems like you do. If you can’t understand why I did what I did, then there’s no reason for us to continue with this conversation. And if you’re going to use that pussy excuse of you being drunk to dismiss what you did to her, then there’s definitely no reason for us to continue this conversation.” Gavin pointed across the room. “The door’s right there if you’re going to play that card with me.”
Dillon stared at him a moment, his eyes narrowing again. “Like I said, I don’t want to argue with you, Gavin. I’ll admit I messed up, and I told Emily I’m going to make things better.” Gavin cocked his head to the side, wondering exactly when they’d spoken since Emily had told him she wasn’t answering his calls. However, he remained quiet and let Dillon continue. “The problem I’m having here is that you seem to have a bigger fucking problem with what happened than my own fiancée does.”
“Fiancée?” Gavin asked, trying to ignore the cracking in his voice and the sudden spike in his body temperature. “She broke up with you.”
“Yeah, but I talked to her, and the wedding’s back on.”
Dillon continued to speak, and although Gavin was staring straight into his eyes, he didn’t hear him. He couldn’t. Swallowing hard, Gavin’s ears stung from Dillon’s announcement, its insidious whisper settling like acid in his lungs. Searing pain—deep and brutal—pumped through Gavin’s veins, manifesting itself like a deadly cancer.
Lifting his arm, Gavin slowly ran a nervous hand through his hair. “The wedding’s back on?” he asked, his voice low, bleeding with confusion.
“Yeah, man. I just went through the whole thing with you. It’s back on,” he replied, a hint of confusion tainting his tone as well. Dillon let out a breath and shook his head. “Look, I get it, okay? You’re right. I shouldn’t have used the drinking as an excuse. Though I remain firm that you shouldn’t have hit me, I’m willing to forgive you.”
“You think I need your fucking forgiveness?” Gavin snapped, still trying to recover from the hurt anchoring itself in his chest. “You have some balls coming to my fucking office, telling me that you’re willing to forgive me. You’re lucky I’m not knocking the shit out of you right here.”
“See, this is what I’m talking about. I’m trying to smooth things out with you, and you’re acting like a fucking lunatic. What the fuck, man?”
Gavin glared at him for a long moment as flashes of Emily flooded his mind. Crossing his arms, he turned and walked over to the window. The sun had long since made its descent below the buildings, and a full moon had taken its place. Inhaling deeply, Gavin nodded. He was in no way being benevolent, and he sure as shit wasn’t forgiving Dillon. His sole purpose was to end the conversation and get to Emily in whatever way he could.
Therefore, he would play the game.
He vaguely remembered her saying that she was covering a dinner shift tonight at Bella Lucina. Just as he did so many months ago, he would pay her an unexpected visit. However, this time he would go to her a very broken and very confused man looking for answers.
He just hoped he would find them.
“You’re correct, Dillon,” he said, his voice devoid of any emotion that it shocked even him. “I am acting like a nut.” He turned and faced him, his facial features smoothing into unreadable impassivity. “If you’re able to forgive me for doing what I did, then, surely, I can get over what you’ve done to Emily.”