Those words were supposed to be sharp blades to warn me away, but they contain so muchpain.
“Nothing.” He tips the mug and literallychugsthe rest of the super-hot coffee.
He’s going to stand up and he’s going to leave.
“Can I ask you something?” I blurt. I edge closer to the door, blocking his path with my body. Again. This is the only trick I have in my arsenal and it’s a shitty one.
“If I say no is that going to stop you?”
I cross my arms. “Yes.”
“Are you sure about that? There seems to be a precedent proving otherwise.”
“How did you get to the hospital that night? You were burned and covered in blood.”
His jaw clenches so hard that a muscle leaps along his temple. “Someone saw me walking down the sidewalk,” he says, voice rote, like he’s detaching himself from feeling anything about that night. “I was dazed. In so much pain. In shock, really. They pulled over. They saw the fire haze in the distance and helped me into their car. The guy drove me straight to the hospital.”
My stomach drops, my heart shatters, my chest collapses. All of me is a wreck, imagining that night. “Do you want to find him the same way I wanted to find you? To thank you?”
He scowls. “I did thank him. As he was walking me in. He said it was no problem. He called me son, the way old folks do. I was so fucked up, but I… remember thinking it was nice. I never had a dad. I mean one who cared for me. That’s the thing about a lot of religious people. They’re hypocrites. My mom would say that she lived a life of darkness before she saw the light. She says my father was a bad man and that’s why I was never allowed to meet him, but I don’t think she even knows who he was. I’m not supposed to know this, but I’m not half bad with a computer myself, and I figured out that she used to work at a nightclub. Not the kind I manage either. The kind with dancers, where clothes aren’t involved.”
The words drop out of him, rushing out, jumbled, like he doesn’t know why he’s saying them and why he can’t stop. He turns his face away, as though looking back to the past, soaking up its shadows and misery, back to a time when he couldn’t be himself, back to a time when he had dreams of finding out what that even meant.
Far from being liberated from it, his forehead creases, the scars scrunching and twisting at the side of his face in reaction to his facial muscles working. I can’t stand seeing how miserable he looks.
He shoots up from the table, knocking the towels onto the floor. “I need to go.” He gives one panicked, longing glance at the door behind me before he fixes me with a blistering glare.
It isn’t my right to touch him. The potential to hurt him is catastrophic and he’s already had enough pain. Somehow, I find my feet moving, until I’m right in front of him, and then my hand finds its way up into the air, to the scarred side of his face. I’m gentle because I don’t know if it hurts him.
He jerks at my touch, but it’s clear it’s not from pain. His pupils dilate, but he’s not quick enough to slam his usual unaffected or angry mask in place. I don’t move my fingers or remove my hand. He doesn’t back up or take my wrist and thrust it away.
“What do you mean fuck everything up?” I ask him again, softer. I’m not trying to push him over the edge or back up into an impossible corner. I want tobehis corner. I want to be his edge. I want to be the one to wrap my arms around him and keep him from falling. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” His body jerks like I just slapped him. His face slips, but I bring my other hand up, bracketing his cheek. His skin is still so, so cold. “You had to leave your old life behind, and maybe the person you were too, but that’s how life is. Things can change in a single moment. Not just to me or you, but to any one of us. Life is fragile. All anyone ever has on it is a tenuous grip at best.”
“People say that tragedy is a better teacher than triumph, but I still don’t have the answer.”
“This.” I take his hand in both of mine. “This is the point.”
I kiss his palm first. He doesn’t make a sound until my tongue glides over his skin, tasting the ridges and swirls. A tortured groan tears out of him as I move to the top, kissing and tasting along his fingers, his knuckles, all the way to his wrist.
I can’t stop.
I can’t keep myself from unzipping his leather jacket, but he’s the one who shrugs it off and tosses it on top of the pile of towels. He has a black button-up dress shirt on. I saw the peeking out of his leather jacket when I ambushed him at the nightclub. Does he wear this to work every time he goes?
It’s so ridiculous how intimate just one little detail feels. Or how proud I am of having noticed.
I unbutton the shirt at the wrist, rolling it carefully as I go. The leather jacket protected him better than I thought. His shirt is damp but not soaked. I lower my mouth and continue kissing his wrist where I left off, tracing my tongue up as I roll his sleeve. The scars a constellation of rigid and sleek. I trace his muscles, the ropey veins, until I know every bit of him.
“Stop,” he begs.
My head snaps up and my eyes follow. He looked destroyed before, but it’s even worse now. “Okay.”
“I’m going to fuck it all again.” His face twists, his nostrils flare, his chin quivers. His eyes grow bright. Too bright. “Fuck what’s left, the security I have, my club vows, my brotherhood, the little good in my life. I’m not a very nice person. I’m about to prove it to you.”
“You can’t.” I’m beyond certain of that. “There’s no way that you could ever do that.”
I curl my arms around his neck, trying both to hug him tightly and not touch the parts of him that hurt. I know it’s not a physical pain, but an emotional one. His body crushes into mine as our lips meet. His hands find my waist and press me so tightly into him that I can feel every muscle beneath his wet clothing. His hard erection jams into my hip. We both freeze for a heartbeat. Another. His hand glides around my waist, steadying me, while other brackets the side of my face, his fingers splaying over my neck, my hair, my ear.
His lips move against mine so cautiously, like he’s waiting for me to decide if I’m sure about it or not. If this kiss feels likepity.
