I give myself a teasing stroke, thinking about the little bit of skin she was showing last night, and what she would look like if I-
Shit.
I tear my hand from my boxers the moment I realize what I’m doing, leaving my cock hard and aching without relief.
But I can’t think about Iris that way when we only had one date.
It ain’t right. It’s disrespectful to her.
Alex comes out of his room when I’m making myself some coffee, humming an old classic rock song.
He’s being real quiet.
Like he’s trying not to wake me up.
I already got a smile on my face, excited to tell Alex about my date. “Morning, kid,” I call out, turning to face him.
His shoulders are hunched under a black hoodie, and his head is ducked, blonde hair falling forward.
At first, I don’t see it, still caught up in last night.
But then he looks up.
The bruise is ugly. Purple and raw, swollen around his eye, and every happy thought I had this morning fades, replaced by a sick feeling of horror. Coffee sloshes out of my mug onto the floor.
“Shit, Alex!” I exclaim, going to see about him, but hisposture locks up instantly.
Defensive.
“It’s nothing,” he says, with an edge, telling me not to poke, but I don’t give a damn.
“It doesn’t look like nothing,” I snap. “Who the hell did this?”
He shrugs, not looking at me. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Alex. Please. Talk to me.” His jaw clenches so tight I can see the muscles flutter under his skin, but he doesn’t say a word.
“I’m serious,” I press, reaching toward the bruise, “If someone did this—”
“I said it’s fine,” he bites out, but his voice cracks.
He turns away, hiding the evidence, and it guts me that he’s shutting me out. We’ve always been a team, told each other everything, but right now, it feels like we’re a million miles apart, and I can’t do anything to reach him.
I’m hit with a strong wave of guilt.
I was off at the damn festival, on a date, while Alex was out there, god knows where, hurt. I’ve known something was going on with him since the start of the school year.
Hell, I don’t think I’ve had a normal conversation with the kid since that first morning.
I take a shaky breath and try again. “Come on, man. You know you can tell me anything, right?” A flicker of something passes over his face, but then it’s gone.
His gaze drops to the floor.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, and the way he says it, how small he sounds, scares me more than the bruise.
I feel fucking helpless.
“You don’t have to talk right now, but you’re not alone, okay? Whatever this is, you don’t have to deal with it by yourself.”
