Lord Jethro felt as though his health was being worn down slowly, piece by piece. The lack of sleep was part of it, but worse than that was the endless circling of his thoughts.
No matter what he did, they always returned to the same place. To the same person. Thinking about Grey over and over again had become unbearable, like a pressure that never eased.
What he hated most was what he had done the night before.
He had lost control enough that he had picked up his phone, dialed Grey's number, and gone as far as calling him.
Even now, the memory of it made him want the earth to open and just swallow him alive. He had crossed a line he had never thought he would.
Part of him was glad Grey hadn't answered, that the phone had gone unreachable. Because if Grey had picked up, Jethro had no idea what he would have said.
That he felt as though something had been torn out of him?
