I cock a brow. “And?”
I’m given a warning glare. My hands fly up again. “Alright, alright, I’m backing off. But just say the word and I’ll castrate him.”
Remy’s eyes widen in horror. I can’t help laughing. He grumbles something under his breath, sounding like,“ What is my life?”Two minutes later, he shifts into park in front of my apartment and the weight of everything I’ve been running from drops on me like an anvil.
Because I’ve been running since that night. From God. From home. From Lilly. From Seba. From Cade, when he needed me most. Now the past has caught up to me and I’m out of breath, a stitch in my side, my feet bloody and bruised.
The alcohol in my bloodstream loosens my tongue.
“I’m tired of it,” I whisper.
“Of what?” Remy asks.
Fat raindrops smack the windshield.
“Running. Hiding. Pretending everything is fine. It's exhausting.”
“Then stop.”
I shake my head. “You know it’s not that easy.”
His hands slide from the wheel. “Nothing worth it is.”
The rain picks up. The truck’s wipers kick on. A pop ballad drifts from the speakers. But beneath it all, I hear the call of the notebook upstairs, burning a hole through my bed.
This is gonna hurt like a bitch.
Fifty-Three
SEBA
Marinade cracklesand steams off the thick sirloins lined up on the grill. It's making my mouth water. I flip the steaks over, the smoke wafting into the muggy night. It’s later than I planned, but I had to wait for the rain to stop. It ended up working out. While Cade slept, I boxed and stacked everything and moved it into the garage in case he wanted any of it later. Then I worked on some admin stuff for my boss Carl— scheduling maintenance for the irrigation system and reordering fertilizer. When his brother Abel died, the old farmer was left as the sole owner of David’s Grove, but had no interest in the business side of it. I interned for him during my last year at FMU; he hired me the day I graduated.
My phone vibrates on the tray beside the grill. I catch it before it scoots off the edge.
Pastor Sinclair:
Drop tonight. Don’t be late again.
Fuck.
I squeeze the stainless steel tongs to the point of indenting my palm. The schedule had me on for Dropnextweek. He must’ve found out about Cade coming home. My molars grind as Iquickly forward the message to Darren, then alert the other Youth Warriors on call this week.
The day I’m done with this shit can’t come fast enough.
Darren responds first.
DDM:
Swing by in an hour. Twin Oaks.
Double fuck.
All I wanted was an uninterrupted night with Cade after four fucking years apart to convince him to drop his guard. And maybe touch him. And kiss him.
Andfuck him.
It might be a long shot, but a man can dream. And boy, do I dream of it. A lot. Like an abnormal amount. Porn didn’t help while he was gone— it actually made things worse by opening the floodgates on all the ways I could take him, make him come, make himscream. Which then led to even more twisted fantasies. Ones where all three of us tangled and touched.
