“I’ll go.” Holden jumped from the game table. His expressionless face melted into a smile just for Kit. “If that would make you happy.”
Yeah, no. Happy wasn’t an option tonight. But Kit appreciated the thought. “Either of you getting hurt wouldn’t make me happy.”
“Don’t worry, darling.” Holden approached but didn’t touch Kit. Just held out a hand. “James and I are friends now. More or less.”
“That’s not reassuring.” Kit’s first impulse was to flinch away from Holden. Not because he didn’t want touch. But because he wanted it more than was safe, more than Kit could control himself through.
Just this much should be safe.
Kit tentatively placed his cold, damp hand in Holden’s, which burned in comparison. Holden didn’t even squeeze back. He just smiled, warm brown eyes curving, at the faint pressure of Kit’s hand, and stood there until Kit pulled away.
“If you get tired of these practical bastards,” Holden said, heading for the stairs, “just shout.”
He waved, then vanished from view. The door closed.
Darius sighed and ordered, “Come here.”
Except Kit didn’t even have to obey. He just stood still, and Darius was already in front of him. Strong arms wrapping around him. Pulling him in for a hug.
Kit tensed, awkward. He still clutched the cold soda can between them, which must be uncomfortable against Darius’s stomach. But all that mattered was Darius’s warm breath in his hair.
Trembling eased. Kit could breathe better than before. This was what he needed from Darius—to give up a few decisions. The ones he could afford.
Part of Kit wanted to linger in the warmth. Until he felt better, or until he cried. Those, however, were luxuries he couldn’t afford tonight. Kit had hollowed out his secrets and spread them bloody on the floor—but there was still a dead body upstairs.
Dad and Archie were still on the loose.
Bishop was right. The practical questions were most important.
“Okay,” Kit whispered. “I’m okay.”
They both knew it wasn’t true, but Darius still took the signal and let go.
“What’s your name?” Darius asked.
“That part was true,” Kit said, laughing weakly. “Kit’s just a nickname for Christopher.” Saying the last name was too hard. He met Bishop’s eyes. “I don’t know of any hideouts in San Corvo, besides Uncle Ed’s place. I know a few near Vilton.” Kit twisted the can around. It felt warmer, or his hands were going numb. “I blocked his number and deleted the text, but I assume James can still find it. Not that I think that will help.”
“Any information will help.” Bishop stood, with that damned approachable expression. Like Kit was a case client he needed to woo without scaring off. “Do you want to look at the body now?”
“That’s a little soon,” Darius muttered.
“Yes,” Kit said, with unbecoming eagerness. “I mean, yes that’s soon, but also yes, let’s look. I need to do something.”
With a surprised laugh, Darius tugged the soda can from Kit’s hands. “Maybe I should have gone after James. Holden will be sad he missed this part.”
The next line of banter almost reached Kit’s lips. Something about making it up to Holden or having fun without him.
Kit just couldn’t think clearly without somewhere to put his hands. Like the stupid diet soda had been the only thing tethering him.
Darius’s hand slid into his, a firm squeeze, without letting go. Breath eased into Kit’s lungs, and his thoughts moved again.
Kit could do this. He’d carved out his heart, and Darius was still soothingly bossy and James was still working hard to control himself and Holden was still surprising everyone.
Bishop was still watching with those piercing blue eyes, focused, as if he wanted even more from Kit.
Punching things wouldn’t help. Stabbing things might, but all the target dummies were in the basement James had just fled. Inspecting all the doors, windows, and security equipment would have to suffice, until James could become what Kit needed again.
The inspection was redundant. The system should alert him of any hardware malfunctions. But redundancy was part of the system.
