Page 120 of Fool Me Twice

It didn’t feel like someone was whispering in his ear anymore. Like someone was making him move in directions he had no business going. He searched his heart and found the building blocks of who he loved and what truly mattered to him, their bases damaged but intact, radiating warmth.

That more than anything reassured him.

He was Hart again, and Hart had made a mess of his life. A mess that now waited for him just outside his bedroom door.

He lowered his hand and took a deep breath before sitting up slowly, ignoring the dizziness that came, with the movement.

“Easy there,” a low grumble cautioned him barely above a whisper, like they were scared to disturb Hart even though he was awake.

Hart snapped his head toward the sound, finding Cane sitting in Hart’s plush armchair, which had been relocated right next to the door. He was slumped low, with his head resting on his knuckles like he’d been there for hours.

Hart’s insides jumped at the sight of him, not believing he was truly there at first, and not something he’d just dreamed up because he wanted it so badly. His stomach curled with the need to bridge the yawning, cold gap between them, to mold himself to Cane’s body and never let go. To draw on the strength that had helped him in his worst moment and abandon himself into his care like he always had. Cane always made him feel the most like himself. He didn’t think he could trust anyone more to let him know whether he was real or not.

But a chasm of misfortune and uncertainty ran between them now, and Hart didn’t know if he could find a way across, even though he yearned for it. The realization that he’d almost lost Cane like he’d nearly lost himself was sinking in.

Hart didn’t dare take his eyes off him, drinking him in, refusing to blink, so scared that he’d vanish. That he’d wake up in that motel alone, twisting on the sheets, stuck inside his own body.

Cane didn’t look any better than Hart felt.

There were dark circles around his eyes and a bloom of bruises in every color littering his body in more colors than his tattoos. Hart didn’t know which ones had been made by his hands, and he felt sick to his stomach. Cane’s vest and jeans looked like they hung on him more than they had only a couple of weeks ago.

Hart swallowed against the guilt in his throat, the silence getting to be too much.

“You’re here,” he whispered.

Cane huffed, raising his head and rolling his eyes. “Where the fuck else would I be?”

Hart looked down to pick at the blanket. He felt so vulnerable. Flayed open. He remembered every reason why Cane could have left. How the curse had made him act. The things he’d said and done to implode his entire life. Shame colored his cheeks and his heart beat unevenly, unable to find a steady pace with the maelstrom swirling inside of him.

“Hart,” Cane said, softer this time. “Where else would I be?”

“Away from this mess?” Hart answered hoarsely, hardly able to get the words out over the lump in his throat, trying to fight back the prickle in his eyes.

He startled when Cane rose from the chair and strode over to his bed. He sat on the edge of it, reaching out until he was cupping Hart’s cheeks and holding his head to look at him.

“I don’t mind the mess,” he said.

Hart searched for the lie, looking for any sign that Cane was just telling him what he thought Hart wanted to hear.

He found none, and it made his heart ache.

“You don’t?” he whispered.

Cane shook his head, pulling Hart forward until their lips were just a breath apart. “I never did,” he said before claiming Hart’s lips in a kiss that felt lighter than anything ever had before.

Cane’s hold on Hart was still firm, still keeping him in place the way they both liked, rough thumbs stroking over his cheeks, fingers sliding into his hair. But the way his lips moved over Hart’s was different, the kiss tasted like them, familiar and achingly welcome after what Hart had been through. But the force behind it was gone. Cane moved slower. His lips featherlight against Hart’s. His tongue asking permission instead of invading.

Like he thought Hart was fragile. Like he needed coddling now after everything.

It was too much. More than he thought he deserved, and nothing he was used to.

He pushed harder into the kiss on instinct. His fingers reached up and wrapped themselves around Cane’s shirt, pulling him closer. He tongued at Cane’s piercing, tilting his head so he could grip the warm metal between his teeth.

He wanted Cane to respond. For things to go back to the way it used to be. To tread the same path, hoping it wasn’t completely broken.

“Please,” he whispered, tugging at Cane’s shirt, feeling the fabric stretch and hearing the seams strain in the quiet room.

“Hart,” Cane breathed, bracing himself on a hand to avoid being pulled down.

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