And he wanted a future with Max. He wanted to build a life
with him; nothing that had happened had changed his hopes
and dreams and if Max still loved him, as he said he did,
Jaylin knew they could make it work.
It would be hard, certainly, and Max had a long road
ahead of him, but Jaylin could travel it with him and help
him.
He just had to make Max realize that.
He had to find him and make him realize that this
wasn’t right—being apart wasn’t right—when it wasn’t what
either of them really wanted.
Sitting there, crying, despite the shock and the hurt,
Jaylin could clearly see Chad Sydney’s devious fingerprints all over this mess.
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He tricked Max. Lied to him and twisted things. He’s a
manipulative bastard, but no way in hell will he get away
with this shit! I will fight him. I’ll find Max and get him to open
his eyes. I won’t allow the lies Chad spun to keep me and
Max apart.
Drawing in a breath, he stood, still holding the letter,
heart still breaking, but he was bound and determined to
make things right.
He would find Max and get their relationship back on
track and that alone would show Chad Sydney that he
couldn’t control other people’s lives.
He couldn’t control the future.
Jaylin knew, in his heart and soul, that he and Max
were meant to be and he had no doubt at all that Max felt
the same.
We’ll be fine. As soon as I find him and see him again,
everything will be just fine and we can pick up the pieces and
move on together.
He and Max had true love on their side and no one
could destroy that or hinder it for long.
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CASTING a glance over his shoulder, inwardly sighing in
relief to see the man he had left in bed was still sleeping soundly, Jaylin Ryan slipped from the bedroom and
carefully, quietly, maneuvered through the unfamiliar
apartment.
At fifteen minutes after three in the morning, he was
tucked in the back of a cab, heading home, satisfied
sexually, but still restless emotionally and mentally. He had just gotten back to New York that morning, after nearly three full months on the road, and he hadn’t even been to his
penthouse yet.
His agent, Marcus, had scheduled several interviews
and a dozen appearances, the last one ending shortly after
eleven.
Jaylin knew he could have gone home then, to catch up
on some much-needed sleep, but he had hit a familiar bar
instead, and less than an hour later, he had found just what he was looking for.
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Close to it, at least.
Carl was a beauty—tall and tan with dark hair and eyes
that weren’t the exact shade of brown he preferred, but
Jaylin had gotten past that. He always did. He didn’t go out and pick up guys that often, but when he did, they were all a certain “type” and he had long ago stopped pretending he
wasn’t looking for some hint of the man he had lost seven
years ago.
Staring out the window, he wondered if he had called
out the wrong name again. He had done so more than once.
A few guys ended up pretty pissed. Most didn’t care. But it still made things just a little awkward, which was one of the many reasons he avoided the morning after at all cost. He
rarely saw the same guy twice.
What was the point?
He wasn’t looking for a relationship; he just wanted to
take the edge off now and then. He didn’t screw a different man each night and, really, he didn’t want to. But every few months, he liked to have a distraction, some no-strings sex.
He never pretended he was interested in anything more and
the men he involved himself with understood that.
His mother felt he was denying himself a chance to be
happy, to have a relationship that was meaningful, but
Jaylin disagreed.
“You can’t close yourself off forever, Jaylin. It’s not right.”
“I’m not closed off. I have a full life.”
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“Career wise? Yes. Personally? No. And you know it. And
I don’t want to nag you, but you need someone there.”
After years alone, his mother had finally found someone.
She had married a wonderful man the year before and she
and her new husband were now traveling. And Jaylin was
happy for her. Harris was a good man and Jaylin wanted his
mother to be happy, but he knew his one chance at being
happy had passed him by.
He had found and lost the love of his life when he was
eighteen years old.
Trying to build a life with anyone other than Max would
seem hollow and meaningless.
Shaking the tangled thoughts aside, as the cab stopped
in front of his building, Jaylin paid and tipped the driver and then quickly made his way inside. He hoped a hot shower
would relax him enough so he could drift off to sleep for a few hours. He needed the rest. Marcus was pushing hard for
him to take a few months away from touring, but Jaylin was
hesitant. He hated having too much down time on his hands.
It gave him too much time to think.
When he was on the road, he was constantly going,
moving quickly from one city to the next. He didn’t have time to get lost in the past or wonder about what might have been and he liked it that way, even if others did believe he would burn himself out if he wasn’t careful.
Reaching the top floor, he let himself into the
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on for him. No doubt the kitchen was stocked with anything
he might need. Marcus had found someone to handle all the
shopping for him. It wasn’t a task he had much use for, and he didn’t leave himself a lot of time for it.
Besides, he often pointed out, the apartment was just a
pit stop. He wasn’t there often. Even after three and a half years, he hadn’t done much to make the place feel like home: he hadn’t bothered to decorate beyond a big-screen
television, a stereo system, a sofa, and a bed. And usually, he went out to eat or ordered something, but the woman
Marcus had hired made certain the basics were around if he
needed them.
Dropping his keys on the coffee table, he looked at the
stack of mail and picked it up, moving to the sofa, sitting down with a sigh.
