The Shark (Kingston College Book 2)

by Vivica Dorn

  Lance paused, staring out at the fractured haze of white outside.

  “Found out you what?” Finn whispered thickly.

  Lance stilled. Then he turned to face Finn again. The snow turned the air outside the car brighter, and soft white light illuminated each curve of Finn’s face. Each tender stroke of skin, each eyelash as lit up and clear and heaven.

  “If he found out that I’m in love with you.”

  Finn’s eyes widened and his soft lips fell open. And all Lance wanted to do was take those lips in his, to swallow down any arguments Finn may have had, to eliminate any walls he may have thrown up, to trap him forever. At that very moment they pulled up in front of the hotel, and Lance forced himself to turn away to pay the driver. As he did so he felt a blast of cold wind, then the echoing, breathtakingly final sound of a car door slamming shut. He turned in the direction of the place Finn had occupied just a moment ago, only to see him walking away through the car window. Finn entered the hotel without turning back.

  Lance exited the car a moment later, letting the cold, snow-bitten air surround him in a cage of white. He didn’t regret what he had said. It was only fair that Finn understood his desires, that he had all the information. While Lance wasn’t one known to share much of himself with others, he was, at the same time unflinchingly honest.

  He pressed his lips into a thin line, standing in the snow just a little longer. Just long enough to somewhat numb the sorrow that seeped slowly out of his chest, poisoning everything.

  Somewhat. Somewhat.

  CHAPTER 21

  Finn paced back and forth in his hotel room, face aflame, running his hands through his snow-dampened hair. He replayed the scene from the taxi over and over again in his mind – Lance, looking heartbroken but true, eyes dark but honest, face half illuminated and half cast in shadows.

  I’m in love with you.

  Finn groaned then tossed his hands up, halting his manic back-and-forth of walking. He threw himself onto the bed, splayed on his back like a frazzled starfish, before rolling onto his side, pressing his cheek into the soft, tautly-pulled bed coverings. He hadn’t bothered making the bed this morning but clearly the staff had taken care of that.

  “What the hell are you talking about,” he whispered, as if Lance were there with him. Not for the first time, he wondered if he should have stayed there with him so he could ask such a question straight to Lance’s stoic face. I’m a coward, he thought miserably. He should have stayed. He should have made Lance explain himself. But despite that thought, despite his misgivings, something told him that Lance wouldn’t have elaborated even if he had tried to ask. He had the feeling that Lance had said all he had meant to say, leaving Finn too reel in confusion alone.

  “Fuck!” He exclaimed, sitting up suddenly. He needed to do something to take his mind off of all of this. He grabbed his phone and checked his school email, then started scrolling though social media, but he couldn’t focus on anything concrete for more than a second at a time. With a sharp movement he flung his phone down onto the bed. Clicking on the gigantic TV, he let the jarring colours and sounds fill the room, eyes zeroing in on the screen. He turned the volume up louder, then louder still, but even that couldn’t drown out the words Lance had spoken, couldn’t keep those words from echoing cruelly in his head.

  Finally he switched off the TV, stood, and dumped his coat onto the back of a chair in the room before quickly stripping off his damp, cold clothing, leaving it all in a pile in the centre of the floor. He moved into the bathroom and started up the shower, hoping to wash the cold and the confusion of the evening off of him. Or, at the very least, he hoped it would relax him, even if just a little.

  The shower’s hot water felt wonderful against his skin, but while it relaxed the tense muscles of Finn’s body it did little to slow the churning of his mind. Sighing, he squeezed some of the hotel’s signature soap into his palms, working it into a lather over his skin, filling the steamy air with the serene yet invigorating scents of lemongrass and mint. He stared unseeing at the stone wall of the giant shower, images of Lance flashing through his mind completely unbidden. Lance, pulsing through the pool’s water with immense, controlled power. Lance, full of rage after throwing Sam into the wall. Lance, smiling broadly in his leather jacket under the silvered halo of the streetlight outside The White Hart.

  Lance, chest heaving and eyes like dark stars in the locker room shower as Finn cradled his cock in his mouth.

