Page 44 of Too Hostile

He pulls me up to him, slamming his mouth to mine as we kiss and then fall to the bed, not missing a beat. Despite being sticky with cum and our cocks being soft, we kiss and kiss some more. His hands slide through my hair, and I feel every single thing deep inside my chest as his lips remain on mine.

We say so many things in this kiss. Things I so desperately want to say out loud but haven’t allowed myself to do it. He’s fully naked, and I’m still clothed with a mess in my shorts, but I can’t stop kissing him.

I don’t want to. The things he makes me feel are unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I spent so much of my life being closed-off and not trusting anyone. Then he just barreled his way into my life and opened me in ways I’ve never experienced.

“Shower with me,” he breathes against my lips, and I barely manage a nod before he pulls me away from the bed, but my lips are still seeking his out as we make our way to the bathroom. He manages to get the shower on and my clothes off, and the whole time, I cling to him.

Terrified to let him go for even a second. I’m desperate and needy. So unlike me. But I don’t take the time to worry about it. We wash each other as we kiss, and when he turns off the shower, I grab a soft fluffy towel on the rack and dry him off and then myself, and then it’s back to the bed.

His kiss is soft and exploring, but it seems like he’s not ready to let me go just yet either, and I’m more than fine with that.

“My mother was really young when she had me,” I blurt out, and Fletcher slowly backs away from my mouth, pulling back a little but enough to look into my eyes with surprise.

“What?”

I realize this is super awkward timing while we’re lying naked in bed and kissing, but for some reason, I have to tell him this. I need him to know me—really know me. “She was really young. Way too damn young to have me.”

He takes a deep breath, and it’s like he understands what’s happening now, a look of peace coming over his features as he tucks his hands under his cheek and stares at me as we lie on our sides.

“Her parents were super religious, I guess, and kicked her out when they found out she was pregnant.”

“I’m sure that’s what Jesus would do,” Fletcher quips and then gives me a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly. But she tried. I think,” I add because I’ve just been told these things. I obviously don’t have the memories of that time. “We crashed on her friend’s couch. Different friends. When one would get sick of her having a baby around all the time, we’d move to another one. She quit school and was trying to work, but it was always hard to find someone to watch me.”

His brow furrows, but he doesn’t say anything. He seems perfectly content to just listen as I talk.

“When I was four, apparently, she lost me at the mall. She wanted to hang out with her friends, and I was probably being a brat, so she thought it would be fine to just leave me in an arcade for an hour or two while she walked around with her friends.”

He looks horrified, and I was too when I read it in my file. Because I don’t have a memory of that either. Though sometimes, I think when I dream about it, it’s actually a memory.

“The cops and CPS were called, but she just had to take some classes, and she did. She kept custody of me. But then a year later, she left me at this shitty place where we were staying while she went out on a date.” Fletcher’s face looks pained, but I keep going, “I kind of remember this, although it’s foggy. I remember being in pain and crying. I had cut my foot on a piece of glass, and it was bleeding really bad.”

“Jesus,” he breathes.

“My mom’s friend, who we were staying with, came home and saw the blood. Thankfully, she took me to the hospital. They tried to reach my mom, but it took her a while to show up. When she got there, the cops talked to her. She made excuses, I guess. I didn’t really get to hear it. I just wanted to leave the hospital and go with my mom. But there were a lot of adults telling me that might not happen for a while.”

“They put you into foster care,” he says, his voice full of despair.

“She left,” I say, but I barely get the words out because the pain I felt that day has creeped back up. It nearly chokes me. This is why I don’t talk about it. Why I hate thinking about it. That darkness was nearly impossible to claw my way out of then. I’m always afraid when it comes up, I won’t be able to make my way out of it again.

“What do you mean?”

“She just left me there. I don’t know if she asked for a break from talking to the cops, but she just ran. She never came back. They tried to track her down, but yes...” I meet his eyes. “They put me into foster care.”

He looks like he’s having trouble breathing now, and his eyes are watery. “You were a foster kid.”

“They tried to get my grandparents to take me, but they wanted nothing to do with me.” I try like hell to swallow—my throat is sore with all the emotions I feel. They didn’t want me. “I was a ward of the state at that time.”

“I’m so damn sorry, Ronan,” he says, and when he does, I know he really understands. He was the same. He knows what it’s like to not be wanted by the people who should want you the most. To feel so damn lost and scared.

I think that’s why, when I finally stopped and listened to him, when I heard his real truth, the sparks flew. Why I couldn’t keep myself from kissing him that day because it’s so damn rare to have that sort of connection.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There’s no anger in his tone. He just really wants to know why.

“When I talk about it, it makes it real. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to forget, Fletcher. I push people away, so I don’t have to talk about it. Every single day, I wake up and think I’m back in that hell. That I never got out.”

He makes some sort of choked sound, and then he’s pushing into my arms. I wrap my arms around him and hold him to me. “No one rescued you.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement, and I realize why he says it.

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