Page 43 of Pippin & Nacho

“No, I… need to get back to work.”

“Sam…”

“God, please, Nate. Just let me…” As he walked off, he stopped and turned around, not looking at me with sagging shoulders. “Do you have my other set of earbuds?”

“Yeah, sure.” I dug into the pocket of my jeans and handed him the charging case with his other set.

When he took it, he finally looked at me with sheepish eyes. He reached for my face, which was still bleeding. “I’m so sorry, Nate,” he said before he went back to work.

I didn’t bother to tell him it wasn’t his fault again or chase after him. We would talk about this later when he calmed down. Hell, I needed to calm down, too. My blood still pumped way too fast, and I was still fucking pissed someone dared try to hurt Sam, but I shook it off and returned to work. Sam was safe.

I yawned as I gently pulled away from Sam’s hold and climbed out of bed. We had a long night last night. Once the bar closed, Alpha lectured the hell out of us, especially me, for getting violent and that I should’ve grabbed Stone or Ajax first before confronting three men who’d gotten rough with Sam. But Alpha didn’t understand. I just reacted. Sam was my responsibility, and no one was going to fucking touch him, and there had been no time to grab the others.

I didn’t bother to argue with Alpha, though. We all listened to him lecture us, and when he finally relaxed, he told us he was grateful we weren’t hurt worse and to close up the bar.

My body was running on fumes, but I couldn’t rest, and my mind was moving a million miles a minute, still hyped up from last night. I needed to get up and get bathed so I could look for a job today. There was no way around it. Replacing Sam’s earbuds would be another two hundred bucks down the drain, and our account was already overdrawn from his grocery shopping, so we had to pay the fees back with our tips.

As much as I wanted to kiss his sleeping face, I left him alone. It was rare he slept this well.

By the time I showered and had my coffee, Sam woke up and stumbled into the kitchen, scratching his back.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“I’ve… got to look for another job.”

I hadn’t wanted to tell him because I knew he would feel guilty, but he needed to know where I was going to be if I found work and that I wouldn’t be home.

Sam started to pace in the kitchen, ran a hand through his mussed red strands, and then started tugging on them. “No! I’ll do it. It’s all my fault. Everything is my fault. If I had reacted faster to that guy last night, none of this would’ve happened, and my earbuds wouldn’t be broken. Fuck, I get everything wrong. And the shopping. God, I messed up. You shouldn’t have to take up the slack for my mistakes. I’m not normal. Why can’t I just be normal? I’m such a fuck up. Is that why my parents sent me—”

I stopped his pacing and pulled him into a hug. “Stop it. Your parents are insane. No one is fucking normal, Sam. And you’re perfect the way you are.”

“Stop saying those things!”

“Sam, are you accusing me of lying?”

“What?”

“Do you think I’m lying to you?”

“I, ah… No, you’re placating me.”

“When I say you’re perfect, I don’t mean that you can do no wrong. I just mean I love you for you… just how you are. That’s it. Do you mess up? Yes. Do I? Yes. No one is perfect, Sam.”

“I just don’t always understand your patience with me when everyone else gets so annoyed.”

I grabbed his face to force him to look at me. “Your friends are patient, too. Alpha is patient. You are patient. We all take care of each other. It’s just that I’m around you all the time and understand you, and you understand me. You are you, baby. I love all that you are. You clearly don’t see what I do.”

His eyes watered, and he bit his bottom lip. “You shouldn’t have to get a second job.”

“Life isn’t fair. Getting a second job is a hundred times better than living on the streets again. It’s fine. Now, I need to go. Wish me luck.”

He let out a loud sigh. “Good luck.”

Sam leaned forward and pecked my lips. I kissed him back and left the apartment.

I should’ve waited until I had healed after the bar fight. No one wanted to hire a guy whose face was bruised and battered. There were also some businesses forcing me to apply online. I hated filling out shit on my phone. It was a pain.

When my bruises were gone, I’d try again. I stepped into our apartment, a sense of defeat weighing on my shoulders, and found Sam on the couch with the TV on, looking at me. “Well?”

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