Page 78 of Forever We Fall

I trust Hota with my life.

Despite my aloof behavior toward him, I know he trusts me with his.

When the taste of copper hits my tongue, I jerk my hand from my mouth. I hate that I allowed him to be involved. The truth is, I couldn’t have done it without him. That man would have killed me, no matter how much I ate, how much muscle I packed on, or how many wrestling practices I watched.

He launched at me with deadly intent. He wrapped his hands around my throat, determined to strangle the life from my body.

The door handle gives a little squeak just before swinging open.

I stop cold in my tracks. My gaze searches Hota head to toe for any sign of trauma.

His shoulders are low. His hips loose. His fingers open. The picture of calm and cool.

“Are you okay?” I beg around my clogged throat.

“Fine.” He closes the door behind him and sets his bag on the desk chair next to me. “They asked how well I knew you, if you ever confided anything to me…like abuse, if you liked your uncle, and if I’d ever witnessed any marks on your body that might have been associated with assault.”

His astute gaze jumps to the parts of my body that had taken the most obvious of beatings. He bites his lip, and then his head shakes. “It’s as if they’re building a case against him, more than trying to find him.”

“Yeah.” I worry the cuticle on my finger. The sting centers me. “He’s hurt a few kids in the community.”

“The police presence and his absence gave families the push to come forward.” Hota gives me a small smile. “We did that.”

I ignore the implication that what we’d done was good. It was, but I didn’t do it for any altruistic reason. I did it because I wanted him dead.

“You were gone for a long time.” I rock from one foot to the other.

“Yeah.” Hota slips the navy blazer from his wide shoulders and hangs it in the closet without further explanation.

I wait for one while reminding myself that he doesn’t owe it to me. He’s not my boyfriend or anything. I’m not his keeper.

“Where have you been?” I demand anyway.

“Nate saw me coming out of the main office.”

My stomach clenches. Images of them together pollute my mind.

Them touching. Them kissing. Them fucking.

Hota turns to me. The sleeves of his button-up hang open and he works the first few buttons at the center of his shirt. “We just talked. Actually, he talked.”

“You listened,” I hear myself say.

He shrugs and unfastens a few more buttons.

Jealousy makes me want to piss on his leg to claim him, but I don’t have the right. I can’t give Hota what he needs. “Maybe you should talk to him or whatever you want…with him.”

The words are acid on my tongue. They drip down my throat, searing a path to my stomach, scorching everything in its wake.

Hota’s thick arms cross over his chest. His shirt hangs open, revealing a swath of smooth skin from his neck to his belly button and lower still to the low-slung waist of his pants. His head cocks and he studies me, silently for a while.

His chin juts. “Maybe I should.”

My insides quake, but I hold completely still.

“But I don’t want to,” Hota says with a purse of his lips.

“I can’t give you what you need,” I admit, damning myself.

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