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“Who thoughtJohn Krasinske was so fucking hot?” he asks with my head in his lap. His TV room has only two big leather recliners. We wanted skin to skin, body to body, and ended up moving one of his leather sofas across the loft.
“Yeah, he was adorable as Jim, but I won’t lie. In this way, in character, I would say he’s one of my five.” I’m teasing, of course, seeing how jealous Noah can be.
“Is that so? Hmm, let me think. It’s not the actors, for me, but the characters they play. Thor, Captain America, Bruce Wayne played by George Clooney. People eat up that taboo age gap shit. Captain Kirk played by Chris Pine and Kylo Ren.”
I can’t control my cackle. “Kylo Ren? Really?”
I don’t admit that I think Adam Driver is fucking adorable, too.
“Yeah, what can I say, I like a bad boy villain.”
My hands skirt up his T-shirt, resting my fingers on his washboard abs. “I’ll show you a villain, if that’s what you’re into, but then I’ll miss out on watching Jack Ryan some more.”
“Watch your boo. I want to rest your ass for the night, or at least a little bit longer.”
I swoon a little at his tender treatment of me. “You want to take care of me, don’t you?”
“Fuck yeah, I do. You’re a bossy bottom, making it challenging at times, but I have this overwhelming need to take care of you. It’s different than the way I care for my brother. He’s the only other person on this earth who is as important to me. You’re the other person, Ashton Brooks. So, let me take care of you.”
“You’re my safety net.”
He relaxes his posture, his wandering gaze staring out into the Seattle sky. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“And I have no desire to be anywhere else, or with anyone else.”
His fingers begin to massage my scalp, and he turns on the next episode. I roll over on my side, and his fingers dance down to my thigh, resting his hand there. Another episode passes, and he turns off the television, but we don’t talk, or feel the need to fill the silence between us. His hands remain on my hip.
When he speaks, it’s nothing I expected.
“When I was six years old, I hated my brother. One day, I woke up, and I wanted nothing to do with him. I tried to move to the guest room, but he followed me. I’d wake up, and he’d be asleep on the floor next to the bed. I didn’t feel a connection with him. For six years, we played together, and he was always there. But at the age of six, I realized that the world pushed us together. It wasn’t my choice. Removing myself from himwasmy choice. I would say heartless things. Told him I wished he died at birth, and he almost did. But he never gave up on me. That’s love. His love for me. How could I walk away from it? How could I ever say those horrible words?”
I push myself to a standing position, turning around, sitting on my knees next to him on the couch.
“You were six. Only six. You can’t blame yourself. What’s important is you accepted him, and he loved you through the rough parts so you could know what love truly is. He’s your person, baby. All that matters is what you’ve been to him since then.”
Swinging one knee over his lap, I straddle him.
“You’re the first person I’ve ever shared that with. I’ve never had the courage to admit it out loud, but I’ve carried the guilt for years.”
Pain is visible in his eyes, and I hurt for him. “I will carry anything you can’t.” I press my lips to his forehead. “And that’s my promise to you, baby.”
“You sure know what to say and when to say it.”
I pull back to study his face, his captivating gaze staying on me a beat longer. He’s trusted me. It’s time to trust him.
“After losing dad—I was six—Mom had to move. We got evicted from the house we lived in with Dad, because without his salary, she couldn’t pay the rent. We moved to a rough area. She worked at our school, as a substitute teacher. Teachers make a fucking pittance to begin with, so you can imagine subs are paid even worse. When I say we had nothing, I’m not kidding. I had one Hot Wheels car, and a teddy bear my dad gave me. Tia had two dolls, both from dad, too. Anyway, mom worked at night. She had some teenager, barely thirteen, sit with us so she could pick up shifts at her friend’s bar. The girl was completely untrustworthy and would leave the house, letting some of the older boys inside our apartment. They were after Tia.
“She’d be asleep, and I’d sit in front of the door with a baseball bat. Sick bastards wanted to hurt a seven-year-old. They never got past me, but they sure as hell tried. I never told Mom because I knew she needed the money and was out of options. I’d hear her cry at night over the bills, worrying about how she’d take care of us.
“One day she got a letter in the mail stating she was eligible to apply for a grant that would help us with housing and getting her a better job. She thought it was bullshit, but a social worker came out and interviewed her, and she was accepted. The program even paid for my and Tia’s college. It put mom through school and gave her a way to provide for us. But the damage those boys did, and the fear I’d fail to keep Tia safe, is hard to shake off at times. And when you see me retreat into my shell, like a fucking turtle, this is why.”
It's his time to pull me toward him, and he drops a kiss on my forehead. “Holy fuck. No child should ever have to take on that. Did you ever tell your mom?”
“No, and please don’t think badly of her. She would have quit if I’d told her, but she was sad all the time and I just couldn’t bear to tell her one more terrible thing. It was my responsibility to be the man of the house. I know, at that age, it sounds ridiculous, but it’s the only way I could help my mom. Those filthy pigs never touched my sister, but…”
I slide my sleeve up my arm, rolling my elbow over. Underneath the bend of the elbow sits a two-inch scar. It’s faded, but the scars, both visible and invisible, still have a place on my body.
