Page 70 of The Company We Keep

Carrow nodded. No, he didn’t.

He didn’t press Dust.

Whatever had happened there in front of the bank had shaken him up, that much was obvious. Even when he wasn’t doped up, Dust walked around that first week like a somnambulist or secluded himself in his lab.

A week from the day that it happened, he didn’t come to Carrow’s room to sleep. That was fine — Carrow wasn’t mad, wasn’t going to press him. But when the afternoon rolled around the next day and there was still no sign of Dust, he started to feel off. He gave Dust until 2:00 to show his face voluntarily.

Yes, they were sleeping together.

Yes, Dust was admittedly the greatest thing to happen to him since he’d hired The Company, but… there were still those walls. They both had their secrets.

He didn’t want to intrude on whatever Dust was going through and at the same time, he didn’t feel equipped to offer Dust anything. Hell, he couldn’t even think about things thathad happened a decade ago without feeling like his mind was an open wound.

But at two, he couldn't ignore it any longer. He knocked on Dust’s door.

When he didn’t get an answer, he swallowed hard and opened the door anyway.

Dust was curled on top of his comforter with headphones on. He saw Carrow immediately, pulling the headphones off of his ears.

“Hey,” Carrow said softly. “Sorry to barge in. You didn’t answer.”

“Jesus. You’re not barging in. It’s your house.”

“You know what I mean.”

Dust sat up and moved to the edge of the bed to settle next to Carrow. Carrow caught him by the chin as soon as he was close enough, pulling him into a kiss. It didn’t last long, Dust breaking off and sitting back.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Will you at least come take a bath? You’ll feel better.”

Dust saton the closed toilet and watched Carrow draw a bath for him in the big clawed-foot tub in his suite.

He’d discarded his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

There was something steadying about Carrow in that moment. Unguarded. It didn’t matter who he was outside of the walls of the penthouse. It didn’t matter who Dust was, either.

Dust loved him deeply in that moment.

He’d felt the thrum and flow of love for the other man long before then. But it was too frightening to say it. There was too much risk there.

The words were at the tip of his tongue, though, as Carrow tested the water for him, as Carrow crossed the marble tiles to undress Dust. His movements weren’t hungry or erotic, but they were careful, purposeful, caring. He eased off Dust’s clothes and guided him to the bath. The water was warm. Soothing. He hadn’t bathed in days — hadn’t avoided it, but it just… hadn’t occurred to him. He just wanted to sleep. He wanted to forget the man in the alley — to forget AIIB and everyone who had ever known and worried about Charlie Judge, forget his parents and the little town where he grew up. He had spent the week wishing he never existed.

Without a word, he slipped under the surface of the water and let the world disappear. Dust held his breath, submerged, listening to the big hollow sounds that echoed around him as the faucet roared with fresh, hot water.

When he came up for air, Carrow was there, sitting on the floor by the tub, waiting for him.

He let Dust sit in silence for a few minutes.

Carrow hadn’t had much to say to him all week.

Some part of himwantedCarrow to have answers. Something in him needed the man to tell him that everything would be OK.

“What happened back there, Dust?” Carrow asked, gently.

Dust looked at him, searching his face for some subtext. Was he suspicious of the truth?

“I know what literally happened,” Carrow clarified. “But whatwasthat to you? What’s happened because of it?”

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