Kit seized Bishop’s shirtfront as large hands steadied his hips. They eased together, a kiss as essential as a heartbeat. Faint stubble and deceptively gentle lips urged Kit’s nerves towards a crescendo.
This was true too. Kit could trust the desire simmering up from his curling toes. He could trust the low groan rumbling from Bishop’s throat to his.
Kit pulled away. Just a few inches, and that distance was somehow more heated than touch. This breath was a turning point. They could stop, or they could fuck right here in the darkened kitchen.
“I’m in a weird mood tonight,” Kit said, stepping back. Cold replaced heat. “But when this is over, I want you to fuck me until I cry.”
Bishop chuckled. “I’ll tell James and Darius to hurry the fuck up.”
Kit couldn’t fake a laugh. His phone burned against his thigh. But it was normal not to laugh on a night like this. “God, I’m so tired. But I just made coffee.”
“It’ll keep for a few hours,” Bishop said, so reliably considerate. “Get some sleep.”
One more kiss. Rougher, shallower, quickly finished. The taste of Bishop’s lips still tingled as Kit retreated upstairs.
Each footstep chorused fuck, fuck, fuck.
Kit was supposed to stop hiding shit. They had enough dramatic conversations about it over the past couple days. Kit could still run back to Bishop and confess. After he figured out what the fuck was going on.
When he reached his bedroom, he locked the door behind him. Paranoia shoved a pillow at the base, muffling the crack. Kit left the bedroom lamps off but lit up the closet, where he sat, surrounded by his wealth of ratty jeans and baggy sweatshirts.
Safely ensconced, Kit cradled his traitorous phone in both hands. Time to reread the text messages, praying he’d misread them.
He hadn’t.
They were from a different unknown number than the one Dad was using.
Unknown Number:is this kit
Unknown Number:don’t tell anyone else i’m texting please this is shiloh
A third message had arrived while Kit kissed and lied to his newest boyfriend.
Unknown Number:please can you call me
This was bullshit. Dad was probably fucking with him. Except Dad was never the type to pretend to be someone else. He had other ways of lying.
There was a grain of truth here. The name Shiloh. Holden had found the right kid. And Kit had never spoken to one of Dad’s victims before. One of the substitutes.
Kit:he’s putting you up to this. if you’re even shiloh.
Unknown Number:yes he gave me your number can you call me anyway
Unknown Number:i’m alone right now
Kit thumped his head against the wall. Goddamn, this was stupid. But forget a fucking phone call, Kit needed to see. Covering his front camera with his thumb, he started a video call.
Each ring stretched forever. Kit had a whole eternity to rub his itchy shoulder and contemplate his stupidity, until a few seconds later, the video call connected.
A too large face filled the screen, then pulled back. Everything on the other end was blurred with shadow, but Kit recognized Shiloh instantly. He recognized the emotion in Shiloh’s blurry face, too. No more teenage melancholy. This was desperate exhaustion. Panic stretched over too many days.
“Hello?” Shiloh’s gaze darted. “Are you there? I can’t see you.”
Kit exhaled. He felt too exposed, and words clawed reluctantly from his throat. “I’m here. Turn the camera around. Show me the rest of the room.”
The screen jolted, then Shiloh did as Kit asked. Obedient kid. Good for Kit, bad for Shiloh. A shaky three-sixty revealed Shilohwasn’t in a room at all. He stood by a nondescript sedan, under a yellow streetlight. Alone.
The surroundings were familiar, even through the gloom. Shiloh was on a quiet road, next to a park. Less than five minutes’ walk from Kit’s house.
