BRAM
Abort, abort, abort. Take it back. Take it all back.
“I shouldn’t have said that, Nacho.”
“Nah-ah-ah,” he teases, waving his finger in my face. “No takebacks.”
“I have to, Nacho. I should’ve never done any of this. It’s incredibly inappropriate, especially considering our history.”
“Our history? You mean when you had all the power in the world to suggest my freedom or continued incarceration?”
Fuck, fuck,fuck. I would say I regretted my action, but he’d know I was lying.
“I know. That was inexcusable and so inappropriate.”
His eyes sparkle like he’s enjoying my discomfort. “Inappropriate? Dr. Barlowe, you humped me in the H-E-B parking lot. Hell, you smashed my face into your crotch in our last session together. The inappropriate ship has sailed.”
He’s right. Of course he’s right. It’s killing me not to fuck him against that couch to show him how right he is. Instead, I try to pull it together.
“I’m sorry, Nacho. We are long overdue for a conversation, and that’s my fault. I’ve been putting it off until we could talk privately.”
“Can’t get more private than this,” he says, gesturing to the space around us.
“I…I don’t want to do this where I work. It blurs too many things for me,” I admit.
Blinking widely, he asks, “Why? Because you don’t wanna lose your license?”
I startle at his implication, then sit back, shaking my head. “I wasn’t thinking about that at all. I just…I’ve never done something so awful in my life and—”
His teasing expression gives way to hurt, and he scratches his nose, his eyes going red.
Argh, I’m doing this all wrong.
“I’m sorry.Youdidn’t do anything awful. It was me. It was all me, and even though I still don’t regret it, talking about this in my place of work makes me feel like the biggest asshole.”
Shifting his jaw, Nacho lifts his chin. “Fine. You don’t want to talk in here? Then let’s go for a ride,asshole.”
Yeah, I deserve that.
I gather my things and do the final walkthrough, turning off the lights and setting the alarms. The horses have been fed and had their stables cleaned by Ant and a few other volunteers. We walk outside, and Nacho waits for me as I close and lock the big barn doors.
Grabbing his keys, he heads off toward his truck, and I follow him, kinda…helpless to do anything else. He gets in and pushes the start button as I round on the other side.
“Seat belt, Ignacio.”
“Fuck you.”
I curse under my breath. “Sorry. Habit. That’s not an order. I just…me and Levy? Our lives were saved by wearing our seat belts, and I would never let someone I care about ride without one.”
He snorts. “You? Care about me? Doubt it.”
He’s covering up uncertainty—uncertainty I placed there—and it’s like a closed fist around my gut. He would have no doubts had I handled this whole…thing…like an adult.
You still can’t even call it by its name, Abraham.
“I do,” I rush to assure him, ignoring my loud inner critic. “I care about you very much.”
“Sure,” he says, reaching across his shoulder to pull the belt before snapping it into place.
