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“Hey,” I say, reaching for his hand once more and giving it a quick, firm squeeze. “It’s okay.”
He doesn’t look like he believes me.
“Neither of us handled this well. Okay? It’s not all on you.”
Skyler swallows and finally gives me a nod.
“I’m sorry I made you feel like you were nothing.”
He sucks his cheek in and nods again.
I blow out a breath, considering my next words. “Skyler…I can’t—”
His face bunches. “I know,” he cuts in.
I stare at him.
“I know it’s not gonna happen again. I just…” He trails off and looks away. “You didn’t hurt me, okay? I liked it. I wanted it. Don’t…feel guilty, or…or relapse because of me. I don’t want to be the thing that sets you back.”
A pang ignites in my chest at his words, and my gaze falls to where our hands fit together, fingers so effortlessly laced. I’d meant to let go—it was just to reassure him—and yet here we are again.
Working my jaw, I debate what to do here.
The rational, responsible part of me is telling me to take the out he’s offering me.
But the part of me that remembers what Skyler looked like, mouth stretched around my cock…
The part of me that’s been replaying those moments in the cave over and over again in my head these last few days, despite how hard I tried to think about anything but.
The part of me that is curious…desperate…lonely and miserable and can’t think about anything beyondnow, now, this is all you have now…
Well, that part seems to be much bigger and louder.
Even louder than the voice calling me all sorts of sick names. Ones that are arguably accurate.
Even louder than the warning bells going off, telling me what a bad idea this is. I’m anaddict.This is rehab. This is…the last thing I need right now.
“You really want this?” I hear myself whisper.
He stills. Slowly, slowly, his gaze returns to mine and he holds it with a firm nod. “Yes.”
I swallow tightly. Now I’m the one struggling not to look away.
“But only if you do.”
A short rusty laugh escapes me at that, and I rub my palm over my mouth, nodding.
“I can’t promise you anything,” I tell him, dropping my hand, repeating my earlier statement. “I’m here for six more weeks, and then—”
“Me too,” he rushes out, fumbling over his words. His gaze widening.
I crack a small smile. “Yeah?”
A nod. The eyes peering up at me are big, wide, and hopeful. “At least, that’s what I was told when I arrived. Eight weeks total. Ish.”
“Right. Ish.”
He lifts a shoulder, looking self-conscious all of a sudden. “It wouldn’t really make sense outside of here. Right?”
