Page 313 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“Visit me.”

Ronan’s chest tightened. He looked down. Elliot’s eyes were closed. No manipulation that Ronan could see. No smile. Just fear. Ronan could have promised. He didn’t. Instead he ran his fingers through Elliot’s hair. Once. Twice. Again. Elliot understood the non-answer. Neither spoke after that. Outside, the patrol cruiser remained beneath the streetlight. Nathan Reed sat somewhere in police custody. Detective Vance was probably awake. Saint was still out there. Five people were still dead. None of it had changed. But Ronan looked at the man curled against his chest and finally admitted the one truth he had been avoiding since Elliot opened the black container beneath the stairs. The murders might change whether Ronan could forgive him. They might change whether he could protect him.

They might eventually change whether they had any future at all. But they had not changed whether Ronan loved him. That was the part he didn't know how to survive.

Chapter Twenty-Six — Mine Anyway

ELLIOT

TUESDAY · 8:17 A.M.

Elliot woke with his teeth against Ronan’s shoulder. Not biting. Just there. His mouth rested against warm skin a few inches below the fresh mark he had left hours earlier, and for several seconds he remained completely still. Morning light pressed weakly around the blinds. Ronan’s breathing remained slow. One arm lay heavily across Elliot’s waist. The other was bent above his head. Bandage around the forearm. Three stitches beneath it. Elliot stared. Nathan had done that. Anger arrived immediately. Sharp. Clean. Familiar. He closed his eyes. No. That was the problem now. Every emotion still wanted to become action. Jealousy wanted punishment. Fear wanted control. Anger wanted blood. Love wanted possession. Elliot had spent years believing that knowing what he felt was the same as controlling it.

Apparently not. He moved his mouth away from Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan’s arm tightened.

“Don’t.”

Elliot froze.

“You’re awake.”

“No.”

“You just spoke.”

“Sleep talking.”

“You’re terrible at it.”

Ronan opened one eye. His hair was a disaster. Elliot liked him like this. Too much.

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.”

“You moved.”

“My face was against you.”

“Tragic.”

Elliot smiled. Ronan closed his eye again. For several seconds, neither moved. Then Ronan said:

“You’re staring.”

“Yes.” “Creepy.” “Yes.” “Planning my murder?” Elliot’s entire body went still. Ronan opened both eyes. “Bad joke.” “Yes.” “Sorry.” Elliot looked away. Ronan’s arm tightened around him again. “Hey.” “What?” “Look at me.” Elliot did. “I’m sorry.” “You don’t need to apologize.” “I definitely do.” Elliot stared. Ronan sighed. “I’m going to say stupid shit while my brain catches up.” “Okay.” “Some of it will probably hurt.” “Okay.” “Tell me when it does.” Elliot almost laughed. “You think I’m going to do that?” “No.” “Then why ask?” “Because apparently optimism is my newest personality defect.” Elliot smiled. Ronan watched him. The smile slowly disappeared. “What?” Ronan’s eyes moved over his face. “You look different.” Elliot’s stomach tightened. “How?” “I don’t know.” “That’s reassuring.” “No. Not bad.” “Then what?” Ronan thought. “Less polished.” Elliot looked away. There it was. The thing everyone loved. Golden boy. Sweet Elliot. Perfect Elliot. Good Elliot. The mask that existed long before porcelain. Ronan touched his chin.

“Don’t.”

Elliot looked back.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

“I like this one better.”

Silence. Elliot stared. Ronan’s thumb moved once across his jaw.