“Only if you want to,” I say as my hand settles on themiddle of his chest.
He looks up at me, and he’s frowning, though he seems to be trying to hide it. “I don’twantto.”
“Then you don’t—”
“You’re telling me you don’t want to know?” This time, he does manage a snarky expression, though it fades almost immediately into something much more serious, and he looks away again. “You... you should know. I definitelydon’twant to talk about it, but I do want to be honest with you. I-I’m sorry it’s taken me so long. It’s... hard, this, um, communication thing.”
My chest feels tight, so I just hold him, lower my head to rest on top of his, and listen. He doesn’t go into much detail, but what he does tell me is chilling. How he showed up, expecting to meet with his mom. How his mom wasn’t there. How Patrick was waiting instead. His voice wavers as he tells me how Patrick turned on him, how his mom had apparently more than doubled the price of the car without even letting him know, and then how that asshole threatened him, shoved him into a wall, and yanked him up by his arm, injuring his shoulder.
He was forced to leave the keys to the car; something that had been his birthday gift when he turned sixteen had been weaponized and used against him.
It’s awful. It’s wrong and awful and manipulative. And it must have been worse than terrifying for him.
I bury my face into his hair and wrap my arms around him gently, carefully pulling him up against me. “That’s horrible. I hate that you went through that.” I stop myself from apologizing, because he wouldn’t want me to, and instead, I just hold him.
He doesn’t cry, and he doesn’t pull away or try to retreat, though I’m not sure how. He’s shaking, however, and he stops talking altogether for several minutes.
Finally, he takes a long, slow breath, and he says, “I keep tryingto figure out where I fucked up so badly that she... that she would do this to me.”
“No.” I shake my head. “No, this isn’t on you. You didn’t do anything wrong. This is her. This is—”
“Butwhy, Alex? Why the fuck doesn’t she—” He stops himself, and then, very quietly, he says, “Why doesn’t she love me anymore?”
My heart crumbles as I hold him tighter. I don’t know what the answer is. I don’t know what to say or what to do. All I know is that it’s not right or fair, and he deserves much better.
He deserves it all.
I pull back just enough to kiss his forehead. And then I hold him as his body starts to shake with quiet sobs.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Nico
“Mom’smakingblueberrywaffles.”Alex slips his arms gently around my waist, holding me from behind. Our eyes meet in the bathroom mirror as he dips his head down to kiss my cheek. “And then, after breakfast, I’ll drive you to work, ’kay?”
We already talked about it—or argued about it, really—last night after getting home from our errands and shopping in Omaha. I stubbornly insisted I could walk the two miles to the library. He stubbornly insisted I would not.
He won the argument after much negotiating, kissing, and another round in bed where I discovered that giving oral is just as fucking incredible as receiving it.
“Yeah, thanks.” I give him a half smile and then finish running a brush through my hair. “Um, we should leave by eight fifteen. Is that okay?”
He straightens up, and, keeping one arm around my waist, he pulls my phone out of the pocket of my new slacks and holds it up so we can both see the time. “A half hour? Yeah, no problem.”
He slips the phone back in my pocket, kisses my neck again, and then steps away, tugs off his shirt, and reaches into the shower to turn on the water.
I’m allowed to stare now. So I let my eyes linger on him, admiringparts of his body I’m becoming intimately familiar with—his strong forearms, well-defined abs, smooth skin, perfect ass.
“I’m gonna take a quick shower, and then I’ll meet you downstairs,” he says, turning back to me. He pauses, his eyes glinting as he sees me watching him. “Unless you want to join me?”
A flood of possibilities hits me, and I can imagine it—water dripping down his chest, over his nipples and stomach and down to his hard, stiff cock; my hands following the same path, his skin smooth and wet and warm; getting down on my knees and taking him into my mouth as he stands there under the stream of water from the showerhead, my hands massaging his ass cheeks.
I’ve got some crooked grin on my face, I’m sure, because the teasing glint in his eyes darkens to want, and he steps up to me, hooks an arm around my lower back, and tows my hips to his.
“Maybe that’s something for later, when we’ve got more time?” he whispers. Without waiting for my response, he lowers his mouth to mine and claims a hungry kiss that contradicts his words. His tongue finds mine, and his hands slip down to grasp my ass.
He’s bold. Confident. Sure.
And that fucking turns me on.
