Page 22 of Darkness and Duress

“Oop. Nope, hey!” Hot on my heels, Henny reached out and grabbed my wrist. “Hold up.”

I couldn't face him. I couldn't see the faint bruise on his cheek or the stupid fucking smile on his face or his knowing, sparkling eyes. I clenched my fists and squeezed my eyes shut as the traitorous burn of tears threatened.

“In the words of Daddy Jer, I'm going to give you a hug and you aren't going to bitch about it.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Too late. Here it comes. You ready?”

“Bran, please.”

“Here we go, baby.” His arms looped around my waist and suddenly, he was everywhere. His touch burned like hot pokers.His scent invaded my nostrils. His whispered words penetrated through the rush of blood pounding in my ears. “Here we go, baby.”

My muscles were tense until they weren't. My arms were stiff until they weren't. My nerves were overwhelmed until they weren't. At a glacial pace and full of reservations, I wrapped his shoulders in my arms and finally exhaled a breath that felt like I had been holding it for days.

“There you go. Not so bad, eh?”

“Shut up.”

“Mmkay, baby. I'll be quiet.” He nestled his cheek against my shoulder and held me tighter. Gradually, the trembling in my body subsided. The cloud that had been suffocating me was still there, but for a brief moment filled with relief and hope, I could breathe a little easier.

We stood like that, wrapped up in one another, for an obscenely long time before I finally mustered the strength to push him away. I hadn't cried, not fully, but my eyes were misty enough that I needed to scrub them dry with the heels of my hands. When I stole a glance at him, he simply smiled.

“Soup?” He turned me back toward the kitchen area. “And coffee.”

“Fine.” My words were thick and muffled. As soon as I was close enough to the table, I collapsed into a chair with a heavy sigh. I didn't really want either, but I didn't think I could say no. Not after the way I'd treated him. Not when he was being so fuckingniceafter I treated him like garbage.

True to his word, the soup appeared in front of me, followed shortly thereafter by the coffee. I sipped at both, not really consuming much of anything but trying to regardless. I didn't have the energy to bitch at him as he cleared out the fridge, tied off the garbage bag, and loaded the dishwasher, all the while remaining quiet as a church mouse and pretending I didn't exist.I honestly didn't think he knew exactly how much I needed that small, seemingly insignificant kindness—to simply exist in the presence of another without having to make excuses or pretend I was okay was one of the greatest gifts I'd ever received.

He landed in the seat across from me with a cup of coffee, still smiling but otherwise inoffensive and subdued. It was a side of him I'd never seen before. Guilt gnawed at my gut and I had to stifle a hiccupping gag as my meager meal and half a dozen Swiss Rolls threatened to come back up the way they went down.

“Yeah, that's enough for now, big guy.” He pulled the bowl away and took a bite. “Huh. Not as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Bran… I'm sorry.”

He paused, his eyes darting toward me again. “For what?”

“For… this. And for the other night.” I slouched down in my chair with a heavy exhale. “I got carried away—”

“Hold up. Please do not. Just don’t.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Baby, I asked for that. And before you twist my words… legit, straight up, dead ass, I asked exactly for what we did. Sexy. As. Fuck.”

My face twisted into a soft scowl. “You… enjoyed that?”

“Yep. Did you?”

Unease thrashed in my stomach. I had to breathe through another wave of nausea before I trusted my gut enough to open my mouth. The answer was one I was guilty about voicing. “Yeah.”

“So, what's the problem? Is it the gay thing? Bi people exist. Pan. Heteroflexible. Labelless. I'm not worried about labels. Whatever works for you, baby.” He shrugged and sat back with his hands cupped around his mug. “Bearing in mind that I sometimes need a little TLC after shit gets kinky and assuming that you'd be interested in revisiting the scenario… the other night was fucking perfect.”

“It's… look, I'm not g—”

“You're not gay, I get it. You don't have to keep saying it.” He rolled his eyes. “Never mind. It was great. I get it if you don't want to fuck around again. My feelings are not hurt and I won't hold it over your head.”

The blender of my brain was stuck in high gear. I inhaled, held it, and exhaled before trying again. “I'm not gay. I've never lusted after a guy. Yeah, I've fucked a couple but that was… and I'm not proud to admit this… a convenience thing. But—” I held up my hand to keep him from interrupting. “Even though I kind of hate you, for some fucking reason, I also fucking want you.”

“You know what they say about the line between love and hate,” he murmured, leaning over the table. “Take all the time you need, baby. Because I don't hate you.”

With a wink, he slid from the chair and collected the dishes. It was such an oddly domestic thing and left me reeling. I was full of shit. I'd gone and lied right to his face like the asshole I was. And he fucking knew it. The truth of the matter was, I didn't hate him at all. I definitely wanted him, as terrifying as that was. But there wasn't an ounce of truth to the statement that I hated him.

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