Page 60 of Walking Wounded

He almost drops the plates.

“Shit,” he swears, heart leaping, and manages to set the china in the sink. He braces his hands on the edge of the counter, and forces himself to maintain eye contact.

Hal stares at him with unexpected intensity, green eyes beautiful and serious. “You don’t have to keep running away.”

Luke knows he should deflect. Duck his head, shrug the moment away, let the tension between them drop back to its constant simmer.

But he says, “Running away like you?”

Hal’s cheeks darken to a gratifying shade, but he doesn’t look away. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No. You shouldn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

It sounds and looks sincere – Hal doesn’t do fake. But Luke is suddenly furious, bottled-up emotion boiling over. “You’re about three years late with that one,bro.”

Hal takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I am. I’m sorry for that too.”

Luke snorts.

“I didn’t have any idea what to say, after…”

“I told you I was in love with you, and you started grinding all over me, and then just bolted? Yeah. Guess not.”

Hal gasps like he’s been punched in the stomach. His mouth hangs open, and his eyes glimmer at the corners, like he could cry. “Th-th-that’s not fair,” he stammers, but there’s no heat in his voice.

“You’re right,” Luke says, and he can’t believe he’s so calm in this moment. “Nothing about that night was fair. But I guess that’s just the way the world works, isn’t it?” He moves to leave the kitchen, and Hal steps into his path. “What? You want to keep talking about this?”

Hal looks wild-eyed and terrified. “You can’t just leave.”

“Don’t want me stealing your move?”

Hal grinds his teeth, jaw flexing. “You aren’t done with the story yet.”

“Oh!” Luke feels a laugh bubbling up his throat, and he lets it out. It sounds harsh, more like a cough. “That’s what this is about, right? It’s got nothing to do with you and me. It’s all about the story. The good senator and his dear old dad, huh? You’d just hate for your asshole bestie to make you look bad in front of the boss man.”

“Luke!” Hal snaps. But he sounds helpless, like he has no idea how to fix this. Which…obviously he doesn’t.

Luke opens his mouth to retort again.

But Hal sighs. Deep, long, sad, defeated. “Luke,” he repeats, quiet this time, his gaze dropping away. “I’m sorry. So goddamn sorry.” His gaze flickers, a quick slice of green beneath his lashes.

“Yeah, well…thanks for that,” Luke mutters, and ducks through the little space between Hal’s shoulder and the kitchen wall. Tries to. Hal catches him around the waist with one strong arm.

It’s like iron, but the skin is warm under his sleeve, and his hand curls firm and familiar against Luke’s ribs, like last night.

Luke shivers; the touch seems to press against every nerve ending, stirring sensation in every inch of skin. He stares into the empty living room and says, “What the fuck are you trying to do to me?”

“Please don’t leave. Stay. I’ll…” As if he suddenly realizes how intimate the placement of his arm is, he withdraws it on a shaky exhale. “Finish the story. Don’t waste your money on a hotel. I won’t bother you anymore, I promise.”

His body feels cold in the absence of Hal’s brief hold. He shakes his head, bites his lip hard. “Don’t worry about the story.” His voice comes out a croak. “I always finish what I start.”

Theunlike youis thought, but not spoken.

---