Page 9 of Caught from Behind

Kit sighs.

I immediately stop thinking about my biceps and how they’re angry at me just for considering picking up the broom and glance over at my friend.

He’s staring at his cell, his brows furrowed, and I can tell, just by the tense way he’s holding his shoulders, that his boyfriend, Patton, is being an asshole.

Again.

Ignoring my pissed-off biceps, I snag the broom and start sweeping, mostly so I don’t snatch the phone out of Kit’s hands and launch it against the wall. Patton would still find a way to get his hooks into Kit again, to seduce him with his yummy body and perfect hair into ignoring no shortage of red flags.

I need to employ my sneaky matchmaking skills.

Or unmatching in this case.

I sweep up the hair, use my foot to trigger the fancy vacuum that means we don’t have to use dustpans, and then make my way over to Kit once he sets his phone aside.

“Spill,” I order.

He looks up at me guiltily.

“Kit,” I say softly.

“He doesn’t mean it,” my friend begins, “and this time it was my fault, I?—”

I grind my teeth together, biting back the rejoinder that Kit always says it’s his fault—for working too much, for wanting their apartment clean, for wanting to hang out with his friends, for needing to have a life that doesn’t solely revolve around his relationship.

Patton wants Kit in a box, small and contained.

And I can’t stand that.

Kit is sweet and kind and has a wicked sense of humor. The world deserves to see that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask softly when he doesn’t go on.

“No,” he says, shoving his phone in his pocket. “I’ll just hash it out with him when he gets home.”

I do some more grinding, knowing Kit’s an adult and can make his own decisions?—

But they’re bad decisions!

He needs to be with someone who can love him like he deserves to be loved.

“And if you two can’t hash it out?” I can’t help but ask.

I want him to say that they’ll break up.

He doesn’t.

He never does.

Instead, he just sighs and fiddles with a strand of his hair, pushing it off before releasing it and allowing it to fall forward over his forehead again. Then repeating the process and making my fingers itch to take over. “It’ll be fine,” he finally says. “We’re always fine.”

I want Kit to have more than fine.

But now’s not the time.

So, I just bat his hands away, fix the strand of hair he’s fussing with, and give him a hug, whispering, “You deserve the world, honey. I hope you know that.”

“You’re a good friend, Ells,” he murmurs as he squeezes me back. Then he’s breaking the hug and gathering up his stuff, logging off his computer, moving toward the front door, waving goodbye. But I don’t miss that he doesn’t agree with me.

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