My Missing Boyfriend Was Alive, So I Chose His Best Friend Chapter 02

My Missing Boyfriend Was Alive, So I Chose His Best Friend Chapter 02

I was supposed to go file a missing person report at the police station today. I changed my mind.

I grabbed my favorite snacks. Then I treated myself to a long, unhurried spa session.

By the time I got home, it was pitch dark. I figured Gavin had already left. I’d just kicked off my shoes when someone grabbed me from behind.

I went rigid. “Have you been drinking?”

Gavin didn’t answer. “What did you do today? You weren’t picking up.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking at my phone.”

“Any leads on Tyler?”

“No. Nothing.” I made my voice sound gutted.

His arms tightened. His breath was hot against my neck. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t dragged him up that mountain, he’d still be here.”

He sounded so genuinely wrecked—or he would have, if his warm tongue hadn’t grazed my earlobe right then.

Gavin was one of Tyler’s best friends. After Tyler vanished, they split the roles. One played the visible part; the other stayed in the shadows. Gavin ran the “guilt-ridden friend” routine.

But I was starting to think Tyler had no idea just how creative his friend’s guilt could get.

Gavin was born rich, from a family with even more money and pull than the Vances. To the outside world, he was cold, composed, untouchable. I used to believe that too. Before all this, I’d barely exchanged more than a few words with him in private.

After college, I landed a job. As luck would have it, the company was one of the Hayes Group’s holdings. Gavin became my boss—technically. That only made the distance wider.

I didn’t really know him until a month ago.

The news of Tyler’s disappearance blindsided me. I fell apart for weeks. Gavin, as the one who’d kicked off the whole nightmare, was drowning in guilt. He insisted on taking over for Tyler and looking after me.

But he took it way too far. He cooked every meal and brought it right to me. It got so awkward I finally said, “Gavin, this isn’t on you. Tyler’s always been into extreme outdoor crap. Even if you hadn’t invited him, he was planning to climb that mountain alone.”

“His parents haven’t pointed fingers. I’m definitely not blaming you. So just go handle your life—I really don’t need you to—drop it!”

I lunged and ripped my lingerie out of his hands. “I do my own laundry!”

Gavin kept a straight face. “I do a better job. You sure you don’t want my help?”

“Absolutely not.”

I was way too flustered to notice him clasp his hands behind his back and rub his fingers together in quiet regret.

I found out his other side by accident—late one night when I got up to pee. I realized Gavin was still crashing in my guest room. I went to ask him about it.

Through the crack in the door, I saw him. Shirtless, lean muscle shifting. One hand holding my lace camisole. The other hidden behind the dresser.

The dim light carved the muscles along his back. His arm was roped with veins. I froze, a tiny sound slipping out.

Gavin’s head snapped toward me. Our eyes met. He tipped his head back, and a low, wrecked groan rumbled from his throat.