The second Mateo interrupted my meeting, it all had gone to hell. I had finally come clean, and he didn't take it well–I mean, his best friends had basically lied to him, so of course, he wouldn't be happy about it. I wouldn't have if I'd been in his shoes.

I'd tried to explain myself as best as I could to him, but let's be honest, it was all shitty excuses. I was too old to be using my issues as an excuse to do whatever the hell I wanted.

He'd left my office in anger and with our friendship hanging on a thin fucking thread. It hurt me even worse than living with the fact my parents didn't want me. Like the saying went, friends were the family we choose for ourselves. They meant more to me than my parents ever did.

For weeks, I'd known keeping this from him–from both of them–was wrong. He should've heard it from me the second I found out that Emma was a student at this school, but...he didn't. Instead, I'd swept it under the rug, hoping they wouldn't find out about it until he finished his semester. How the hell was I supposed to know she would be his student? If I had, then I would've definitely told them.

Emma was his student...I really did fuck up on that one. My plan revolved around the fact that their paths wouldn't cross. Damn, I was one stupid fucker.

As soon as he left, I'd tried calling Emma, desperate to make sure she was okay. She couldn't possibly have taken the news about Mateo being her professor well. For such a short amount of time that I'd known her, I knew her. She wouldn't be okay with this. She would be worried–probably more about Mateo and his job than herself.

She didn't pick up–not the first time I called, and not the twenty other times I'd called since then. When that didn't work, I tried texting. I hadn't heard from her once.

Now, Mateo was pissed at me, and Emma wasn't answering any of my calls. This was what I'd been afraid of happening.

I hadn't slept a wink since yesterday when I found out. My mind wouldn't shut off, and I'd suffered one panic attack since. I thought I was over the attacks–I hadn't had one in years–but it seems the risk of losing not one but two of the people I loved would do that to me.

Gideon had contacted me a couple hours after Mateo showed up after he too had been yelled at by him. When he'd found out about Mateo and Emma, he too had tried calling her. She didn't answer him either.

For once, I'd been the one at a loss for words while he'd tried to figure out what we were going to do next. The truth was, there wasn't much we could do with Mateo until he'd calmed down enough for us to have a real conversation with him. As for Emma...first, we needed to get ahold of her.

Not being able to sit still any longer, I decided to visit Emma instead of waiting around for her to call me back. If she wouldn't answer her phone, she might answer her door.

The drive over to her place felt way longer than the half-hour it actually took. I was worried about her, and I didn't like her shutting us out. We were supposed to take care of her, and I thought by now, she'd let us. My body was tense, thinking about her needing us, and we weren't there.

I thought back to the last conversation we had. I'd been calling then too to see if she was okay, though for another reason.

Parking close to the entrance, I found the extra key I had for the building from when I changed the pressure-balancing valve for her shower and had gotten some guys to fix her leaky roof. The idiot of a landlord hadn't asked for it back, and I hadn't given it to him.

I took the stairs two at a time until I got to her floor and walked to her door: three hundred and three. Knocking, I said, "Bella, please open the door. It's me, Callan."

It only took a couple of seconds before the door was wrenched open with so much force it struck the wall. Instead of seeing our sweet Emma, I came face to face with her angry-looking friend.

"You sonofabitch!" he cursed a split second before his fist connected with my nose, and holy hell, that hurt. When he went to hit me again, I blocked him, like I would've done the first time if he hadn't taken me by surprise.

"What the hell, man?" I asked, pushing him from me so I could wipe away the nosebleed, but it was of no use; more blood came. Touching my nose, I winched. It throbbed like a motherfucker, but at least it wasn't broken.

"Don't fucking 'man' me. Stay away from Emma." He–I think his name was Kevin–didn't try hitting me again, but I could tell he wanted to.

"What are you talking about?" Blood was dripping down onto the floor, but I didn't give two shits about that. No, I needed to find out what the hell he was talking about.

His eyes narrowed, and he looked slightly smug for making me bleed. "I'm talking about the fact that you guys hired a fucking PI to find my girl and made up a sponsorship to get her to your club."

