My eyes widen and my throat goes dry. “It’s not…I’m not…”
His tone softens. “Then tell me why you do this. Why are you so scared?”
“I…” The words are stuck in my throat, and I’m choking on them. And suddenly I can feelhimagain—violating my body. And even though it’s a memory, the pain is there, sharp and hot, like it’s happening again in real time, and I rear back, pushing Michaels out of my space.
He stumbles, his foot slipping on the icy deck, and he falls on his ass. His arm hits the table, and coffee spills everywhere.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, Stitch.” I reach out to help him up.
He looks up at me with tear-filled eyes and slaps my hand away. “You don’t want to share? Fine. But you don’t get to call me that anymore. It’s not a cute nickname, and it just reminds me that I’m a fucking failure.” He grabs the coffee mug, surges to his feet, and pins me with a glare. “But you know what? I’d rather be someone like me. At least I’m honest with myself. Whoareyou, Sebastian? Because from where I stand, you’re just a lying dick.”
“Michaels, wait! C’mon. Don’t be like that.”
But he’s already stormed inside, slamming the door behind him.
His words shouldn’t cut like they do, but I find myself rubbing my chest uncomfortably. I go to finish off my tea and frown when I realize my cup is empty.
“Great,” I mutter and follow behind Michaels.
I don’t immediately see him when I enter, so I assume he’s in the loft. I wander into the kitchen and refill my mug, this time with straight bourbon.
I stare out the window.
I hate that I’m not normal. My issues go beyond my sexual orientation, whatever that may be. I can’t just enjoy sex. Hell, I can’t just enjoypeople. There’s always this invisible wall that separates me from my emotions. It’s the only way I can describe it. I can see how Ishouldfeel and how Ishouldreact, but usually, I feel nothing.
Now, though?
Now I feel fear all the time, but it’s warring with want and pleasure and this overwhelming need for these two people, and I don’t understand what’s happening.
When I met Fi, I knew she was different for me because for the first time in forever, I felt a tickle in my stomach. When she spoke to me, gave me a flirty look, or casually touched me, it felt like something inside me had finally woken up. And now that Michaels is in the mix, the two of them somehow light me on fire and I’m waiting for whatever this is to fizzle out, and I’ll be left alone with nothing but ash.
The bathroom door opens, and Fi walks out. I know that people look more attractive the more you get to know them, but every time I see her, she steals the breath from my fucking lungs. She’s dressed in skinny jeans and an oversized sweater, and she’s drying her damp hair with a towel, droplets of water dripping down her neck in a very distracting way.
“Where’s B?” she asks, glancing around.
I look away.
“What did you do, Seb?”
“I—”
I, what?
I pushed him away again? When he was trying to connect with me? Again.
I couldn’t deal with my own shit so I hurt him instead?
Again.
But I’m afraid of what happened to me and what all of this means.
“I was an asshole,” I finally admit.
Fi purses her lips knowingly. “Not that I’m super surprised, but being that we’ve had a few breakthrough moments together in the last day or so, can I ask why?”
“I just…” I rub my hands down my face. “Fuck. He asked me about something I’m not ready to talk about. Yet.” In that moment, I wish I could be as carefree as Brantley and just lay myemotions on the table. I’m tired of coming off as this closed-off prick when I’m actually just so fucking scared. “But I will,” I say loud enough for my voice to carry. “I’m just not ready right now.”
Fi gives me a sympathetic look.
