Kit’s stomach twisted. Fragments of another life cut like broken glass. If he’d met Bishop earlier. If he’d met any of his men earlier.
But he couldn’t maintain the fantasy. He hadn’t been ready to be helped yet, not in therapy, not with his foster family in Arizona. “You wouldn’t have kept me from spiraling.”
“Maybe you could have helped me.” Bishop patted the bed. “Come here.”
Kit almost sat in Bishop’s lap instead. One more needy, cowardly distraction. But he didn’t, because that wouldn’t work like it would work on James or Holden. Maybe even Darius.
Because it wouldn’t work, or because Kit wanted to stop hiding.
He sank onto the firm mattress, clutching the bedspread. “I should have told you more about Dad. I just thought…” Kit forced the excuses down. The reasons that made sense earlier, when he didn’t know these men so well, didn’t hold true anymore. They hadn’t for a while. “I put you all at risk by keeping you in the dark. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” Bishop said quietly, without exoneration.
And Kit relaxed.
James and Darius might say keeping secrets was all right. Holden would validate any of Kit’s actions, from overspending on phone games to shooting a man. Kit had enough validation tonight. He needed truth. Judgment. Consequences.
Bishop’s hand fell to Kit’s thigh and squeezed. “You put yourself at risk, too.” Bishop’s voice was calm. Controlled. “We can’t protect you from threats we don’t know about.”
“I’m sorry,” Kit whispered. “I’ll do better. I’ll try, at least.”
“That’s good,” Bishop murmured, and the approval zinged through Kit’s veins. “I’m sorry, too.”
Kit thought he’d misheard at first. “What the fuck are you sorry about?”
Kit counted Bishop’s breaths. Three steady exhalations, calm, in contrast to the heated brand of his palm against Kit’s thigh. The room was an oasis of dim light.
“For running your DNA without telling you,” Bishop said.
Anger surged, but it was dull. Reflexive, not fresh. Kit swallowed it down. “Without telling me. But you’re not sorry for doing it.”
Thumb tracing small shapes into Kit’s flesh, Bishop nodded. “I took the coward’s route. If I found exactly what you told me, nothing unexpected, I never had to tell you. I could keep the knowledge to myself, and I could stay in your orbit.”
Kit relaxed, leaving rumpled fingernail marks in the bedspread. Confessions didn’t feel so sharp with Bishop at his side. “I’m glad you didn’t tell me. If I’d had any warning, I would have planned my escape better.”
He would be alone. Bus stop or a stolen car, shedding phone and bracelet and anything else that tied him to the people he cared about. Ditching the gun from Darius as soon as he found another. Changing clothes, dyeing his hair, chasing safety through invisibility.
Except safety wasn’t enough anymore. Mere survival didn’t make his heart race like the brush of Bishop’s arm against his.
“I keep thinking about the timing,” Bishop admitted. “Did Laird escape because I ran your DNA? Why did Archie ask to see me? Did I make this worse for you?”
Each worry wove around Kit. Instead of feeling guilty, he felt comforted.
Bishop was his safety net, which perversely made him the most dangerous of all the dangerous men in this house. Kit could keep pushing and pushing, and Bishop would stand still until the right moment. Until now, unless Kit was mistaking this oasis of strange understanding. The heat of breath against his ear.
Bishop had waited, ready to catch the real Kit: exhausted, vulnerable, stripped of his secrets.
“We both did the right thing,” Kit said, slipping from Bishop’s grasp, only to straddle his lap. “We both did the wrong thing. Does it have to matter?”
Bishop’s jeans rasped against Kit’s bare thighs. The thin cotton of Kit’s boxers stretched to its limits. Bishop’s gaze flickered. He held Kit by the hips.
His grasp was gentle. Inescapable. Kit could wriggle away, but Bishop’s touch would still burn into his soul.
Bishop rasped, “Every damn thing about you matters, brat.”
Kit rocked into the friction. Deliberate. Without breaking eye contact. This wasn’t about distraction. “I used to hate you for resisting me,” Kit breathed, looping his arms around Bishop’s shoulders. “Now, I think I love you for it.”
The word tumbled out without permission. Too much, too soon. Bishop didn’t call out Kit’s mistake. He just dug possessive grooves into Kit’s hips. “Is that why you were so fucking tempting?”
