Page 43 of Salvaged Heart
Horror racked through me. I'd just lunged at him both times, not even thinking of asking. My rage-fueled mind desperately cycled through the events in the bar. He. Had. Asked. Me.
Can I touch you? Beck, fuck let me touch you.
“Beck, stop. I can see in your eyes what you're thinking right now. You didn’t hurt me. Both times I said no, you stopped without question.”
At least that was true. It didn’t make me feel less guilty, though.
“Did they hurt you?” A familiar beast was growing in my chest.
“Sometimes.”
My heart was one crack away from breaking completely.
“Beck, look at me. It’s in the past. I know you would never do that to me. I feel safe with you. I do, I promise. Just in the moment…sometimes it’s hard for me. Sometimes I panic.”
I ran my finger over his cheek. I didn’t deserve this man. “What I said earlier still stands. We can take this as slow and as far as you are comfortable with. I won’t push for more.”
“I know you won’t.”
I got the sense he believed that.
“Beck, there’s something else you should know.”
I wasn’t sure I could take much more, but I’d promised, and I did again, “Anything. Without judgment.”
“There are so many nights I can’t remember, Beck. I can’t be certain we used protection and….There are nights I do remember that we definitely didn’t.”
He was practically vibrating with anxiety next to me. My heart hammered in my chest, my mind finishing his sentence amillion different ways. Was he sick? I found myself cataloging everything I knew about STIs and other illnesses he could have, my heart stopping on the scariest one of all. Is that what he was trying to tell me?
“Are you…? Do you…?” How was a person supposed to ask someone something like that?
“I don’t know. I haven’t been tested since high school, and it’s not fair or responsible of me to start anything with you when I don’t have those answers.”
“We should get you tested then. I’ll call around some places in town.” His face dropped, a look of hurt in his eyes. Shit, did he think I only wanted him to get tested so we could be together? “No, Anders, I didn’t mean it like that. You should know. If you're sick, it’s important you get medical care.”
He nodded, avoiding my eyes. “I told you, I’m fine if nothing happens between us, but it’s important, you know.”
“I’m scared.” His voice cracked. “I know it’s stupid…”
“It’s not.”
21
BECKHAM
Anders curled back into my chest, going so still that it was hard to tell if he'd fallen asleep. The soft rise and fall of his chest against mine, along with the slight dampness of my shirt caused by his silent tears, was the only evidence he was still with me. I didn’t attempt to comfort him. He needed to experience all the emotions he had been running from for so long. He needed to expel them. So I sat sentinel, guarding him while he worked through them.
We sat for so long, the sunset disappearing behind the house, cast long shadows across the yard and down to the water’s edge. My mind was running a mile a minute. Processing everything he'd confessed. Processing what an honor it was that he'd felt comfortable enough to share all that with me in the first place. I couldn’t fix Anders, but I could listen. I could be a safe space. I could love him. And, I could be brave enough for both of us.
Being brave meant finally facing something I had been avoiding for weeks, maybe even years, if I was being honest with myself. I needed to talk to Laurel. If Anders was facing his demons, then I could face mine.
I shook his shoulder gently, whispering his name against his ear, but he was fast asleep, so I changed tactics and wriggled out from beneath him. He flopped awkwardly against the arm of the chair, still sleeping but looking uncomfortable as fuck.
I couldn’t leave him like that.
Disappearing for a moment to prop the back door open with a half-empty paint can, I returned and scooped him up. Well, scooped wasn’t the word. It was more of a fumble followed by a half-drag as I pulled him up my body. He clung to me like a Koala, wrapping his arms around my neck and nuzzling his face into my collarbone. He couldn’t weigh twenty pounds more than his sister, who I carried all the time, but his extra half-foot in height made him unwieldy to manage.
Somehow, I got him through the house, up the stairs, and lowered onto the bed. I maneuvered the blankets from under him and pulled them over, going to tuck him in. A slight grin turned the corner of his lips.
