“Are you really dyslexic?”
“That’s what you’re getting out of all of this?” Seb paced the room, and the energy charged around him.
Martin sighed. This wasn’t what he’d wanted. He was still reeling from the whole evening, but he hadn’t meant to direct his frustration at Seb. He pulled the covers away and stood, trying to get in front of the other man. “Just calm down.” The last thing either of them needed was for Seb to go storming into the house looking to pick another fight.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Seb’s voice rasped.
“I never said there was.”
“It’s not a disease. He says it like I have syphilis.”
“He doesn’t think that.”
Seb’s eyes flashed cobalt in the dim room. “How would you know?” He continued to circle like a caged tiger. Martin fought the flutters in his stomach that told him to run. He’d never seen Seb like this, the confident persona shattered to pieces.
Martin held his ground. Seb was hurting. Martin needed to stay. “Hey.” He held his hands out wide. “Hey, it’s okay.”
“It’s not.” Seb grabbed at big handfuls of his hair. “It’s not okay. Why are they like that? Why do they make me so crazy?”
“Families do that.”
“Does your family do that?” Seb glared at him.
“My family is me and Brian and sometimes our mom. We don’t have the critical mass to be like yours.”
“Critical mass? What are we, some kind of bomb?” Seb’s face was pained.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a crater where the dining room used to be in the morning.” He took another step forward.
“Screw you,” Seb said, but there wasn’t any heat behind it. He hunched in on himself, arms curled around his sides. The Seb who swaggered through the bookstore was nowhere to be seen.
Martin was close enough to smell the leather and sweat scent of Seb’s jacket. Another step, and their toes bumped together. Martin’s arms were still wide. To his surprise, Seb closed the rest of the space between them, burying his face in Martin’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around Martin’s waist.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” Seb breathed it against Martin’s skin. His hands wrapped all the way around his body. Martin relaxed and slid his own arms around Seb, one hand resting in the middle of his back, the other on his neck where the white-blond hair was fine and soft.
“It’s okay.” Martin’s anger evaporated as Seb shuddered against him.
“We’re horrible. You shouldn’t have to see us.”
“It’s fine. I’m not sorry I came this weekend.”
“Well, I’m sorry I brought you.”
* * *
Martin smelled like laundry detergent and drug store deodorant. Seb wanted to drown in it. Burn his senses out with it, so the last few hours went up in a puff of cotton fresh-scented smoke.
He’d been giddy, buzzed on that one glass of whiskey and the evil thrill he got every time he went toe to toe with his dad.
But the disappointment in Martin’s face as he’d left Seb and Oliver on the patio made holding onto his good mood impossible.
Now he pressed into Martin, fighting back tears while Martin smoothed a hand over his hair and murmured soft things.
“I just...” Seb said. “I see my dad, and something inside me snaps, you know?”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
