Unfurling from my protective hug, I reached for him, but when my hand rubbed his arm, I didn’t see a reaction. Was he really still mad at me? What if he couldn’t handle me getting the job over him, and he was already looking for an exit strategy?
“It isn’t my fault,” I blurted out. Fear spiked in my chest. “You know that, right?”
Bryce seemed to wrestle with that, and I wondered if he really did think it was my fault. But he couldn’t. He knew me too well. It was stupid luck in my favor that the recruiter had been interested in me. It could have just as easily happened the other way around.
“I know that he didn’t even look at me,” Bryce said. “I know that you’re talented and you worked hard and he probably recognized the Porter name and I must have disappeared after that.”
Was he seriously suggesting that my dad's name got me the attention? After all he knew about me, about my family? Just hearing my family name was a trigger for me, and my fists clenched. Did Bryce honestly think that after everything that had happened with my parents, I’d use my last name to get myself ahead—to get myself ahead at his expense? I needed to scream. I needed to shout. I needed…
To empathize. Fuck, how many times had I pushed people away when I was upset? How many cutting remarks and rude allegations had I made as I grew up to lash out when I was scared?
It had been my whole life, really. Protecting myself by being wholly unlikeable. And Bryce was hurting. His ego was wounded, and he was probably scared and sad and frustrated. The job meant every bit as much to him as it did me. So...so he was being mean because he didn’t know how to handle the feelings. I could work with that.
“You know better, Bryce,” I said, cool and calm. “The Porter name means fuck all. I’ve been on my own and busting my ass. I’ve been coding since I was a tween and making a name for myself in this department the last four years. If the FBI is interested in me, it’s through my fucking merit. For you to suggest otherwise is a dick move.”
Bryce shifted uncomfortably, and I knew I’d hit home. But his silence showed he wasn’t ready to be an adult yet.
“I get that you’re hurting, but it is hitting low to lash out at me,” I said. “If you thought throwing a tantrum would get me to back off from the job, I’ve got news for you: I won’t. If I land the job, it’s because I am fucking qualified for it, and I have every reason to want it. You aren’t the only one with a sob story.”
I wanted to say so much more. The old Aiden would have done everything he could have to cut Bryce down, but I bit my tongue because for once I didn’t want to be mean. Not to him.
And he would apologize, and say he was wrong—that he was just upset, and it had nothing to do with me, because deep down he was happy for me. Proud of me. And this didn’t change anything between us.
I waited. I hoped.
And Bryce did nothing but stare at his shoes. Because… because he really thought that about me. And if he thought I was some manipulative, cutthroat asshole who would do whatever it took to get ahead despite his lover’s feelings, well…there was no way he could love me. Hell, I didn’t even know why he’d want to be with me if that was the case.
Oh. Oh. My eyes flicked to Eryk. Maybe he didn’t.
And fuck, didn’t that make me feel like a damn fool.
“Fuck this,” I mumbled to myself. I shouldered past Bryce, saluting Bryan and storming out. The walk home was blisteringly cold, but I had enough anger fueling me that I didn’t feel a lick of it.
I’d tried being the better man. I’d hoped...well, I’d hoped for a lot more from Bryce. If he was going to take his anger out on me, if he was going to think the worst of me just because I wasn’t fitting into his plans, his idea of how things should be going—well, then he could take care of his own fucking hurt feelings.
I had better things to do with my time. Like landing that fucking job.
21
Bryce
“If you’re this stupid, you don’t deserve the job,” my grandmother