Humming a familiar tune, he sorted through the stack,
smiling to find a few postcards from his mother, tossing the routine junk mail aside, finding little of any real interest, until he came across an envelope with the Ruskin DA’s
Office listed as the return address.
What the bloody hell?
Ripping the envelope open, he pulled out the letter,
scanning it, and then rereading it to make certain he fully understood, because really, it didn’t seem possible.
…Due to various factors, including good behavior, Mr.
Trent Miller is up for possible early release…if you would like
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to speak to the panel deciding this matter you are allowed
that right…please contact this office….
The words seemed jumbled in his mind, but he
understood what they meant—he understood that Trent
Miller could be released from prison. He had been sentenced to twenty years, but after only seven years, there was a
chance he could be set free. Jaylin was furious and
disgusted as he looked at the letter, wondering how anyone
could justify allowing Trent to escape his full sentence after what he had done.
He wished, not for the first time, that Trent had met the
same fate as Greg, who had died after a vicious prison fight just two years into his sentence.
Lane and Hank had served three years each. They had
long ago been released and Jaylin wasn’t certain where they were or what they were doing and, truth be told, he didn’t
care. He didn’t hate them as much as he hated Trent, as
much as he had hated Greg, but he still felt angry whenever he thought about them.
Whenever he remembered that night.
The night that marked the beginning of the end of the
life he had longed for, the life he and Max had wanted to
share.
And now what? Trent gets an early pass? He gets to
walk? No chance in hell! He can’t walk away. He needs to
pay the way I’ve paid, the way Max paid!
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Tossing the letter onto the sofa, he stood and crossed
the room to the mini bar and grabbed the first bottle he saw.
Pouring himself a glass, he tossed the amber liquid
down his throat and poured another, well aware of his
shaking hands and pounding heart. He felt like he was
trapped in a nightmare. It simply hadn’t occurred to him
that Trent could end up released early, but now, it very
much was a possibility and Jaylin wasn’t about to stand idly by and allow it to happen.
The letter said he had a right to speak, and he damn
well would.
He would go back to Ruskin and do everything in his
power to keep Trent in jail, where the son of a bitch
belonged.
Taking the glass and bottle back to the sofa, he sat
down again, trying to calm himself, trying to be reasonable.
He really didn’t want to return to Ruskin for any reason. He had avoided it, for the most part, over the years. But this time, he couldn’t avoid it. This time, he had to face his fears and return to the town that held so many memories.
Granted, no matter where he was, he had the memories.
The good ones and the bad ones.
Sitting back, he took a drink directly from the bottle,
savoring the burn. He didn’t drink too often, but tonight was an exception. He needed something to take the edge off,
something to dull the anger and, more importantly, more
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desperately, he needed something strong enough to ease the
pain that had never completely faded.
The pain that never would fade, because he was missing
part of himself and had been since the night Max
disappeared, leaving only a note, asking Jaylin not to try to find him.
But Jaylin hadn’t listened.
He had tried to find Max; he had tried relentlessly to
find Max, to track him down. He had even begged Chad
Sydney and finally, Maryann Sydney, for some hint of
information, but both of them had refused to tell him
anything.
“Max left. I think that should tell you something.”
“It tells me you somehow forced or tricked him into
leaving.”
“Tell yourself that if you need to, but the fact remains
that Max left and he made it clear he doesn’t want to be found
by you.”
He spent two years and more money than he could
calculate trying to find Max, first on his own and eventually by hiring private investigators, but they hit the same dead ends he did. It was as if Max Sydney had disappeared into
thin air. And it made Jaylin crazy. He nearly flunked during his first semester of college and eventually, he dropped out completely, focusing on working and looking for Max, before Marcus Logan discovered him and in doing so, he opened up
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doors Jaylin thought he would never have a chance to walk
through.
Now, a little more than four years after meeting Marcus,
he was touring, playing his unique blend of classical and
contemporary music, and he was successful doing it. He had
a wide fan base, the records he had recorded sold well and, professionally, he was thrilled, but following after his
musical dreams had forced him to face one ugly reality.
Max really didn’t want to be found.
“I don’t know the circumstances, Jaylin, but you said
you’ve been looking for the guy for over two years and you
haven’t found him. But he’s always known how to find you.
So maybe you need to realize that he doesn’t want to be
found.”
“It’s not that simple, Marcus.”
“I think it is. And I think you’re holding on when you need
to let go.”
The words were more blunt than the ones his mother
had used, but the message was there: he had to leave the
past.
He had to leave Max behind; he had to accept that he
would have to build his life without the man he loved.
Four years later, he still wondered if he had done the
right thing, but when those thoughts came, he reminded
himself that Marcus was right. If Max wanted to be found he wouldn’t have made it impossible to find him and if Max
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wanted to find him, he could have done so with little to no effort. The fact that he hadn’t said it all.
He really moved on. He forgot me. Or he just stopped
loving me. Maybe he blames me for what happened. Maybe I
am to blame.
Aware of a dull headache building, he set the bottle on
the coffee table and picked up the letter again.
He might have lost Max, but it didn’t change his need to
see Trent Miller pay for everything he had done. And seven