“Are they back yet?” Kit croaked, sitting up. More bruises protested the movement.
Darius sat on the edge of Kit’s bed. He’d found time to shower, change clothes, even shave. His chiseled jaw gleamed dark and glossy in the morning light.
“Not yet,” Darius answered. “Shiloh wants to see you before Carla takes him home. Is that okay?”
“Of course.” Kit scrubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to shake off dreams he couldn’t remember. “I need to…”
Shower. Except he already showered when he got home last night. This morning. Whatever the fucking time was. He’d spent a hazy ten minutes scouring every speck of dirt from his body, while Darius leaned against the bathroom counter. Neither of them felt like making the shower fun, but without discussion,they agreed Darius should make sure Kit didn’t fall asleep. Or do something stupid.
Not that Kit had the energy or inclination to do anything stupid. But he’d felt better knowing he didn’t have that option. Guard rails for his dysfunctional brain.
Now, Kit squinted. The light was wrong for morning. “What time is it?”
“Three in the afternoon.” Darius stood, offering a hand. “You needed the sleep.”
Kit accepted the hand up. More help he didn’t need, except for the emotional craving. The solid heat of Darius’s grasp was better than coffee.
Though coffee had better still be on the menu.
“Have you heard anything?” Kit asked, heading for his dresser. He should probably wear something besides Holden’s boxers and Darius’s tank top to talk to Shiloh.
“Bishop managed a quick call. He says it’s going better than expected, but no details.”
Probably best not to discuss criminal cover-ups over the phone when they were literally at the police station. Assuming that was where they were. “What about James and Holden? Since they…” Kit faltered, reviewing his memory to make sure that part was real. “Since they crashed a car through the fucking wall.”
Darius joined Kit at the dresser. “They got checked out at the hospital before heading to the station. Nothing but bruises from the airbags.” Darius handed Kit a faded band tee, solving his indecision. “That’s one reason Bishop kept them along, and I got to bring you home.”
Plus, Darius might have had a worse time with the cops, because the cops sucked. Kit hated not knowing what was goingon, but not as much as he expected. He trusted Bishop, James, and Holden to take care of each other. Even Holden only cared for Kit’s sake.
Kit slipped on a pair of neon green sweatpants, and Darius covered his eyes. “Warn a guy before you blind him.”
“You don’t have to stare at my ass,” Kit said, pulling Darius closer.
“Yeah, I do,” Darius murmured, before meeting the kiss. Sweet, slow, grounding.
This moment was real. The lingering taste kept Kit steady on his journey downstairs.
Carla and Shiloh sat at the kitchen table. Well, Carla sat, perfectly refreshed and sipping from a baby pink travel mug. Shiloh was hunched over, his brown hair a bird’s nest. He nearly toppled the chair jumping to his feet.
“Are you okay?” Shiloh asked, eyes wide. Exhaustion grayed his face, and he looked both younger and older than seventeen.
And extremely relieved to see Kit.
“I’m fine,” Kit said, with reflexive cheer. Except it was actually true. He repeated more softly, “I’m fine. What about you?”
Shiloh ran his fingers through his hair, explaining the bird’s nest. “I’m like, three percent fine. But yesterday was zero percent fine, so, you know. Shit’s looking up.”
“Good. That’s good.” Kit braced against the back of a chair. A mug of coffee steamed next to his hand—thanks, Darius—but he didn’t feel coordinated enough to grab it yet.
Fuck. Kit hadn’t thought this far ahead. What was he supposed to say here? Sorry my disgusting father kidnapped you to get to me?
There wasn’t a social script for this. Except Kit didn’t need one, because Shiloh was in the same strange headspace.
“Did it help?” Shiloh asked.
Kit knew he meant the sedative. “It slowed him down. Thank you.”
Shiloh shrugged. “Anyone else would have done the same.”
