He’d been on the internet for longer than five minutes. He’d seen the worddaddyused as a joke. As a kink. As a title for porn Kit never clicked. Kit wasn’t going to judge, he just knew he wasn’t into it, and nobody he’d hooked up with had ever used the word with him personally before.
The sick revulsion was so sudden, so overwhelming, Kit couldn’t fight it down. He still couldn’t hide how upset he was.
Bishop leaned back, getting more comfortable on the tile. “You’re not surprised, though.”
Kit hunched smaller. Bishop wasn’t going to leave him alone without answers today. And Kit was too exhausted, too vulnerable, to protect himself from the gentle interrogation.
“I know you’re scared of talking,” Bishop continued carefully. Inescapably. “But the silence doesn’t work like it used to, does it?”
Kit wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Part of him wanted to give up. To spill everything. To shatter the wall he built when he asked Smith for a new identity.
That would be bad. But maybe sharing something would be okay. Just enough to get Bishop off his back. Just enough to explain the broken mug.
Just one truth that Kit carried close to his heart, like a rib replaced with a handsaw.
Kit took a deep breath and met Bishop’s eyes. “Dad never hurt me. He never touched me. Not like you’re thinking.”
Bishop relaxed, and Kit hated him for it.
People who learned the truth always thought Dad touched him, but, God. Maybe that would have been easier to live with. He wouldn’t blame himself for not realizing sooner.
“Dad fuckedotherkids.”
And suddenly Kit was glad Bishop was here. Not James, not Darius. Because Bishop’s anger was quiet. He paled, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t retreat, and he didn’t lunge forward. He just asked, in a low, rough voice: “Kit, where is your dad now?”
Just one sentence, and Dad was on Bishop’s list. If only everything had been this easy back then. Kit wouldn’t have had to endure the ordeal of reporting.
Too late now. The thought was still nice.
“He’s in prison,” Kit said simply, glossing over everything required for that result. “The system worked.”
“That’s good,” Bishop said. Still quiet, still angry. “I know you don’t want me to know your name. But I’d love to know his.”
Kit’s laugh surprised both of them. “I promise, if I needed a vigilante, I’d hire you.”
After a moment, Bishop half-smiled too. “Mind if I hold you to that?”
Kit didn’t want to think about Bishop and Dad in the same breath. He reached out anyway. “Pinkie promise.”
“Pinkie promise,” Bishop said solemnly, linking his little finger around Kit’s.
The slight touch was reassuring. Tempting enough that Kit asked, “Could you sit next to me for a minute?”
A perfect gentleman, Bishop even gave him an excuse. “Sure. The floor’s pretty cold.” He sat next to Kit, looping an arm around his shoulders.
Cuddling against Bishop felt completely natural. The scent of soap, the solidness of his body against Kit’s, was exactly what Kit needed to ground himself. A few minutes of this and Kit would be okay. Like some sort of cuddle vampire, feeding through simple physical contact until he regained his strength.
Bishop sighed. “Already, huh?”
“What?” Kit asked.
“You’re putting your shields back up already,” Bishop said. “I’m guessing I’m not getting any more information out of you today.”
“Good guess.” Kit snuggled closer, his thigh pressed against Bishop’s. The heat was more intense where Kit’s jeans were ripped. “You’re a great detective.”
“Could be better.”
“Why do you do this?” Kit asked. “Looking for answers. Digging.”
