I lift my head, eyes narrowed. “I can do that.”
“Just . . . let me go do it.”
I sit back on my heels. “What’s the problem?”
He leans up on his elbows. “Really?”
“Not this shit again.” I get up off the bed, then stomp toward the bathroom, Cal right on my heels. “The answer is still no.”
“So tired of this no sex rule,” Cal says as he speedwalks by and I swear the fucker purposely stomps harder than me. “I ask for the vibrator and you deny me that too.”
My jaw clenches, nostrils flaring. “Back off.”
“No.”
He slams the door to the bathroom, but I push it back open so hard it hits the wall and rebounds, almost slamming in my face. Grabbing a washcloth, I wet it, then start cleaning myself up.
Of course Cal’s staring me down, arms crossed in front of his chest.
“Mac, I’m sorry I ran. I don’t know how to make it right or how many times I need to apologize.”
My fingers tighten around the damp cloth, my knuckles turning white. “Said to stop. It’s my fault it all happened.”
When he touches my arm, I snap, twisting around and pinning him to the wall, my forearm against his throat. “Told you to back off.”
Instead he pushes forward. “No. You’re not walling me off. And I want you to stop denying me.”
“I’ll do what I see fit. You don’t like it, too fucking bad.” My voice is low, threatening, like some mountain predator.
He keeps pushing too much. But you can only kick a beast so many times before it bites back.
And yet . . .
The memory of his pale face, the tears, the panic when he ran away that day still haunts me. Don’t know what happened. He’d been overwhelmed and had started to cry after we fucked.
I remember Rex and Colt talking about some shit where people’s emotions and minds get all mixed up. So I held him and we fell asleep. Timer went off, and I swear it was like he was having a PTSD episode.
Wasn’t sure exactly what to do. Figured he just needed some space and he’d be back. But he stayed away.
Knew I fucked up.
But I didn’t want to risk going after him only to mess his head up more, so I watched him through the scope of my sniper rifle—when I could find him. Mostly just spent those days making sure the perimeter of town was safe.
Needed to make sure no one could harm him.
Been doing it for years. Keeping him safe. It gives some meaning to my bleak, shitty existence.
Cal shoves against me, but I’m bigger so it’s futile. Yet he does it again. And again, going on until he’s slapping my chest. “You said I was yours, but you’re treating me differently. Stop it.”
“You are mine.” This time I wrench his chin up, forcing his gaze to mine. “Which means I can treat you however the fuck I want.”
His brows scrunch. “Only you’re not treating me as yours. If I was, you’d at least be trying instead of being a chicken shit.”
My fingers tighten and he grimaces.
“Dammit.” I release him, then shove past back to the bedroom and start getting dressed. I look out the bedroom door down the hall, watching as Cal has his back to me.
Not sure what kind of miracle I was expecting in a week and a half, but he still needs to gain more weight to be back to where he was before . . .
