Page 90 of Lucky 14

But Oakley loses it first. His face cracks, then he lets loose a muffled sob as he shoves me back. “Get off me!” He scrambles back on the bed. “I will never be good enough!”

There’s a tingling of something in my chest. There’s something else there, and I’m not sure exactly what it is. But it makes my hand itch. It itches to touch Oakley. To smooth down the shirt over his back. To get him something to drink. A pill to take it all away.

Only, I don’t have substances to give him. Annoyance flares, and I clench and unclench my hands. The pure pain twisting my little mousey’s body makes the floodgates of my own control budge, as if they’re about to burst all over the place.

Fear rocks me at the idea. I can’t let that happen. Nothing good ever happens when I lose control.

So instead, I shift toward Oakley, unsure exactly what to do but knowing I have to do something. I lean over and pat Oakley on the back. Once, twice, and then his crying picks up more. I panic a little more. What else can I do?

Looking around, I suddenly have an idea. Grabbing Oakley up, I put him over my shoulder. He gives up a strangled sound, but I get him to the bathroom and turn the shower on, waiting impatiently.

“Ky, what⁠—”

I don’t even take our clothes off. I just open the shower door, shove Oakley into the spray, and step in after him. It’s still cool, and he makes a startled sound. Then, I’m pinning Oakley against the side of the shower, water running down both of us, wrapping us in its cool embrace.

“Kyan!”

“Shhhh.” I close my eyes, feeling the patter of the water over my back. It’s already starting to warm, and the water falls over both of us, washing away all the yuck, like water always does. It’s battering our heads, making the air easier to breathe. Loosening the tightness in my chest.

Oakley is still stiff, chest heaving, and I don’t know whether it’s because he’s upset or shocked. Taking the hand that was on the wall, I pat his shoulder, slowly, running circles over the muscles there. Slowly, he relaxes, and as he does, it calms the panic in me as well.

Oakley clasps onto me, gripping me in a hug. I grind into him, expecting him to make a move on me. But Oakley doesn’t try to grind into me, nor does he grope me. He just…holds me.

I’m wrapped up in the arms of another man, and it isn’t a sexual thing.

And I don’t know what to do with it.

Oakley buries his face in my chest, feeling everything. And that makes the floodgates of my control want to burst. But as soon as the giant wall of fear hits, the water and Oakley’s warm presence brushes it down, his grip around me almost like the warmth that alcohol brings.

And so, slowly, I relax into him. It feels odd as parts of my body relax, sans substances. What is this?

We stand there for a while, water dripping off our clothes and hair. I’m unsure what’s happening to me. It’s uncomfortable and foreign.

Finally, in a soft voice I can barely hear over the water, Oakley asks, “Why does everyone leave me?”

I blink the water out of my eyes, staring at the wet ends of Oakley’s hair.

Everyone leaves him? Why the hell would he care? People leaving means safety.

But Oakley seems to care. He seems to care a shit-ton. He won’t even look at me.

As I think about it, my chest gets tight. No wonder Oakley looks tortured. Putting your trust in people just means you’ll get hurt. How did he not already learn this? Nellie was the first person I trusted. And she’s gone. And I never did it again.

The silence stretches on, and I realize Oakley is waiting for an answer, and I have absolutely no idea what the answer is. It’s like all the words are lodged in my chest and nothing will come out, which is the weirdest sensation. I always have something to say.

So, I clear my throat and default to what I know. “If you won’t put purple in your hair, red would be sexy.”

For a second, there’s silence, and that silence feels so loud. Normally, I don’t give a fuck how people think about my responses. But right now, oddly, I think I fucking do. And the silence goes on for so long, I start to panic. Cause I think that was the wrong thing to say.

Then there’s a tiny chuckle, and Oakley pulls back, wiping his eyes. “Fuck, that was embarrassing. I don’t think I’ve slept in…I’m actually not sure. I think I’m going a little crazy.”

Relief floods me so hard I can’t breathe. Oakley is okay. I’m okay. Everything will be okay. I say, “You’re not crazy.”

Oakley looks around. “I’m soaked.” Then he turns those eyes up at me, and there’s accusation. “These are the only clothes I have!”

The relief of seeing that spark back in his eyes almost makes me giddy. I turn the water off and shake my head, spraying him with water. “What, you didn’t pack your jammies, mousey?”

Oakley is silent, and right after I ask it, I wonder what kind of jammies Oakley sleeps in. And then his face gets red, and I wonder if he sleeps in the nude.