  Finn gasped, feeling blood rush both to his cheeks and between his legs. Without allowing himself the time or opportunity to feel embarrassed or ashamed, he gripped his rapidly hardening cock in his slippery hand, working the skin up and down.

  Lance was on the ground, gripping Finn’s pelvis, his tongue pressed into the small cut at Finn’s hip. Then he was standing and kissing him, hard and hungry. Then he was ordering Finn to his knees.

  Finn worked his hand faster and faster, just like he had that day under the stream of water in the locker room. The heat and the water and the steam all around him echoed that memory perfectly. Everything was the same. Everything but the fact that Lance wasn’t there.

  He was so close, achingly close now.

  I’m in love with you.

  Finn exploded in his hand, uttering a strangled moan. He took several shuddering breaths, the steam filling his lungs the same way shame was spreading through his chest. Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against the smooth stone, letting the water roll down his back in hot rivulets. Sighing and opening his eyes, he pulled back and rinsed himself thoroughly before turning off the water and stepping back out into the spacious bathroom. He approached the mirror, a surface turned totally opaque with steam, and smeared a small area clean with his wet hand. He regarded himself seriously. His face was flushed, his mouth looked dark and swollen, his eyes dazed. He looked perfectly wanton. And perfectly pathetic.

  Turning away from his reflection, he wondered irritably what Lance was doing now. He’s probably perfectly fucking relaxed, sipping some crazy expensive wine in his room, he thought to himself, shaking his head. Even as the words crossed his mind, though, he knew they were unfair, especially given all the family turmoil Lance had endured today. Today had been his grandfather’s funeral, after all.

  He sighed, again, frustrated, as he towelled himself off. He grabbed the fluffy white hotel robe from the hook on the back of the bathroom door and slipped it on before cinching the belt hard, pulling it as tight as it would go. Brushing dripping dark curls away from his eyes, he left the bathroom and surveyed the beautiful but empty hotel room, two words running through his mind over and over again, pounding in time with his pulse:

  Now what?

  Finn knew he’d never get anywhere just pacing around his room alone. He had to face Lance, had to get to the bottom of all this. And, he realized, cheeks burning anew as he grabbed his room key, more than wanting to clarify the situation, more than wanting to make himself feel more at ease, he wanted to see Lance.

  He wanted to see Lance.

  He paused, hand on the hotel room door, pondering his motivations. Why exactly did he want to see Lance? He thought about it, honestly facing his desires. He wanted to look at Lance’s sharp-jawed face, wanted to smell that sweet, deep scent he had noticed on Lance’s skin before. He wanted to feel that skin under his hands. Actually, he wanted to feel it against his entire body. He wanted to comfort Lance, to tell him everything would be ok, and he wanted Lance to say the same sorts of things to him. He wanted to lie next to Lance in bed, staring at him, then doing more than staring at him. He wanted, he wanted...

  Finn yanked open the door before he had the chance to change his mind. He stepped out and made the short way to Lance’s room, banging on the door, aware of how ridiculous he must have looked, barefoot with soaking wet hair, wearing nothing but the hotel bathrobe. But Finn didn’t care. All he cared about now was seeing Lance on the other side of that door.

  But Lance wasn’t on the other side of
the door.

  Frowning, Finn knocked again, only to receive the same stone-cold silence as before.

  He stepped back, confused. It was only a little after 8pm. He doubted that Lance would be asleep yet, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Lance wouldn’t purposely ignore his knocking. Heart sinking, he knocked one more time, even though he knew what the outcome would be.

  Silence again, for the third and final time.

  Lance wasn’t there.

  The realization hit Finn with the force of a falling boulder, crushing his chest in a powerful vise. Lance had left. Lance had left him. The pain of that perceived rejection lodged in Finn’s tight throat. He had wanted so much just a moment ago, had envisioned so many possible scenes playing out in Lance’s hotel room. And all of those fantasies, all of those possibilities, came crashing down with the hard slap of reality. The immobility of the heavy closed door mocked him. Lance was gone. And Finn was alone.

