Anger is radiating off him like a fever, and every word out of his mouth is a missile he’s been waiting for the chance to detonate.
I want to sit up, to lunge at him, to shout and deny it all. But I just lay here fisting the blankets as I stare at the van ceiling, winded by the truth in every single one of his words.
I’d rather him hit me than have to listen to the truth laid out like this.
I couldn't retaliate if I tried. I’ve already used every word in the English language in the past five days trying to convince myself that our hook-up meant nothing.
I wish he would just slam the door closed and walk away. Put a physical barrier, and actual distance, between us. But he just keeps standing there, taking deep, quiet breaths. Refusing to look at me. Staring blankly somewhere over my shoulder.
It makes me hate him for being so much stronger than I am.
For knowing me so well.
For being so fucking irresistable.
It makes me want to grab him and drag him down on top of me to show him just how powerless he is to resist me, because this isn’t a one way street. If it was, we wouldn’t be exactly where we are right now.
Carey stands there a little longer as the rage slowly melts off of him.
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be,” he says softly. “I’ve got a few calls to make.”
“To who?” I ask, suddenly able to talk, because he’s right. I am possessive of him.
“Your bookings for tomorrow and Saturday.”
My face creases. “Why are you—”
“Because you’re done for the week.”
“You can’t just cancel my—”
The sigh Carey lets out steels away every last piece of my rebuttal. “I can’t do this anymore, Tek.” He reaches into his pocket, takes my keys, and holds them out to me. “You need to make the call. Fire me now, or let me do my job. Shit’s changed. I can’t just sit by and watch you run yourself into the ground and pretend it isn’t happening. So what’s it gonna be? Do you want me to leave, or do you want me to take care of you?”
I stare at the keys in his hand. My mouth is open but my brain is static.
It’s a huge question, and every possible answer feels like a trap.
The expectation mixed with fatigue in his eyes is like a punch to my already knotted stomach, and I realize the only way out is to surrender.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?” I ask, and even to my own ears it sounds absurd. I don’t even know if I mean here, tonight, or for the rest of my life.
He looks at me like he’s pissed, but his voice isn’t coarse. “For now, you’re going to stay right where you are, and rest until I’ve made those calls. Then I’m gonna drive you home.”
“Then what? I’m on house arrest?”
“You can drop the attitude, for starters.” He returns my keys to his pocket. “Then…on Saturday I’ll bring your van back.”
“You’re not keeping my van.”
“I am,” he says so matter-of-factly my dick pulses. “Then we’ll take a drive down the coast so you can be a miserable bastard in a different zip code.”
I feel less alone right now than I have in the longest time. Hell, I’m on the verge of letting him stay at my place and spoon feed me chicken noodle soup until I’m better. So I just scowl, and look away, hoping he’ll take the win and leave me alone.
“Pack warm, you’ll need it.” The van door creeks, and just before it shuts fully he tosses in; “We’ll be gone for two nights… It’s the least you can do.”
Ipull up to Tek’s place half expecting him to not answer the door, half expecting him to take his van key back at gunpoint. Neither would be an ideal outcome, but in one of those scenarios I at least get to see him.
After cancelling his appointments and closing the shop, the only words he spoke to me on Thursday night were regarding directions to his house. Part of me did expect him to invite me in, and an even smaller part was hoping it would be the catalyst for him admitting he’s been a total ass clown, and that he does in fact want me as much as I want him—at least physically, anyway. But it was no dice for me. He snatched the keys out of my hand, took off the one for the van, and got out without so much as a look back.
