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I’m sorry my beautiful boy…
Bile crept up the back of my throat and I turned away from Brody, intent on finding someplace I could hide out for a few minutes.
“Beck.”
I stilled and forced myself to remain calm. “Yeah?” I managed to get out before I made myself turn around. Brody seemed to study me for a moment and I willed myself to relax.
“Do you want to grab some lunch?” he asked. “I’ve got plenty of stuff for sandwiches.”
Five minutes ago, I would have jumped at the offer. But now…
“Um, I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Brody dropped his gaze, but not before I saw something flash in his eyes. Holy shit, was he actually disappointed?
“Sure. Another time maybe,” he said as he turned back to fiddle with the stall door.
Except I knew there wouldn’t be another time. Emotions warred within me.
Was he just looking for an in so he could fuck me? Or did he want to be friends? Maybe he just wanted to thank me for helping with the door?
God, why the fuck was I so clueless when it came to shit like this?
“Okay,” I blurted before I could think too much about it.
It seemed like hours before Body responded. “Great. Are you ready now or do you need to finish something up?”
“Now.”
Jesus, why couldn’t I talk like a normal person instead of practically yelling one word answers at him?
“Okay, let’s go then.”
I nodded stiffly and stepped away from him. I managed to stay at his side instead of walking behind him like I was half-tempted to do. But for the life of me, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the ground.
What the hell had I just done?
ChapterEight
Brody
“Oh, hey, you’re bleeding.”
They were the first words out of Beck’s mouth since we’d left the barn and entered the communal kitchen in the staff residence.
“It’s just a scratch,” I said as I glanced at my palm. “I’ll take care of it in a second.”
Beck didn’t respond. He had the same deer in the headlights look he’d had the first day in the barn when we’d encountered one another again. I had no clue why he was so on edge since I’d spent the better part of a week ignoring him in the hopes he’d see I was no threat to him. Apparently, my efforts hadn’t worked.
“Do you want to start getting stuff out of the fridge?” I said to Beck. He nodded and after washing his hands in the sink, he began rifling through the refrigerator while I searched out the first aid kit from under the sink and then washed my hands. The cut was deep, but not so deep that it needed stiches. I gingerly dried off my palm and then took the first aid kit to the nearest table and sat down. The cut was on my right hand which made it awkward to clean.
“Here, let me,” Beck said as he approached the table. He pulled out a chair and sat down so he was facing me, our legs nearly touching.
“Thanks,” I murmured. “Clean it with this,” I instructed as I handed him a prepackaged antiseptic wipe.
I flinched as the antiseptic came into contact with the wound, but the pain disintegrated when Beck’s left hand slid beneath my outstretched hand to support it while he dabbed at the cut with his right hand. I wondered if he’d felt the jolt of electricity too. I knew he had when his eyes flashed to mine for a moment.
“Use the topical cream next,” I said, my voice sounding husky even to my own ears.
