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. Mike Annstrong--was seated beside him and obviously wanted to pass the time in conversation.
Ordinarily, Rowan would have enjoyed the opportunity to talk with sonleone who had worked in HQ, who could have filled him in on the latest changes, promotions, who was in, who was out. But not now. Not today. He didn't want to talk to anyone. Not even his best friend.
Rowan was hurting. When he'd been a new recruit to the agency, he'd received training in hand4o-hand combat. He'd been pummeled, stepped on, kicked, thrown, stomped, and mauled. There hadn't been one part of his body that didn't hurt. It was how he felt now, except the hurt was inside, not out. And though he told himself it was his ego that had taken the beating, not his heart, the pain was there and it was real. He knew, too, that he was indulging himself in his pain, luxuriating in it, getting some sort of a perverse satisfaction out of it. He was doing his best to prolong it.
You're being a real asshole, Rowan told himself. You shouldn't have stood Xris up last night. This wasn't his fault.
Yes, but he's enjoying this, came the ugly rejoinder from some croaking demon inside Rowan.
He knew that wasn't true. Xris probably hurt as much for his friend as Rowan hurt for himself. But the demon wouldn't shut up, wouldn't let loose. And because he knew he was treating Xris unfairly, Rowan felt guilty as well as hurting
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