“Yeah,” Qylar said, continuing to clear away the mess without lifting his gaze to Kenji. He didn’t want the man to see his pain—or feel pressured.
“Qylar?”
“What?” Qylar snapped.
“You’re bleeding.”
Qylar glanced down and noticed a small shard of ceramic stuck in his palm and a trail of deep red-purple blood dripping from the bottom of his hand. He plucked out the shard and wiped at the blood before putting pressure there.
Their server waltzed over. “My lord, the cup must’ve had a crack in it. I’m so sorry, hon. Want me to get you another cup?”
“Just the check,” Qylar said, his voice raw. “Please.”
“Sure thing, hon. Let me ask my manager if I can add a discount for all your trouble first. I’ll be right back.”
“No need,” Qylar said, needing to get the fuck out of there. “It was just an accident.”
“Okay.” Their server fished their order from her apron. “I’ve got it right here.” She placed the ticket on the edge of the table. “Sorry, again. I’ve never had that happen before.”
“It’s all good,” Qylar said before digging out his wallet. He peeked at the check before pulling out three twenties and laying them over. “Keep the change.”
“Thank you very much. You two have a happy Thanksgiving, okay?”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Qylar forced out along with a smile. He glanced briefly at Kenji. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
Qylar slid out of the booth, clenching the napkin inside his palm. He opened the restaurant’s door and held it open for Kenji. He crossed to the truck, passing Kenji, and opened the passenger door.
Kenji eyed him but said nothing. He stepped up into the truck and sat down, peeking at Qylar. Qylar steeled himself. After shutting the door, he climbed in behind the wheel and plugged his cell into the charger. Once he had the map app open, he handed his phone over.
“Put your address in, please.”
At least he’d finally have that.
Kenji took it, typed it in, and started the directions. The rest of the ride was silent, except for Siri’s robotic instructions. They entered the Tenderloin, and Qylar tensed. That neighborhood was one of the most dangerous in the city, known for its high crime rate. Streets were dirty, buildings derelict. They passed spots filled with panhandlers and unhoused people. Qylar parked along the street as close to the address as possible and gazed around. While it looked a bit cleaner looking than other blocks they’d passed, he wasn’t pleased that’s where his mate called home.
“I’ll be right back. Just give me a few,” Kenji said, reaching for the doorhandle.
“I can come help,” Qylar said, the desire to pack all of Kenji’s belongings burning in his chest.
“I can manage,” Kenji said. He opened the door but paused before getting out. “Though, I could clean up that cut for you if you came up.”
Qylar eyed him. He didn’t need tending to, but he much preferred escorting his mate up. “Okay.”
A few minutes and a two-floor walkup later, they strode down a dimly lit hallway that smelled of cigarettes. He followed Kenji into 3F and gazed around. It was nicer inside than what the outside would suggest, but not by much.
“I know it’s not much,” Kenji said. “Especially compared to your million-dollar townhouse.” Kenji laughed. “Probably a lot more than a million, considering real estate here.”
“I don’t own it,” Qylar said. “Just lucky to work for a guy who does.”
“Yeah,” Kenji said. “Tacoma’s likely at work, so we should be clear for a while. Have a seat. I’ll go look for the first aid kit.”
Qylar eyed the tiny galley kitchen and the sink inside it. “I’ll wash my hands first, if you don’t mind?”
“Yeah. Sure,” Kenji said before disappearing behind a door.
Qylar barely fit in the tiny kitchen. He had to turn sideways to pass the fridge. After washing his hands of the dried blood, he wandered back into the living area just as Kenji showed up with a small kit.