  Shaking his head and laughing with bitterness, Finn realized he didn’t even have Lance’s phone number to call him and make sure he was ok. What a fool he was, standing out here without clothes or shoes, hair wet, ready to throw himself at someone who wasn’t even there. Someone who hadn’t waited for him, someone who, other than a totally unexpected and contextless declaration of love, had never given him anything concrete to go on. Finn pulled his key out of his robe pocket, immensely grateful he had remembered to bring it. Having to go down to reception in his robe and bare feet to get someone to let him into his locked room would have just been the cherry on top of this disaster. He didn’t even have underwear on, for God’s sake. What an idiot.

  He retreated to his room, pride wounded beyond what he would have thought possible.

  “Honestly, fuck it,” Finn said without conviction into the quiet air. “Who gives a shit. It doesn’t matter. He can do whatever the hell he wants. I don’t care.”

  Knowing the words weren’t true made him feel like even more of a loser than the fact that he was talking to himself. He was having trouble determining if he was more upset about the fact that Lance was gone, or if he was worried about just how upset he was at that fact. Maybe it was both.

  Finn turned off the lights in the room with the flick of an elegant switch on the wall. He watched as everything in the room immediately turned from warm whites, browns, and reds to dim greys and blues in the darkness. Finn walked to the large windows that overlooked Langdon’s charming downtown and stared out, crossing his arms. The snow had stopped, covering everything in a thick blanket and lending the night a much brighter atmosphere than if the pavement, roofs, and trees had been bare and black. The entire view glowed under the lights of neighbouring buildings, the sharp dotting of stars, and the ardent disc of the moon. The sweet, uncomplicated beauty of the view made Finn’s chest clench and he pressed his lips together, hard. His eyes swept back and forth furtively as he scanned the sidewalks and roads below – he couldn’t help himself. A few people were still out in the cold, enjoying the still magic of the freshly fallen snow – people walking dogs, and more than one couple holding hands. But none of them were the tall, lone figure Finn sought.

  He had decided that he wasn’t going to talk to himself anymore tonight, so the next words only radiated inside his own head instead of being spoken out loud into the quiet air.

  Where are you?

  Eventually Finn stepped away from the window and pulled off his robe, adding it to the pile of clothes on the floor. He pulled back the bed’s covers and then slipped into them, burrowing down into the silky warmth.

  Though he would never admit it, though he would tell anyone who would have asked that he slept like a baby that night, he didn’t. He remained awake for as long as he possibly could in the dark room, his ears primed for the slightest sound outside his room. He laid as quietly as he could, fighting to control the volume of his breathing and the pounding of his heart, focusing hard, trying to pick out the chime of the elevator doors opening, or the heavy click of the door to the room next to his closing – anything that would indicate that Lance had come back.

  But no such sound ever came. Or if it did, he didn’t hear it. And soon enough exhaustion overtook him, lulling him into the depths.

  CHAPTER 22

  The small, sophisticated wine and scotch-tasting bar located two blocks from the hotel, Le Moineau, was quieter then usual. One of the highest-rated bars and restaurants in the area, it usually was teeming with wealthy tourists and Langdon’s own citizens, especially on a weekend. Probably due to the weather, Lance reasoned, as he scanned the mostly-empty room. Soft, dim light from antique lamps illuminated rich crimson carpeting and sleek wooden tables. A glittering bar ran along one end of the room, and behind it shone a mosaic of some of the best scotches, wines, and liqueurs available. Discreet servers dressed all in black moved quietly through the space, checking on the few patrons who had braved the snow and the cold to visit the establishment. Lance cast his eyes over the room, allowing his gaze to settle on each face he saw there.

  He noticed the person he sought sitting alone at a small table for two in a far corner of the room. His lawyer, Ralph Weber, hadn’t noticed him yet, his crinkled, bespectacled eyes focused on the laptop he had propped open on the table. Lance made his way over, removed his jacket, and sat down. Ralph looked up, closed his laptop, and quirked an eyebrow.

