“It didn’t make me feel better. Okay, maybe for a second. But I’m still…empty. Pops is dead. Me killing Salvatore didn’t change that. It didn’t fuckin’ bring him back to life. It didn’t change shit. It didn’t make me any less angry or fill up this stupid empty spot in me.”
“Well, I’ve got some empty things you can fill up.” Roger wagged his brows enticingly.
“You’re disgusting.”
“Okay, that’s true, but listen.” Roger wiggled around until he was up on Mickey’s chest. “You did what you had to fuckin’ do. He killed your grandpa, you killed him. Salvatore used to fuck me up all the time, and yeah, knowing he’s dead definitely makes me feel better. But…”
“But?”
“It doesn’t take away what he did to me. That’s still there. It’s like a scar. Maybe I don’t have an empty spot like you do, but I know what it’s like not to have any fuckin’ closure ’cause you can’t actually fix what got broken.”
“Well, what the fuck do you do?”
“You keep going. Scars and shit don’t get any lighter or hurt any less, but time makes it easier to carry them around. Maybe your empty thing will be like that too. Just needs more time.”
Mickey was quiet as he thought that over. The memories of Rowena’s scars were fresh in his mind, and he felt a pang of sympathy for how she had obviously suffered. He hoped more time would heal her too. Or at least, following Roger’s logic, give her the strength to carry them more easily.
He was honestly surprised by how spot on the analogy was, and he looked over Roger’s handsome face with a new appreciation.
“Look at you. Being all wise and shit.”
“Right? I was surprised too.” Roger grinned. “Crazy, huh?”
“Yeah.” Mickey smiled crookedly. He actually did feel better.
“You know, I didn’t have a chance to tell you how fuckin’ hot you were tonight.” Roger’s grin turned lustful. “I love watching you do your thing. You’re so powerful, so fuckin’ sexy…”
Mickey licked his lips as Roger’s hand slid down his stomach, dipping into his underwear. This was also making him feel better, but a glance at the bedside table put him off a bit.
There was something perverse about listening to Roger talk about how watching Mickey kill got him off while the only light in the room was being provided by the glow of a frilly pink unicorn lamp.
Normally, Mickey wouldn’t mind.
He’d fuck Roger pretty much anywhere, but this wasn’t just anywhere. This was Cold’s kid sister’s room. It was a little weird.
“We are absolutely, no way in hell, one hundred percent not fucking in a little girl’s bed.”
“Oh.” Roger’s hand retreated. “Really?”
“Go to sleep.” Mickey sighed. “Crybaby is right. Tomorrow is gonna be crazy, and we need to get some rest. I’ll fuck you tomorrow when we take a shower or something.”
“Okay, but wait.” Roger crept in close again. “Hear me out.”
“What?”
“How about on the floor?”
Chapter 22
Mickey couldn’t say no.
It was especially difficult when Roger’s hand curled around his cock.
And then his mouth.
And his tongue—damn, his tongue was very persuasive.
“Floor. Now.” Mickey sat up with a grunt, watching Roger practically throw himself down with an impish grin.
