Read No Ordinary Billionaire (The Sinclairs) (R) for Free Online

If I really wanted to torture myself, all I had to do was cough!
    He could have saved himself the effort of going downstairs to the basement and lifting weights just by taking a deep breath or coughing. It sure as hell hurt just as badly—probably worse. Dante wasn’t certain what the hell he’d been thinking when he’d done that. Truth was, he hadn’t really been thinking. He’d been reacting. Maybe he’d been hoping the pain would keep him numb, stop him from thinking, reliving every moment of Patrick’s death.
    Would he want you to be doing this, acting this way?
    Sarah’s parting words were taunting him as Dante pulled a beer from the refrigerator, removed the cap, and sat down at the kitchen table. He and Patrick had had each other’s backs for the last five years. When they were working on a hot case, they sometimes spent twelve to fifteen hours a day in each other’s company. There wasn’t much that Dante hadn’t known about Patrick. They’d spent a lot of time giving each other shit, but he knew exactly how his partner would have reacted to Dante’s behavior.
    “You would have kicked my ass, buddy,” Dante said quietly to himself before he took a swig of his beer and set it on the table. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he was careful not to irritate the healing laceration on his cheek. The way he was acting right now wasn’t for Patrick, it was for himself. His partner would have wanted Dante to watch out for his family, make sure Ben and Karen were okay. He’d made sure they’d never have financial problems, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to call Karen or Ben since they’d visited him in the hospital. Just seeing them reminded him of Patrick, and the fact that he was alive when Patrick was gone. Karen and Ben had a lot of family in California, but it didn’t matter. His wife and son had been the most important people in Patrick’s life, and he would have counted on Dante to make sure that they were doing all right emotionally as well as physically.
    Karen and Ben don’t blame me. They cared enough to come to the hospital. I’m being a total asshole. I cut myself off from them because I felt guilty. Me. Me. Me. This has all been about me and not them.
    Dante stood, grimacing as he reached for the pain pills, which were still on the table.
    “Pity party time is over, Sinclair,” Dante said in a disgusted whisper, using an expression that Patrick had used on him whenever Dante needed a kick in the ass.
    He’d been acting like a jackass from the minute he woke up from surgery and realized Patrick was dead. He’d been distant with his siblings, even though every one of them had come running when he’d been injured, Evan flying in from across the damn world. And he hadn’t even bothered to check in on Karen and Ben since he’d been in the hospital.
    And he’d hurt Sarah Baxter, a woman who had only been there to help him, doing her own damn job.
    All because I’m mourning my own loss. Sarah was right. What he was doing wasn’t going to help his partner now.
    Dante knew he needed to pull his head out of his ass. That’s what Patrick would have wanted. He’d been numb after hearing about his best friend’s death, burying his emotional agony deep inside himself, wanting to feel the physical pain because it was better than the guilt of knowing that he was still alive while Patrick was dead. Maybe he’d actually been numb because he was in denial. Strangely, as he finally stared grief directly in the face, the physical pain of his injuries came roaring to life without him even trying.
    He grabbed the beer from the table, limped across the kitchen, and poured it down the sink. No more of that shit until I’m healed. Reaching into the cupboard, he grabbed a glass and filled it with water.
    Christ! Even lifting his arm hurt. Every one of his injuries felt like it was on fire, the pain in his chest and ribs the worst.
    If you’re really sorry, you’ll take the damn pills.
    A