And the look on Dave’s face—It was thatstillnesshe got sometimes, when something hit deep. Christian had seen that look before, but only when Dave was looking athim.
And now he was giving it to someone else.
Christian should’ve stormed over, pulled the guy off him, demanded to know what the fuck was going on. But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
His stomach dropped sickeningly, the same drop he used to get when social workers packed his life into a garbage bag and drove him to yet another so-called home. One moment he’d belonged somewhere, and the next, it was gone.
Their heads were bent together, trading numbers as if Christian wasn’t even there.
Emptiness swallowed everything inside him.
Chapter Nineteen
DAVE
Dave watched Justin’s truck pull out of the lot, then wrote a quick text to Matt as he walked back to their room. He was off-balance from Justin’s revelation and felt sick deep inside over the whole goddamn mess.
With a sigh, he hit send, and looked up to find Christian standing in the doorway, arms crossed, legs planted, practically vibrating with tension.
Dave’s heart sank. Not now. Just once, he wanted to recover from something difficult without having to make allowances for Christian too. But of course, here they were.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, coming to a halt in front of Christian. Who didn’t move from where he was blocking the open doorway. And that was Christian all over—beautiful and impossible and wired too damn tight.
“Oh, I don’t know, what couldpossiblybe wrong?” Christiandrawled at him.
Irritation flaring, Dave pushed past him. He was done—done—with being the one who always had to defuse things first.
Realizing he was still holding his phone, he flung it onto the bed. Petty, maybe, but it relieved some of the tension building in him after the emotions of Justin’s confession and nowthisfrom Christian.
“Well?” he demanded, his voice sharper than he meant. “You going to tell me what’s going on?”
Christian’s voice was flat and cold. “You looked real cozy with him out there.”
Dave froze as he replayed the words, thinking he couldn’t have heard properly. “Excuse me?”
“Didn’t think you were the type to hand out hugs and phone numbers to strangers. Must’ve been a hell of a conversation.”
Dave stared. Aftereverything—all the flirting Christian never shut down, all the conversations he never bothered to have, and now he was accusingDaveof crossing a line?
“You really think I’d do that to you?” Dave said, voice low with disbelief. “You think I’d lie to you, cheat on you?”
Christian didn’t answer. But he didn’t back down, either. Just stood there, bristling.
Something in Dave cracked.
“You know what?” he said, low and savage. “Fuck you.”
He turned and walked out. Because if he didn’t, he’d say something worse. Something he couldn’t take back.
Behind him, the door slammed.
Though maybe, he thought numbly, there wasn’t anything worse he could have said.
CHRISTIAN
Christian’s hand throbbed like hell. Burying it in the drywall a time or two would do that, he supposed, as he stood in the middle of the room, trying not to go back for another round. If he hurt his hand any worse, he wouldn’t be able to fight tonight and he wanted that so badly he could almost taste it. He needed that control, that knowledge that no one could hurt him ever again.
He wrapped a cold, wet washcloth around his bruised knuckles, the chill biting into skin he hadn’t realized was burning. His reflection in the mirror stopped him cold.
