Page 41 of 72 Hours

I remembered their taste and groaned inside. “Look, there are things I should have said, you know.”

“Really?”

It jolted me a bit, to see him smiling, but the nagging inside me insisted I continue. “So, okay, I mean that there were better things I should have said. I know I talk a lot, but often it’s shit. Most of it’s hiding the real stuff. And the fight... well, it wasn’t the first time we fought, was it? I always pushed at you, way too much. Then never gave us a proper chance to see it through.”

He looked at me warily, as if I might suddenly turn aggressive like Dylan and bite him. As if he didn’t entirely believe I could carry on a properly controlled personal conversation. I didn’t like to admit he might be right.

“Tanner.” He sighed. “You just never seemed to believe anything I had to say. When I finally gathered my thoughts into words, it was as if you listened with only half an ear. And then you’d be gone before I could elaborate. You never told me what the hell things were really about—what you wanted from me. Never gave me enough to go on.” He didn’t sound as accusing as he might have done. Just a bit bemused. Sad.

“Yeah. And of course, that’s exactly what I accused you of.” I guess I’d known I was doing it, even at the time. We’d argue, and then if he didn’t come back immediately with what I wanted to hear... well, I went out to nurse my own conclusions. I’d thought him the withdrawn one, but then I rode roughshod over whatever he came up with anyway.

Fucking mess it all was.

“Didn’t give us a proper chance,” I repeated dully. “I just wanted you, too, Niall—at any cost. Didn’t think we needed more than that.”

We were silent for a moment. I yawned, wondering if I’d ever be able to get to sleep tonight, wondering if I could persuade my newly awakened libido to take a virtual cold shower.

“We worked well enough together.” His voice broke into my thoughts, slow and careful. “We respected each other, admired each other. Enjoyed each other’s company. It was always a hell of lot more than the sex.”

Startled, I stared at him.

“As far as I was concerned, anyway. I didn’t think it needed saying.” He looked defensive. “Of course, that was the problem. I know I’m too introspective for your liking. I was never a match for you.”

“What?”

He shifted his feet. I wasn’t used to seeing Niall Sutherland uncomfortable. “I’m not going to admit I bored you, Tanner, but it felt like it sometimes. I just dealt with things a different way, handled the pressure differently. It was increasingly obvious that you hated that.”

“Stop right there,” I said. “That’s crap. I was the boring one. I was the bleeding sore on the skin of your self-contained world. I was the one demanding all the attention.” I was the burden. I drew a deep breath. “I was the one who got careless and saw you nearly killed.”

He shook his head impatiently. “You’re still going on about that.”

“It’s been a long three months, you know? Given me time to think things through. Beat myself up some more.”

“Don’t.” He moved a step towards me. He looked pretty angry. “Now that’s crap! I couldn’t stand that self-pity, that blinkered view you had of it all. The business at the club was never your fault. We were working together, it could have happened at any time, to any of us there. But despite all the words you spewed out, all the fights, all the jokes—you never talked properly to me about it. We never got anything clear. And I didn’t know how to start that conversation with you, Tanner. It seemed every time I thought about trying, you were on your way out partying and the opportunity was lost.”

Another brief silence.

“They were shit,” I said. “The parties.”

“I know they were.” For a moment we wore matching, rueful smiles. “Tanner, I could tell when you were enjoying things and when you weren’t. But if you preferred to be elsewhere, I wasn’t going to beg for your time.”

“I was in the way,” I said weakly.

“Never,” he replied. “But I let you think that, I know.”

My mouth closed on the words I’d been forming. I couldn’t find anything else.

Niall lifted his face to the ceiling and sighed. “I might not have understood how you were affected by the whole attack, but I did know you were pissed at the investigation, and the stream of people coming in and out of the apartment, and the fact that things had gone so wrong.” He breathed deeply. “I let it slide, regardless. You see, I was distracted. By my own problems.”

“Shit, Niall.”

“No, let me talk. I was furious at being injured, angry that I couldn’t contribute to Mission Dove. It was important to me... to be useful. To make a difference. And now I was out of it all.” He paused a moment. “Mixed up with that, I was pissed at you. Pissed that I couldn’t understand you, that I couldn’t seem to be the right person for you. But I shouldn’t have left it like that. I knew you particularly resented Joe being there—and I confess I let that continue.” He looked back at me, and his hand lifted slightly from his side, like he wanted to appeal to me. “Both Joe and I were thoughtless, but it was my fault.”

Shit. I ran a hand around the back of my neck. “Never heard so much from you before, Niall. Hell of a dangerous time to be baring our souls.”

“I know. But that’s how it is.” He turned away. “I think we agree we’re dangerous to each other.”

I thought vividly of his fingers on my skin and his thighs pressing against mine. “There’s more than one kind of danger,” I whispered. I don’t think he heard.