Page 65 of The Key Holder

He shook his head, burying his face again. “You don’t understand, Ford. You don’t get it,” he mumbled into the pillow.

“Try me,” I urged, moving closer, lying down next to him. “Help me understand.”

He was silent for a while, though he had plenty of sniffles. After a few minutes, he slowly pushed himself up and leaned against the headboard, clutching the blanket to his chest like a shield.

“It’s not just him seeing me,” he began, his voice trembling. “It’s him seeing it. The cage. It just reminds me of everything.” He gestured in the air with one hand, then let it fall. “Of how foolish I’ve been. How many times I’ve let myself be used. How I just gave myself away, like I meant nothing.”

My heart ached for him, but I was starting to connect the dots. His shitty luck with guys had led him to a place of insecurity despite his bravado. He'd been so busy building walls with every sarcastic comment, I doubted he even remembered what was on the other side.

“Hey,” I said, reaching out to take his hand. His fingers were cold and clammy. “What happened before…that’s not who you are now. That’s not what we are.”

He pulled his hand away, running it through his messy hair. “But it is who I was, and it feels like he just saw all of it. All the mistakes. All the times I chased something, anything, just to feel love, and it always ended up being nothing…or worse.” His voice cracked. “And the cage—it was supposed to be a way to reset, to be better. But down there, it was like a sign. A big, flashing sign that says, ‘Here’s the guy who can’t control himself. Here’s the slut.’”

The word moved through the air like an arrow to my heart.

“Don’t you dare call yourself that,” I said, my voice firm, and reached for his hand again. “Listen to me. What happened in your past led you here. To this cabin. To us.” His grip grew stronger; I wasn’t letting go anytime soon. “And I don’t care what Axel thinks he saw. He saw a glimpse of something he doesn’t understand, but what I see is a man who is brave enough to change, and to take a chance…on me.”

He looked at me, his eyes wide, searching.

“The cage,” I continued, my voice softening, “is a symbol of your strength. Your commitment to yourself. Anyone who looks at it and thinks anything else doesn’t matter.”

He sniffled. “But it’s so embarrassing. I forgot they were even here. I just wanted to find you.” A faint flush crept up his neck, and a ghost of a smile touched his lips, squeezing the last tear out of his eye.

The thought of me seemed to break him out of his spiral, so I leaned into that. “Whatever happened before this summer led you right here. To me.”

He pulled his hand free and wiped his face.

I continued, “So what if Axel saw the cage? You said it yourself, my cock belongs to you.” Our eyes met and we smiled. “And if he says anything about yours, I’ll tell him to shut the fuck up.”

A laugh, surprised and relieved, bubbled up from his chest. There was my Dylan.

“That’s my boy,” I murmured, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. I pulled back, still holding his gaze. “But maybe we just try to ignore them? They’re not worth it.”

He nodded, a small, tight smile on his face. With every breath, I could see the tension in his shoulders lessen. He moved closer to me, and I wrapped my arm around him. His gaze drifted to my neck, to the silver chain nestled against my skin. He reached out, and I twitched when his fingers brushed my neck ever so slightly.

“I didn’t know you were ticklish here.”

“Not ticklish, just sensitive.”

A glance down told me he had the key in his hand. He was turning it over in his fingers, tracing its intricate shape with his thumb. The casual touch sent a warmth through me that had nothing to do with heat outside.

“I like this.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, my voice a little huskier than I expected.

“I like that you have it.”

“Good.” I wasn’t sure why he liked it so much, but if his focusing on my pretty necklace was enough to calm him down, then that worked for me.

The muffins!

“I forgot about the muffins,” I said, pushing myself out of the bed.

“Muffins?”

“Yeah, I was making them for us. I’m sure the first batch is burnt to shit, but there’s more batter. I can make another batch.” As I walked out, I looked back at Dylan sitting on the bed. He wasn’t curled up anymore, but watching me, a soft, thoughtful expression on his face. “I’ll bring some up when they’re ready.”

“Extra butter please.”