"How long's the ride back?" I ask. Charles ignores me. Opens the door for Rava. And it hits me again, how the hell did he raise someone like Rava?! How did a man this cold, this arrogant, this cruel…create someone so warm, so kind, so good?
Rava hesitates. Then climbs into the car, and he doesn't look back. But I can see it in his face. He’s scared.
I know Charles. I know what he does when he doesn’t like something. He uses his hands.
And I swear to god, if he ever lays a hand on Rava, someone better be there to hold me back.
Back home
The gate creaks open, and the first thing I see, is my bike. Parked where I left it. I grin.
Then I see Lorenzo's next to it, matte black, still dusty from before Spain. We both pause, bags still in hand.
"Missed her?" I ask, nodding at his bike.
He smirks. "Like hell."
"Wanna take them out later?"
He shrugs. "You offering a race or a funeral?"
"Same thing," I say.
"Good. I'm in."
We drag ourselves inside. It feels like I've been gone a year, not a week. I toss my keys on the table. And then I glance up. Rava's room. Still closed.
I want him again. It's insane. Like, I just left him. I was buried inside him less than twelve hours ago. But my hands twitch. I want him on his back again.
I want his fingers in my hair. His voice in my ear. I want it all. Again. And again. And again. It's like an addiction.
"Dude," Lorenzo says, suddenly next to me. "You gonna stare at his door all day or are we gonna talk about it?"
I blink. "Talk about what?"
He gives me a look. "The Spain thing. Come on. Spill it. I saw the way you looked at him on the plane."
I lean against the wall. Rub my face. "I love him."
Lorenzo loses it. He throws his head back and laughs so hard he might actually choke.
"I fucking KNEW it," he wheezes. "Oh my god—oh my god. This is the best day of my life."
I glare at him. "You're enjoying this??"
"Are you kidding me? I've beenwaitingfor this. Since day one. You were like 'I don't do feelings,' and now look at you. Look at you! You're in agony."
"I hate you."
"You love him."
I groan, dragging a hand over my face and flopping onto the couch. "This isn't funny."
"It's hilarious."
"I'm serious, Lorenzo. He's going to leave. He's going back to Canada in a few weeks. This is a disaster."
"Yeah, but it's a beautiful disaster. Like a slow-motion car crash with sexy lighting and dramatic music."
