“You don’t have to apologize. I understand what it’s like when the anxiety hits you so hard you can’t even breathe. I won’t judge you for that.”
“Everything about me is broken! Ihateit when people say they understand what I’m going through, because they don’t!” Even as I say the words, I know I’m being more of an ass than I was this afternoon, but I can’t stop myself.
Graham’s lips flatten, his shoulders curving inward slightly. “I didn’t leave the Coast Guard because I wanted to,” he says, his voice low, with an edge that warns me this isn’t a good story. “On New Year’s, four guys jumped me outside a nightclub. What they did…” He swallows hard and stares down at his black boots. “There was a police report, and once that got out? Everyone I served with knew I was gay. There were complaints before I even got out of the hospital. A medical discharge was the best option. I spent months reliving that night every time I closed my eyes. The nightmares still come for me when I get low.”
Oh, fuck. How could I have been so insensitive? The urge to fold him into my embrace and tell him it’s all going to be okay is tamped down by the shame in his eyes. “That’s why you don’t—can’t—bottom.”
“Yeah.”
I’ve been feeling sorry for myself all day. Hell, for a year now. Has it made me so blind, I can’t see anyone else’s pain?
He clears his throat and after a moment, meets my gaze. “What I said the other day? About being broken? We’re all broken, Q. From the day we’re born. When the right person comes along? You know because they accept all your broken pieces. All the jagged edges, the scars, and the pain. They see you for who you are, and they love you anyway.”
A single tear carves a hot trail down my cheek, and Graham reaches up and wipes it away, his hand not entirely steady. I lean into the touch and curl my fingers around his, then press a kiss to his palm. “I want to tell you. I do. I just…”
“Shh.” He closes the short distance between us, holding our joined hands to his heart. “I didn’t come here to demand an explanation. Or to ‘fix’ you. I came because you don’t have to face this—or anything—alone. Not unless you want to.”
We don’t move until Clementine meows and stretches up on her hind legs to sniff at the bag clutched in Graham’s fist.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he says with a tight chuckle. “This woulddefinitelynot be good for you.”
“It’s not good for us either.” Inhaling deeply, I catch the scent of fried cookies and my stomach growls. “But I don’t think that should stop us. Will you stay? At least long enough to eat with me?”
Some of his strain eases, and in his eyes, all I see now is understanding. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”
* * *
Graham
Until just now, I didn’t realize how scared I’d been to tell Q about the attack.
Other than my parents and one former boyfriend—who broke things off with me immediately—I haven’t told anyone. Though Ry’s background checks are so thorough, it’s likely he dug up the police report. If he does know, he hasn’t let on, and while IthinkRipper might have some idea, he’ll never press me about it. Not after what he’s been through.
Quinton and I shared that pint of ice cream and the deep-fried Oreos, but he was in a lot of pain, so I left him to try to sleep in his massage chair. Back in my own bed, I only got three hours before my memories woke me, and unable to calm myself down, I returned to my laptop to read more about antisocial personality disorder.
At least he texted me a few hours ago. Another picture of him on his porch. Or…his feet anyway. Today, he made it halfway down the ramp, farther than he’s ever gone before.
Balancing the grocery bag on my hip, I ring the bell and try not to worry that my admission will change things between us. That he’ll see me differently, treat me like I’m damaged goods, or worse…won’t want to touch me at all. We didn’t cuddle last night. Just held hands. Kissed goodnight.
He’s smiling when he answers. Scratch that, he’s practically beaming as he steps back to let me in. “What’s got you in such a great mood?” I ask. I ache to kiss him, but a part of me deep down needshimto make the first move.
Jazz spills from his computer speakers, and I catch the scent of chocolate wafting from the kitchen.
“Look.” He shows me his phone, open to the mobile app store, and the Zen Oasis icon has a shiny, golden #1 banner in the corner. Along with three hundred five-star reviews. Before I can say a word, he wraps his arms around me, angles his head, and presses his lips to mine.
He’s not timid. Not afraid. His hard length juts against me, and the tight ball of nerves I’ve carried around since last night starts to ease.
“You’re amazing,” I whisper in his ear when he finally breaks off the kiss. “If I didn’t need to start cooking, I’d take you upstairs right now.”
“I can wait to eat.” The raw need in his voice is enough to make my cock ache, and I release him.
“Go upstairs then. I’ll put the steaks in the fridge and be right there.”
* * *
Candles flickeralong the top of Q’s dresser, and he stands by the bed, still blushing, his arousal tenting his black pants.
Please let this still…work.
