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Scotty panted, turning around and sitting up with a grimace. He was tender as fuck, and Zander’s cum oozed out of him. “You’re gonna need a new couch.” He cleared his throat, glancing over at Zander. “Cum’s all over this one.”
Zander didn’t respond, so Scotty touched his shoulder. “Are you ready to tell me”—his gaze shot to the silent Vince and back—“us what happened?”
Zander didn’t speak for another minute or so and then he sighed, scrubbing a shaking hand over his jaw. “I killed Derri.”
31
They cleaned up, all three of them, and then they were back in Zander’s big bed.
Zander sat with his back against the headboard, Vince in the middle of the bed facing him, sitting cross-legged.
Scotty studied the both of them from his position, lying next to Zander.
After informing them about Derri’s death, Zander hadn’t uttered another word. Scotty hadn’t yet gotten acclimated to how easily Zander spoke about killing. How easily he did said killing. Maybe he should be hesitant to be in this space with two men who had zero qualms about it, but just like earlier when Zander had fucked him all rough and punishing, he couldn’t muster up whatever part of him should care.
Maybe he was fucked up.
But the other two men in the bed with him were just as fucked up, if not more, so he figured he was in good company. “Tell us what happened,” he urged Zander, who looked like that was the last thing he wanted to do.
“Wait. Hold up.” Vince held up a hand, glancing from Zander to Scotty. “Is that really something you want to know about?” he asked Scotty, eyebrows raised. “Can you handle it?”
Scotty frowned. What kind of question was that? “I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t,” he responded. “And look, I don’t need every minute detail, but clearly Zander feels a way about…what happened.” He shrugged. “So if he wants to share then I’m listening.” He didn’t know much about relationships, but he knew enough to know that your partner deserved a judgment-free space, right? Somewhere to unload? He was determined to be that person for both of his men.
“There’s nothing to tell.” Zander rubbed the back of his neck with a grimace. “The minute I chose you two, Derri was on borrowed time.”
He was calm; way too calm, in Scotty’s opinion. Zander and Derri had shared a life at one point. They’d had a bond that even Scotty had taken note of. It hadn’t gone away just because of the distance the two men had put between them or even Zander’s relationship with Vince and Scotty.
“I’m sorry.” He laid a hand on Zander’s bicep. “I’m sure that must have hurt.” And he also knew that Derri must have given Zander no other choice, so he voiced that as well because he saw the guilt Zander tried so hard to hide. He felt the pain in every line of Zander’s body. He was hurting. Taking Derri’s life had not been an easy thing for Zander to do.
“You would not have been safe,” Zander said softly. His gaze trekked from Vince to Scotty, lingering. “You would not have been safe with him around.”
That much Scotty knew.
“Then you did what had to be done,” Vince told Zander.
He did, but Vince had to know that the outcome wasn’t what Zander would’ve preferred. Scotty didn’t think the situation was as cut and dried as Vince wanted to make it appear. He had to notice the flare of resentment in Zander’s eyes that said his hand had been forced.
Sitting up, Scotty climbed into Zander’s lap and hugged him. “I know you loved him,” he murmured in Zander’s ear. “You’re hurting and that’s okay.” He wished there’d been someone around to speak those latter five words to him when he’d been in the throes of his shit, fighting his own demons. He wished there’d been someone around with a hug, offering a safe space to fall apart. “You protected us and we love you for it, but you can do that and still wish that it all went down differently.”
Zander’s breath hitched and his arms went around Scotty, holding him tight.
It hurt, but Scotty breathed through it. “It’s okay.” He stroked the back of Zander’s neck. “It’s okay.” He glanced over his shoulder at Vince. “We’re here.”
Vince joined them, putting his arms around both of them and whispering to Zander, “You can grieve him. You can grieve the man he was, the man you loved. You’re safe with us.”
Scotty hadn’t expected such tenderness from him, and neither had Zander apparently because he broke then. Zander’s body shook as he buried his face in Scotty’s neck and reached out a hand to Vince, clinging to his t-shirt with a fist. Zander didn’t make a sound, but Scotty felt the trickle of his tears on his skin. His heart broke for Kian, the man Zander had been once upon a time. The one who’d loved Derri so much. He’d trusted Derri with his life, as evidenced by that dangerous plan they’d concocted to deal with Zander’s uncle. Kian and Derri had sacrificed themselves, their hearts, and their relationship for a greater purpose and ended up being casualties of said purpose.
It was heartbreaking, and Scotty understood Derri’s resentment toward him and Vince. He didn’t know that if the roles were reversed he wouldn’t have acted the same way Derri did. So he gave Zander his support, his skin soaking up all of Zander’s tears, his hand stroking Zander’s nape, the top of his head, his ears. Doing anything to help with Zander’s pain while Vince whispered to him, telling him it was okay to cry. Okay to be angry and sad. Okay to miss Derri.
Scotty had been at his lowest that night when he’d tried to rob Zander’s mechanic shop. The man he’d met that night, the one with the dead eyes and cold words, that man was now crying on his shoulder. Life had a way of surprising you and Scotty hadn’t ever taken the chance to appreciate that fact.
Now he was.
He sent up a silent prayer of gratitude to whoever was listening—before, he would’ve said nobody was—for the moment he was in, for the men he’d found himself forever connected to, and he vowed to always be their support in whatever way they needed.
Time went by and they remained as they were, until finally Zander lifted his head off Scotty’s shoulder and unclenched his fingers from Vince’s t-shirt. His eyes were still wet, and red, too, as was the tip of his nose, but he looked them in the eye, and he touched their faces—one in each hand.
“Thank you.” He cleared his throat and swallowed, voice raspy when he repeated, “Thank you.”