  “Nice suit. Wow. Sorry, I hope you don’t mind, I came from home and didn’t bother changing – I feel rather under-dressed for our meeting now.”

  Lance smiled, unconvinced by the humility. Though Ralph wasn’t wearing the suit he usually would don in the office, Lance knew that his dark cashmere sweater and wool pants likely costed just as much, if not more.

  “Don’t be silly. Thanks for meeting me on such short notice, so late on a Sunday. I really appreciate it,” Lance said, settling further into his chair, letting the muted tinkling of jazz music wash over him. Now that he had stepped out of the cold and into this beautiful space he could relax. A little.

  “Not to worry,” Ralph replied, running a hand over his short, curly grey hair. “That’s why you pay to have me on retainer. Plus it’s not too late; it’s barely 8pm. How old do you think I am that I won’t come out to Le Moineau at 8 on a weekend? I love this place,” he said sincerely. Lance wasn’t surprised – the bar was a favourite of Langdon’s local business elite.

  Before Lance could reply again, a dark-hared waitress with a French-Canadian accent stepped up to their table.

  “Bienvenue à Le Moineau. Welcome to Le Moineau. Would you gentlemen like something to drink?”

  Lance gestured to Ralph.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Hmm, a scotch, certainly, something single malt. Peaty, smoky, not too sweet.”

  The waitress nodded.

  “I can offer you Oban, Laphroaig, Ardbeg, Talisker, Glenfiddich, among many others.”

  Ralph looked thoughtful for a moment before replying.

  “Laphroaig, please.”

  Lance nodded appreciatively. It was a good choice.

  “I’ll have the same,” he decided. As the waitress left to fetch their drinks, Ralph leaned forward, his elbows on the table, fingertips steepled together.

  “So, Mr Gallagher, tell me why I’m here.”

  Lance sighed, leaning back.

  “Something... Something has changed in my personal life. And before I feel that I can pursue it properly, I need to organize some other affairs. I have an offer to make to my father and I want you to draw up the proposal.”

  “Interesting,” Ralph said, looking genuinely surprised. He regarded Lance coolly, his gaze sharp and discerning. Ralph knew the whole history that existed between Lance and his father and he likely had not expected such a request. He also, no doubt, was curious what the mysterious development in Lance’s personal life was. If he had asked, Lance would have told him, honestly, about Finn and the way his life and priorities had suddenly, irrevocably shifted. But Ralph didn’t ask. He was as
clever as they came, exacting and shrewd, and didn’t waste his time with extraneous details, something Lance appreciated. He never had to worry about making small talk with Ralph, about discussing the mundane details of their lives.

  The waitress returned and placed their tumblers of scotch down on the table deftly before slipping away. Lance took up his glass and swirled the golden liquid inside it before taking a sip. It burned beautifully, warming the last few places left cold from the wind.

  Ralph took a swig of his own drink, then placed the tumbler down and opened his laptop once again.

  “Alright, then Mr Gallagher. What exactly did you have in mind?”

  CHAPTER 23

  When Finn woke to the sound of a sharp, short knock on his door, he practically fell out of bed in his haste to get up. Brilliant sunlight streamed into the room, almost blinding him as he reeled.

  “One second!” He called frantically, ripping open his bag and searching for clean clothing to throw on. He grabbed underwear, jeans, and a T-shirt, yanking them on haphazardly, trying not to lose his balance. Another knock, this one louder than before, rang through the room.

  “Coming!” Finn yelled, doing up the zipper on his jeans. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the disorientation of being woken so suddenly. He had no idea what time it was – had he overslept? Was Lance on the other side of the door, impatiently waiting for him so that they wouldn’t miss their train?

  Lance.

  Memories of last night rushed through Finn, a tidal wave of words and emotions almost overpowering him. He suddenly wasn’t so sure he wanted to answer the door. What could Lance possibly have to say after last night?

  Well, I guess I’m about to find out, Finn thought bitterly. He ran a self-conscious hand through his mussed curls and did his best to straighten his clothing before pulling open the door.