“I’m serious. Do you love her? I need to hear you say it while looking me straight in the eye.” Trevor made a V with his index and middle fingers and pointed them at his own pupils. “Say it.”
Shane locked gazes with him. “I love her. Always have.” The words burned, salt in his still-bleeding wound.
Trevor pushed his empty glass at Mark and signaled for more. Mark glanced at Shane, who nodded. Trevor downed the second one just as fast as the first, then rubbed his mouth. “I don’t even know where to begin. But…” He breathed out. “I’m the one who sent the photos.”
Shane stared, his brain unable to process for a moment. Then a fiery fury exploded in his chest, incinerating every rational thought and vestige of control. “You son of a bitch!”
He launched himself across the table. Glasses fell and shattered on the floor as he smashed a fist into Trevor’s face. Shane grabbed Trevor’s collar, pulling his arm back for another punch, but Mark grabbed his wrist. “Shane, no!”
Hand pinned, Shane yanked Trevor sharply toward him instead, head-butting him, knocking him from his chair and having the satisfaction of seeing blood spurt from his lips and nose. “I’ll fucking kill him! I swear I will,” Shane snarled, pulse throbbing in his temples.
“No! Jesus man, what’s the point of hitting a guy who’s not fighting back?” Mark wedged himself between the two other men. “Look!”
Shane glared at Trevor. Mark was right. Trevor didn’t even have his arms up, and blood covered his face and shirt. Yeah, like Shane would give a damn about that. What Trevor had done damn near destroyed Ginger…and Shane too.
Mark continued, “He’s Ginger’s brother. Are you really going to kill him?”
No. Ginger adored him.
Breathing roughly, Shane released the collar and rose to his full height. His hands dug into his hair, then clenched until his scalp hurt. He paced in a tight circle, doing his best not to step over to Trevor and start kicking him in the ribs. “Fuck. Fuck! Why did you do it?”
Was it out of hatred for Shane? He knew how much antipathy Ginger’s brother had for him. Trevor had always made the point that Shane wasn’t good enough for her, no matter how rich he was. Once, over a drink, he’d said, “Dunno why you bother. You probably can’t make her happy. You’re just too…broken,” when Shane had announced his intent
ion to follow Ginger to Berkeley.
Mark signaled the waiters to clean up the broken glass. “We’re going to continue this in my office,” he said in a low voice. Customers were craning their necks, and one or two had cell-phones out. Mark whispered some instructions to the maître d’, who had appeared as if by magic, and then pushed the other men toward the back of the restaurant.
The moment they were in Marc’s office, Shane stopped, planted his feet and faced Trevor. “Start talking.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ginger stared at the ceiling. The TV was playing a Korean drama. She didn’t understand a word without the subtitles, but reading seemed like too much trouble to bother with. A woman and a man were talking in complete gibberish, and occasionally hooting with laughter.
Romantic comedy. Always a fun genre. And hey, if she couldn’t have real romance, she could at least live vicariously through others who did.
Until her control would suddenly break down and she’d start sobbing.
She’d gotten better though. The intervals between her crying jags were getting longer. At this rate, she would be functional in about three months. Maybe four.
Somebody knocked on her door. “Hey, Ginger. It’s me—Debbie.”
“It’s unlocked!” Ginger yelled.
Debbie came inside, carrying a big purple and yellow tote bag that matched her dress. She’d been stopping by every day, ostensibly to bring food. Ginger knew better, but played along anyway. “So what delicious thing did you bring this time?”
“Just some bacon wrapped scallops. Oh, and cheesecake.”
“That sounds good. Does your housekeeper know you’ve been filching food?”
“She does, even though she pretends like she doesn’t see it. She thinks I need to eat more.”
No kidding. Debbie was thin enough to blow away in a stiff breeze.
“Let me put the scallops in the fridge,” Debbie continued. “I want to eat the cheesecake first.”
“A woman after my own heart,” Ginger said. She needed the sugar and fat.
Debbie puttered around in the kitchen, then brought out two small plates. “You know,” she said, as she placed a slice in front of Ginger, “I should get you something for your birthday.”