He looks nothing like the flirty pastry chef who showed up yesterday with tarts and innuendos. His face is pale except for two spots of color high on his cheekbones. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscles jumping. His hands are balled into fists at his sides.
And his eyes—his eyes are absolutely murderous.
"You," he snarls, and he's heading straight for me.
"Robin, let me explain—"
"Explain?" He's right in my face now. A human, a pastry chef, five inches shorter than me and probably a hundredpounds lighter, and he's squaring up like he's ready to tear me apart with his bare hands. "Explain what? How you made my best friend think he was special? How you fucked him and marked him and called him pretty names and let him believe it meant something?"
"It did mean something—"
"Bullshit." Robin's voice cracks like a whip. "You have a drawer full of clothes for your hookups. Organized by size. You fuck so many people your pack jokes about it like it's a sport."
"That's not—"
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" He's shaking now. Actually shaking with rage, his whole body vibrating with it. "Any fucking idea? He trusted you. Toby doesn't trust anyone—his last boyfriend cheated on him, the one before that ghosted him, and that asshole Derek left him on the side of the road in the rain. He has every reason to never trust anyone again. But he trustedyou."
"I know—"
"He came home floating. Did you know that? After that first night, when you just drove him home, he came in at three in the morning and he wasglowing.Couldn't stop talking about your eyes, your voice, the way you made him feel safe the next morning. Safe, Knox. He felt safe with you."
My lion whines. Toby felt safe with us. And we ruined it.
"And last night." Robin laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Last night he texted me that he thought he might be falling in love. After less than a week. That's not like him. He's careful. He's guarded. He doesn't fall. But you—" His voice breaks. "You made him think it was okay to fall. And then you let him find out he's just another body in a long fucking line."
"Robin, please—"
"He sobbed so hard he threw up." Robin's eyes are wet now, furious tears that he doesn't bother wiping away. "I heldhim while he puked because he made himself sick crying over you. He kept saying he was stupid, that he should have known better, that nobody actually wants him—"
"That's not true—"
"Of course it's not true! He's the best person I know! He's kind and funny and so fucking smart, and he reads to kids at the library and feeds stray cats and cries at commercials with dogs in them. He's good, Knox. He's genuinely good. And you made him feel like he's nothing."
"I didn't mean to—"
"I don't care what you meant!" Robin's shouting now, loud enough that it echoes off the walls. "I care about results! And the result is that my best friend is on our couch right now, wrapped in every blanket we own, watching Disney movies because he can't stop crying long enough to do anything else. The result is that he called in sick to work for the first time in three years because he can't face standing up in front of people. The result is that he keeps touching that bite mark on his shoulder—the one you said would be permanent—and apologizing for being stupid enough to think it meant something!"
I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything but stand here while Robin tears me apart with the truth.
"He has your marks all over him," Robin continues, quieter now but somehow worse. "He can't wash them off. He has to look at them every time he passes a mirror. For the next week, he's going to be covered in reminders of the worst mistake he ever made. And there's nothing I can do to fix that. Nothing I can do to make it hurt less. All I can do is watch him fall apart and hate you for being the reason why."
"Please." My voice doesn't sound like mine. "Please let me talk to him. Let me explain. It's not what he thinks—he's not just another—I've never felt like this about anyone—"
"Oh, that's rich." Robin's laugh is sharp and bitter. "That's really rich. You expect me to believe that? You expect him to believe that?"
"It's true. I swear to god, it's true. I've never claimed anyone before. Never wanted to. Never ran someone a bath or fed them or cared if they were okay after. He's different. He's—" I'm begging now. I don't care. "He's everything. Please. Just let me see him."
Robin stares at me for a long moment. Something flickers in his expression—doubt, maybe. Or hope. For a second I think he might actually listen.
Then his face hardens.
"No."
"Robin—"
The slap comes out of nowhere.
Open palm, full force, hard enough that my head actually snaps to the side. The crack of it echoes through the silent bar.
