Page 24 of Ask Me For Fire


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Are you going to do anything with your life?

Why? Why, Ambrose?

You’re pathetic. Worthless. How could I have given birth to a son with not an iota of talent?

Do you want to know why I cheated? Because I could. Because I knew you wouldn’t notice.

Why? Why can’t you?

It was a hot metal band around his throat, a lead weight in his lungs. The attack came on so fast he didn’t even have time to stumble over to his own house, where he could be safe and away from prying eyes.

“Ambrose? Shit.” He was gently moved until his back was pressed to the couch cushions. “Easy, easy. I’m here.”

Warm hands squeezed his but as they moved away, he scrambled for them. He needed their weight, their warmth; an anchor for him against the narrowing tunnel of his vision. “Breathe, Ambrose. I know you feel hollow or too tight right now. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

His hand was drawn up and settled against soft fabric, under which beat a steadythumpthumpthump. That rhythm lulled some part of his screaming, aching mind into a safer, quieter space. “Breathe for me. Just breathe. Listen to me if you can, but don’t worry about anything else other than that.”

Watching Ambrose go nearly catatonic with anxiety or some kind of panic attack sent Barrett’s blood pressure spiking. Behind them, Dandi whined and he blindly thrust out his free hand. It was met with a sloppy, wet tongue and a bump from a velvety head. “Good girl,” he crooned softly. “Come sit with us.”

If this was his nephew, he would have pulled Ambrose into his lap and held him until he shook loose of whatever trap his mind had laid out. Same went for Val. But Ambrose was neither; hells, he wasn’t even a …

Barrett paused. Well, he supposed he was a friend. It’s not like he’d lied to the other man, the one who was apparently responsible for Ambrose’s distress. That thought made him see red for a brief moment, until Ambrose inhaled shakily and blinked at him. There was a haziness to his eyes Barrett didn’t like, so he squeezed the hand on his chest. “Just breathe for me. It’ll pass, I promise.”

He stayed like that for several minutes, crouched between long legs, bony knees pressing into his ribs, and Ambrose squeezing his hand for all he was worth. His eyes were closed, his body limp against the couch cushions. The fire, the anger, he’d seen earlier was gone and now there was a vulnerability to the other man. It hurt to look at. If he knew anything about Ambrose, he knew the man was quick to make decisions and stick with them, for good or ill. He was sturdy, almost unbending.

Something about him now made Barrett’s protective instincts kick in. Maybe it was the rumpled blue sweater, the wrinkles in a pattern that made him think it had been on the floor, maybe stepped on a few times. The chinos were creased like they’d been at the bottom of a drawer for too long. The kind of thing you pull on in a hurry, half-blind in the dark and simply looking to be decent.

But what Barrett fixated on was the hair. Dark auburn waves that curled and snarled about Ambrose’s fascinating, strange face. His hair looked soft, such a contrast to the sharp angles and swooping curves of cheekbones that seemed to defy logic. The beard Ambrose had been growing over the winter was a dark brown and it strangely suited him well. Barrett figured if you had an interesting face, one might as well let the world see it. But it wasn’thisface.

So instead he tried not to stare or think about how Ambrose seemed to withdraw from everyone but him.

Dandi whined again and then her big head came to rest on Ambrose’s knee. “Dandi, hey, no.”

“She’s okay.”

Something in his chest crumpled with relief. “Hey.”

Ambrose’s mouth twitched, an aborted smile that was hidden in his beard. “Hey.”

“Can I…?” He pointed at the couch and Ambrose nodded. Once he was seated - close but not touching, their only point of contact their linked hands - Barrett said, “Do you need some water or a cold rag?”

Ambrose shivered. “Water would be good.”

“Back in a flash.”

When he came back, Ambrose was stroking Dandi’s lopsided, floppy ears, her face cradled so gently between his palms. “Good girl. You’re a good girl.” Barrett wanted to stand there in his hallway and watch. Instead, he walked over and offered the glass. Ambrose drained half before setting it to the side on the coffee table.

Barrett now only had to wait him out.

“I figured I had a fifty-fifty chance of a panic attack after Preston showed up at my door.” Ambrose’s next inhale was shaky. “I think I was too generous in my estimation.”

He had to ask. “Ex?”

“Yeah.”

“Recent?”

“No, thank fuck.” Another shaky inhale. “Four years ago.”

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