Now it’s my turn to tense, and I’m not even sure why. I should be relieved. It makes things easier.
Or does it?
While I finish my tea, questions run through my mind, and I take a moment to practice how I want to word them. I gulp the last of the warm liquid, then take a deep breath. "How am I supposed to trade you for food then? Letting you fuck me is all I have to offer."
He turns and walks over, his fingers tipping my chin up. “I said no more sex.”
My eyes start to well. “Why?”
The question slips out before I can stop it and, at this point, it has nothing to do with food and everything to do with him rejecting me.
“Because you ran away.” He clenches his jaw, a muscle ticking near his eye. “Would let yourself starve because of me.”
I duck away from his touch and stare down at the table, something thick catching in my throat. “Then do it from behind so you don’t have to look at me . . . if I’m disgusting.”
“The fuck you just say!”
I flinch, then look up as he jumps back. He’s completely rigid, fingers interlocked so tightly behind his head, the skin of his knuckles goes white as he paces.
“Mac?”
“You’re not disgusting. Not fucking at all. You’re damn sexy. Beautiful, even.” His fingers rake into his hair and he pulls it. “I’m a damn old fool. A damn monster.”
My bottom lip trembles as he continues to mutter and scold himself. He stalks out of the kitchen, then something crashes in another room, followed by the loud sound of splintering wood.
I jump up, then stumble into the hall where I find him mid-swing, holding a chair that the next second collides with the wall.
“Mac!”
I’ve never seen him like this. His distress is eating a hole in my heart, so I walk to him, placing a hand on his bicep. He whips around and his eyes are wet.
Fuck.
I can’t help the small whine that escapes.
The fragments of the chair fall from his hands and I step closer, wrapping my arms around his waist and squeezing tight.
But he doesn’t hug me back.
“I’m sorry, Cal. Told you I wouldn’t hurt you and . . . that’s exactly what I did.” He pats my shoulder and tries to push meaway. "Go lay down on the couch. I'll wake you when the stew is ready."
“No.” I bury my face in his chest.
“Cal, please go lay down.”
“You’re . . . I . . . I upset you.”
“No, Cal. I fucked up and I’m angry at myself. Not you.” His fingers brush through the back of my hair. “Please go rest and let me take care of you. The proper way.”
I shake my head, squeezing him tighter.
I’m floating again.
Fuck.
I pull away, scared, but realize I’m not really floating. Mac is carrying me.
He places me on the couch, eyes narrowing. “Rest.”
