“Why?” He balled the tie in his fist and let the end of the fabric slip through his fingers until I took it from him and tossed it toward a clean spot on the counter. He laughed when the tie landed on the floor instead.
“Because, if I don’t, you’ll feel like you have to do it, right?”
Angel nodded.
“I’m helping you.”
He slipped his arms around me again and squeezed. “Thanks, Casey bear.”
Angel leaned against my front, and I couldn’t help myself. I patted his ass to feel the muscles bounce under the silky material of his borrowed shorts. He snuffled a laugh against my neck. “Let’s try your cooking.”
“Okay,” he said as I stood. He seemed smaller once I was back on my feet, maybe because I’d been at his level for so long. I gave him another quick hug because I’d missed him last night. I had a feeling I wouldn’t want to let him out of my sight for a while.
As I was getting out dishes from the cupboard beside the sink, nerves battered at me because of how we’d fought yesterday. I never wanted us to be at each other’s throats again. Angel kept sending glances at me as well while he went around the kitchen, almost like he was looking for permission to get out the silverware. We had a routine we’d gotten into, and I hated seeing him worried. I made a point of stopping on my way to the table with glasses of water to drop a kiss on his lips, and he finally settled down after the third time I sought him out to give him some extra attention.
Once we had the places set, we sat at the table together, and Angel ignored the bowl of salad I’d put down beside his plate. I nudged the bottle of ranch dressing, which so far was the only thing I’d found that would get him to eat greens, toward him. He ignored it, as usual. It was his nightly ritual to see how long he could pretend the salad was invisible. I tried the chicken over rice he’d made and was surprised at the nice blend of spice and heat.
“This is really good.” I sounded too shocked, even to myself. “Sorry.”
He snorted, but thankfully I hadn’t ruined his good mood. “Thanks. It’s one of the things my mom taught me to make. I can cook simple stuff. You don’t have to do it all the time. If I… uh… am around a lot, I should share the chores.” He slid his fork through his rice and poked at his chicken. I laid my hand on his arm above his cast, and he glanced up at me.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
“Do you trust me?”
He laid down his fork and slapped his hand over mine, which stung, though he gripped me so desperately I was sure he hadn’t meant to hurt me. “Yes.”
“In the future, how do we avoid the problem we had yesterday? I know I have to learn to step off when I feel a certain way, but….” I hung my head.
Angel clutched my hand. “It’s hard for me to think anyone would want to get involved in all the shit I have going on.” He winced. “Crap. Crap I have going on.”
Smiling, I leaned in and rested my forehead against his temple. “The problems aren’t yours, though. Have you ever thought about washing your hands of your dad and letting him catch himself?” There was so much more I wanted to say on the subject of Peter Gaffin. I should tell Angel about my possible role in making Peter the son of a bitch he was now. Dread curled in my stomach. I didn’t want to tell him anything about my past, or at least not the parts that would make him think less of me. Be scared of me. It was ancient history. I knew I should spill my guts, but hated the thought of what might happen if I did. The more I got to know Angel, the less I wanted to say anything at all.
“What do you mean?” he murmured and pursed his lips.
“You don’t have to do anything for your father. Knocking up your mom doesn’t give him the right to hurt you. You’re not legally obligated, if that’s what you’re worried about.” My throat burned to spew all sorts of vile stories about Peter. Things that might turn Angel completely against him. He hadn’t only been horrible to me and Creed and Merit; he’d been an all around predator and bully. He’d targeted people who weren’t able to defend themselves.
Angel sat back. “You know what? Grown-up.” I flinched, and he did too. He rubbed his palm over the back of my hand, and I’d never seen him looking so tired and fully adult as his shoulders rounded and he closed his eyes. “Your parents still alive?”
“Yeah. Both happy and healthy. I’d love you to meet them.”
He pinned me with a glare. “What if they needed you?”
“Not the same thing. My parents, along with my sisters, gave me every opportunity. My family loved me, provided for me. If I called them and said I needed to hide a body, my sisters wouldn’t even ask what happened. They’d be here.” It was impossible to lighten my tone; I was serious.
He moved his hand off mine where I still held on to him, but then he leaned forward and rested his cheek on my knuckles, the skin soft and yielding. He moved and some stubble scratched me. I was surprised but enjoyed the light scrape.
“Can’t explain it. Dad didn’t do any of that good stuff. Sometimes when I was younger, little, he was… kind of mellow. He’d put me on his lap and read books. Then the next week something would happen. He’d lose his job. Mom would find out he cheated on her and blow up. So many things happened. Every week was a new fight. He’d drown himself in booze or pills again. Always the same. He’d be okay for a few days or weeks and then… not. I have to think somewhere in there is a person who loves me.” Angel shrugged. “He never apologized for the way he acted. He’s never said he’s sorry.”
Rage boiled in my blood. I might actually fucking kill Peter if I ever saw him again. “I don’t want to upset you. I want to understand you. But I really fucking don’t care. I don’t want you alone near him. I’m not changing my mind.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I know. I even… like that you’ve made that a rule. I don’t get why I still love him, so I can’t explain it. I just have to help him. Have to.” His eyes were sad when he blinked them open and stared up at me.
“Come here.” Angel slid from his chair to his feet and sort of fell against my side. I wasted no time scooting back to pull him onto my lap. His shorts were slippery, so I had to wrap an arm around him to keep him in place, and he chuckled as he rested against my chest.
His plate was completely full, so I tugged it next to mine and speared a piece of chicken on my fork. I turned the silverware toward him. “Eat up, little brother.”
