After Kit finally hung up, farewells extended with adoring compliments, he washed his face. The hand soap probablywasn’t good for his face—Kit wasn’t really sure how different soaps worked—but the yuzu and ginger smelled nice.
He liked his reflection better scrubbed dry with a towel, eyes red, hair messy, imperfect and alive.
Even better. James was probably due a break. He’d be happy to mess Kit up even more.
Sitting in his armchair, Darius pretended to read the news on his laptop. In actuality, he was fuming.
He hadn’t had a roommate since he moved out as a teenager. Not even during college. His mentor had sponsored his housing and tuition—she wanted him to owe her.
It had worked.
What mattered now was that Darius was unused to sharing space with another person. It would have been easier if Holden was chained up in the bathtub. Not sitting on the fucking sofa, eating kettle corn, playing on his phone.
The place felt too small. Like a fucking studio, instead of a spacious downtown apartment.
The real problem was the lack of problems. Holden hadn’t done anything wrong since he moved in. He had been perfectly cooperative, because cooperating was the only way he got to see Kit.
Darius wanted to shout at Holden for eating on the couch. But the truth was, he’d never had a rule about eating on the couch. He’d eaten leftover takeout on that same couch about two hours ago.
He’d even had to fish a dropped noodle from between the cushions. Holden hadn’t dropped anything. Darius shouldn’t be angry.
“What are you looking at?” Darius asked.
Holden set aside his empty bowl and sprawled out. His bare feet planted on the cushions. Another thing Darius didn’t have a rule against but needed to consider.
“Real estate listings,” Holden said, with that same calm tone he used for most conversations. “I think Kit wants us all to move in together.”
Darius exhaled. Maybe that was the problem. Darius was used to being the calm one in most situations. Spending too much time with Holden’s serene creepiness made Darius feel irrational in comparison.
“Does he, now?” Darius asked.
“Mm,” Holden replied, not looking up.
Darius counted to three. No, he was not about to tell Holden to ‘enunciate clearly, young man.’ Best not to answer at all, because Darius didn’t know what he wanted.
Living together was a risk. Anyone Darius cared about was a liability. Someday, someone would call in a final favor, and Darius couldn’t be sure who would pay that debt. No matter how much he prepared.
But living apart was a risk, too. Darius wanted to keep a closer eye on his brat.
Kit didn’t want anyone digging into his past, and Darius had said he trusted him. He just kept thinking about the red mark on Kit’s arm weeks ago. The occasional fingernail marks, too small to have been left by Darius or James.
And the steady, well-trained way Kit aimed a gun.
5
like claws plucking at his seams
“Thanks for the ride,” Kit said as they pulled up in the parking garage.
Carla threw the car into park. “Any time. Do you know your way through the building?”
Kit paused, his hand on the door. “James is at the top, right? CEOs are always at the top on TV.”
Carla stared blankly beneath her shimmery pink eyeshadow. Then she whipped out her phone. “I’ll tell him you’re here. Though he probably already knows.”
Kit liked Carla. She was strangely down to earth for someone who worked so closely with James. Or maybe that wasn’t so strange—someone would have to be down to earth to deal with James’s eccentricities. Carla looked tough, but she was incredibly patient with Kit’s driving lessons.
She’d asked if Kit wanted to drive today, but downtown still made Kit nervous. There were too many one-way streets and pedestrians.
