“This is a glass mansion.” James kissed Kit’s forehead. “Nobody’s throwing stones.”
Quiet fell, and Kit’s heartbeat steadied. Surrounded by love, he was the closest to safe he’d felt all day. Maybe all week, maybe ever since he got that stupid text about that stupid DNA search.
Yeah. Kit couldn’t doze off yet. He had one more problem to face. Reluctantly, he dragged himself from his boyfriends’ heavy arms.
“I need to talk to Bishop,” Kit said.
In the dim light, neither James nor Darius looked surprised.
“Just talk?” James asked, leering.
“Shut up,” Kit groaned, and slid out of bed.
Darkness shrouded the house. Technology blinked like stars here and there, but otherwise, not even exterior lights snuck through. All the windows were sealed, reinforced blinds locking out moonbeams and prying eyes. Kit navigated the house first by memory, then by the dim glow of the downstairs guest room.
The door was cracked open. Kit stopped outside, out of view. Bishop probably saw Kit’s shadow anyway. He’d probably heardKit approaching, never quiet enough. Kit still paused. If he didn’t enter, they could both pretend he hadn’t been here.
Another night echoed: the first time Kit crept into Bishop’s bedroom. He’d wanted to seduce his captor for a place to stay, trading a body he could barely feel. Now Kit knew Bishop would never have agreed to that.
Bishop wasn’t a good person. He just wasn’t that kind of bad.
Now they were in Kit’s house, not Bishop’s, caught in a mess Kit brought down on all their heads. Maybe he could have prevented this if he had told the truth. When Bishop shoved those case folders across the table, Kit could have said how he really knew Uncle Ed.
Maybe he would have told the truth sooner if Bishop had fucked him that night.
No, Kit shouldn’t be selfish, even if taking all the blame felt self-destructively right. Dad wasn’t the only breakout. Bishop’s past was back to haunt them, too.
Kit sighed and slipped through the door.
Bishop sat at the desk across from the bed. His phone, a laptop, and two handguns gleamed on the surface. His tan jacket draped over the chair, and he angled towards the door.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come in,” Bishop said, his voice soft but his eyes intense. That perpetual scruff sharpened his jaw.
“Were you hoping I would or that I wouldn’t?” Kit asked.
“I’m glad you did.” Bishop stood and drew closer. “Otherwise, I would have had to catch you myself.”
Kit froze in anticipation, toes curling into the carpet, James’s t-shirt slipping off one shoulder. He was already caught before Bishop invaded his space. Breath stirred Kit’s hair. Bishop reached past, brushing Kit’s shoulder, to close the door.
Skin hungered for skin. Kit burned with the urge to kiss this infuriating man. But not yet. He needed Bishop to push this time.
After a breathless moment, Bishop stepped back. Before disappointment struck, his next words hooked deeper. “I realized where I recognized you from.”
Kit exhaled. “You recognized me?”
“You looked familiar, but I couldn’t place you.” Bishop lifted Kit’s chin, exposing him to the soft light. “Archie went to trial five years ago. They couldn’t try him in San Corvo, so they tried him in Vilton.”
The Vilton courthouse. Five years ago. Long hallways and waiting rooms and people everywhere. Kit had been self-conscious until he realized everyone had their own preoccupations. Dad wasn’t the only murderer in the building. Kit wasn’t the only child losing everything.
None of the vague memories included Bishop. Few of them included clear faces at all. Adults in suits all blended together. Kit barely had the capacity to endure his own life, let alone observing others.
Bishop had crossed the room without Kit noticing. He sat on the edge of the bed, but his presence still filled the night.
“I saw you in the hallways a few times,” Bishop said, unlacing his shoes. “You were the quietest kid I’d ever seen, and I remember wondering why you were there.” Bishop paused before setting his shoes aside. Like he too struggled to move through the shadows. “I was too lost in my own bullshit to pay any more attention.”
“I don’t remember you at all.” Kit drifted closer. “There was no reason for you to pay attention to me.”
Bishop gave a crooked grin. “You were a mystery. You needed help.”
