Mandy scrunched up her face. “I thought his mom was dead?”
Was she? What the fuck did he know? “Maybe he meant existentially. We’re all a little dead inside, right? Maybe some other time.”
Jason smirked behind Mandy, knowing full well that Dimitri was jumping through hoops trying to disentangle himself from her.
“You say that every time,” she said, voice sullen.
And yet, you just keep asking.“I gotta get back to work.” Mandy frowned, looking around the deserted shop, but he didn’t give an explanation, just some semblance of a smile that faded as soon as he turned away from her. He heard the door open and close, signaling they’d left, but he didn’t look back.
He entered the back area using the side door in the hallway. Arlo was cleaning the steam valve with a white cloth, his up and down movement unintentionally suggestive. Dimitri would give up almost anything to feel Arlo’s hand wrap around him that way.
Arlo dropped the rag, giving Dimitri a lopsided smile. “Did you just lie to get out of a party?”
Dimitri returned his smile. “I didn’t lie. I took Remi’s shift for him.”
Arlo narrowed his eyes. “When?”
Dimitri grinned. “Just now.”
Arlo’s responding grin was a gut punch, stealing his breath. Mandy described Arlo as a pretty twink, but he wasn’t just pretty, he was perfect. He had golden skin and golden blonde hair that he wore swept back off his face like some actor in a vintage movie. Remi said he looked like James Dean. Dimitri could see the resemblance but Arlo was just sweeter, softer, innocent. He had this perfectly symmetrical face with high cheekbones that looked like they’d been sculpted by the gods.
And then there were his lips. Full and always cherry red, like he’d been chewing at them. Dimitri often thought of those lips when he was alone at night. Normally, they were glossy from chapstick or from Arlo’s tongue sweeping along his lower lip several times a day. Today, those lips were swollen, the bottom one split and red with dried blood. A purple bruise marred the left side of his mouth.
Arlo always had bruises. He made excuses. He walked into the wall, fell down the stairs, bumped into an open cabinet door.Just clumsy. I’m always daydreaming.It was a lie. It was always a lie. They both knew it. But something in Arlo’s eyes always begged Dimitri not to say it, not to say the thing out loud that would make it real.
Dimitri kept quiet. The last time he’d interceded on Arlo’s behalf, he’d lost sixteen years with him. Maybe it was selfish, but he didn’t want to risk losing him again. But he planned. He dreamed. He fantasized about the day he’d get revenge for what Arlo had suffered.
And he did suffer. Black eyes. Finger-shaped bruises on his arms and neck. A spiral fracture that he claimed he’d gotten from slipping on ice. Dimitri knew those kinds of fractures only happened for one reason—somebody had twisted his arm behind his back hard enough to break it.
No, not somebody. Holden. Arlo’s closeted, dick bag, football player boyfriend from a rival school. Holden had money, connections, and had clearly never heard the word no. Arlo, like many abused kids, had transitioned from abusive parents to abusive boyfriends without much fanfare. It would almost break Dimitri’s heart…if he’d had one.
Still, the bruise on his face was new. It hadn’t been there last night when they’d closed. He gravitated closer until he was directly behind Arlo, who gasped when he spun around and saw Dimitri directly behind him, trapping him against the counter.
Dimitri reached out and caught Arlo’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, watching as Arlo’s honey brown eyes went wide, a small gasp leaving his lips. Dimitri wanted to swallow that sound, wanted to feel his pulse flutter beneath his fingers, wanted to hear Arlo gasp his name.
Instead, he dragged the pad of his thumb across the cut on Arlo’s lip, his temper flaring when Arlo winced.
“What happened?” Dimitri murmured. “Did he do this to you?”
Before Arlo could answer or give him some lame excuse, the bell over the coffee shop door swung open. Arlo instantly ducked from under Dimitri’s arm. “Thanks for visiting Hallowed Grounds…” His voice trailed off.
Dimitri turned to see Holden standing there, his expression mutinous as he looked back and forth between the two of them. “I need to talk to you. Now.”
Holden was two inches shorter than Dimitri’s six foot two, but he was a walking brick wall of bulging muscles and testosterone. The idea of somebody that big throwing around Arlo sent a shock of adrenaline firing through him. Some caveman part of Dimitri pictured slamming Holden’s face into the counter until his teeth shattered and blood spewed from his caved-in face. Nobody touched what belonged to Dimitri.
But Arlo didn’t belong to him. Not really. Not in any way that would matter. Dimitri didn’t want to be another thing that happened to Arlo, another destructive force tearing away the pieces that were left.
Arlo trembled visibly. “I’m working.”
“It will only take a minute,” Holden said between clenched teeth.
Arlo gave a small shake of his head. “I said everything I had to say last night.”
Holden’s nostrils flared, and he took a step towards Arlo, who instinctively took a step back. “Don’t be like this.”
Arlo’s jaw thrust forward, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Like what? Somebody who has boundaries? Somebody who won’t let you keep using them as a punching bag because you can’t handle the fact that you’re gay?”
Holden snarled, lunging towards Arlo, who stumbled back, even though there was three feet of mahogany between them. “You shut your fucking mouth, you little fucking who—”