I paled at his answer.

"What the hell is wrong with you rich people? When has it ever been okay to use a private investigator to find a girl? Never mind the fact that you lied to her from the start when she was supposed to be able to trust you. You were her dominants. For fuck's sake, she should've been able to trust you guys. Isn't that what your lifestyle is all about?" For each word he spoke, he grew more pissed–he was livid by the time he was done.

He was clearly waiting for a reply, but I couldn't talk; my mind focused on his use of tenses. We were her dominants. Weren't we still?

"Well?" he prompted me, but I didn't know what to say. He was completely right. We hadn't been completely honest with her when we should've been. And somehow, she'd found out about it.

What had we done?

We couldn't lose her. I couldn't lose her.

My breathing grew strained, my airways constricting until it only allowed me a thin stream of air. I could feel my heart beat so fucking hard and fast my chest hurt.

Kevin's eyes grew almost alarmed as my panic attack returned for the second time in a day. The thought of losing the woman I loved...I couldn't bear it.

Fucking hell, I loved her.

We made a mistake, I wanted to say.

We love her, I tried to tell him.

We never meant to hurt her. My tongue felt like lead, and the words were stuck in my throat alongside the air I was choking on.

Stumbling towards the hallway wall, I leaned against it with my head bent down, trying desperately to fill my lungs with the oxygen it craved.

"Should I call an ambulance?" Kevin asked, suddenly worried about my health. It was almost ironic, given the fact that I was still bleeding from my nose because of him.

"No," I answered hoarsely.

"Well, you can't just stand there. Get your ass inside." I could feel him guiding me into Emma's apartment. If I'd hoped she was in here, I was sorely mistaken.

He led me to the chair by her desk. I sat down seconds before my legs would've given out. I held my head down and tried to breathe.

A long time ago, I'd learned how to handle a panic attack, but I'd long since forgotten, too determined to let it stay in the past—a lot of good that did me now.

I could feel Kevin return to my side, though I can't even remember if he'd even left. "You know...it might be easier if you tried a breathing technic."

Why he was trying to help me, I had no idea. Still, when he mentioned using a breathing technic, it triggered a memory of me using it to help deal with one of these attacks.

In. One, two.

Out. One, two.

In. One, two, three, four.

Out. One, two, three, four.

I took deep breaths, filling my lungs on each count and holding it for a second before breathing out slowly. Each time, I breathed in longer and out slower. It felt like I was doing it for ages, but it was working, so I kept it up until my heart slowed, the tightness in my chest vanished, and I could breathe easily again.

"There's a water bottle for you on her desk," Kevin finally said after minutes in silence.

Grateful, I chugged half of the water bottle. "Thanks."

"Want to tell me what that was about?" He was sitting over by her bed. A bag was placed beside him, half-full.

"Panic attack," I said, staring at the bag. Was he packing the bag for her? Where was she?

"Yeah, I knew that. What I meant was, why did you have one now?"

"Fear of abandonment." It wasn't something I talked about, but for some reason, I didn't mind Kevin knowing about it. Hell, he'd already seen me at my worst.

He nodded slowly. "I started having them when I was eighteen," he said suddenly. "My parents kicked me out for being gay. I know all about how fear of others leaving you messes you up and how you might...act differently because of it." Where was he going with this? "Don't get me wrong, I do not condone you for hurting my girl, and I won't help her forgive you, but...I'm just saying in a messed-up way, I get it. It's not healthy, not for you or anyone around you, but I get it. Do you care about her? Because right now, she's sitting in my apartment, alone and fucking heartsick because of you guys."

I closed my eyes as I thought about Emma hurt and alone. Now it was my turn to nod. "I love her," I admitted.

"Good. Then you and your friends better fight for her. If you won't, then you damn well don't deserve her. Now get the hell out of here. I have shit to pack." With that, I left, feeling both better and worse after the conversation with Kevin.

You and your friend better fight for her... Determination filled me as I walked back out, that was exactly what we were going to do.