Page 18 of Throw Down

Derek just snorted and turned his back to ladle soup into a bowl.It was exactly what Briar had meant, and they both knew it.

A minute later, Briar asked softly, “You have a girlfriend then?”

“What?” Derek glanced back at him, annoyed.Briar’s face was already beet-red from the shower, but he could have sworn it darkened a couple more shades under his scrutiny.

“You said—”

“It was a figure of speech,” Derek interrupted, but he felt himself gentling against his will.His voice had lost its growl.He slid the bowl and a few pills across the counter.“Here. Eat up.”

“I can’t believe it knocked me out like this,” Briar murmured, shivering and cupping his hands around the bowl for warmth.“I don’t usually get sick, but this hit me like a freight train.”

“It's going around.” Derek placed a glass of electrolyte water beside his dish.“You just need some rest. Get some fluids down and then I’ll leave you to sleep.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes with only the distraction of Briar slurping up his soup. When he’d finished half the bowl, he sat back and sighed.His complexion had lost some of the gray, waxy cast that had first caught Derek's attention.His lips were slightly parted, but they were flushed pink again like the night they met.Derek's attention focused on them for only a split second before he forced himself to look away.

It was old habit by now to stuff those confusing urges down and cover them with his more familiar protective instincts.

“How’d you get so good at this?” Briar asked suddenly.His voice was a painful rasp that sounded distressingly good.Like his throat had been used.

Derek coughed into his fist. “My little brother used to get sick a lot,” he said, and then he lied through his teeth and added, “You remind me of him.”

Maybe if he repeated it enough, he'd start to believe it.

Briar didn’t seem to like the sound of it any more than he did.He frowned, and his eyes dropped back to his meal.

“Well, thanks for playing big brother, I guess,” he muttered, forcefully shoving around the leftover carrots in his bowl.

Derek felt like he'd just done something dirty, like intentionally putting his boot down on something delicate and precious.Guilt tasted bitter in his mouth.Maybe that was why he volunteered, “I took care of all my siblings growing up.”

Briar's eyes sharpened. “Where were your parents?”

“Dad worked the oil fields most of the time,” Derek said reluctantly, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.“Sometimes he was gone so long that the littlest ones barely recognized him when he came back.So, it mostly came down to me.”

“What did?” Briar asked, cocking his head.

He shrugged. “Everything.”

He’d already finished wiping the counter and now he just stood there with his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, trying to make himself look smaller somehow.Trying not to fill up the room like he'd done ever since hitting puberty.Briar wasn’t acting like he was an ax murderer anymore, but it was hard to ignore the way he tensed up every time Derek got close, so he tried to make himself non-threatening.

Briar's expression was contemplative, like he wanted to ask something else, but he reconsidered and snapped his mouth shut.When he opened it again, all he said was, “I grew up in foster care, so real meals weren’t a thing most of the time.I can operate the microwave and make grilled cheese, but that’s about it.”

“Never too late to learn.”

“I usually burn the grilled cheese.” Briar added, raising a challenging eyebrow.

It startled a chuckle out ofDerek.“You might be a lost causethen.”

“Story of my life.” Briar smiled, and somehow, Derek found himself smilingback.

They studied each other for a long moment, and Derek swore he could feel something unfurling between them, connecting them like the morning glories that grew up his mother’s old trellises. Later, after he’d loaded the kid up on cold meds and made sure the door was locked behind him, it felt as if something dangerous had takenroot.

Something he had to stomp out, no matterwhat.

Chapter Eight

BRIAR

Briar slept the whole weekend, swimming in and out of fever dreams that he could barely remember by the time he hauled himself out of bed Monday morning.All he was left with were legs that felt like limp noodles and an amorphous sense of longing.No matter how much he tried to distract himself with a cheerful stream of chatter, he couldn't shake the feeling.

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