Page 78 of Phantom Faceoff
No, I’m just projecting because of Mack.
But the rest of my shift is spent in a constant state of fight or flight.
Even the thought of going home and pretending to try and sleep feels like it’ll just piss me off.
So I park my ass on the curb of the Jock House and stew. Maybe by the time Zander shows up, I’ll have something productive to say and not just a well-deserved earful.
It’s several hours later by the time a car pulls up and stops in front of the house. A door opens, and Zander steps out with a scowl on his face and a buzzed flush on his cheeks. He leans into the driver’s window and says something.
I’ve got some beat-heavy pop music playing through my earbuds, and I pull one out as Zander stumbles toward the sidewalk.
He doesn’t notice me, coming to a standstill beneath a falter streetlamp and running a shaking hand through his hair. I watch him. How he hugs himself with one arm and braces his weight on the pole with the other.
I don’t know how long he stands there, eyes closed, basking in the moonlight.
My anger died away long before now, leaving behind this ugly, carved out wound I haven’t figured out what to do with.
Pushing to my feet, I shove my phone and earbuds into the hoodie pocket, and close as much of the distance between Zander and I as I dare. There’s a good two or three feet left, but Zander was right when he said we barely know each other.
It’s been a whirlwind few weeks, but I can’t say I know how he’ll act in a fight.
“Wildfire.” Because if I say his actual name, my voice might break.
His eyes open slow and tired. “Malachi. Thought you weren’t coming.” He says the words steady and quiet.
“I don’t think I made this clear,” I say, matching his tone. “But dating me means giving each other mutual respect. Something that phone call wasn’t.”
Shadows play over Zander’s face, making his expression hard to read.
“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” he says with a shrug, as it that absolves him of his attitude.
“That’s a crappy way to apologize to the one you have now.”
His eyes find mine, and honestly they just look tired. Worn down.
“I didn’t think I could hurt your feelings.” He pushes off the pole, slightly unsteady but holding himself well. “You keep them so bottled up.”
“There’s a reason for that,” I say, standing still as he takes a step forward.
“Yeah? Who hurt you, Blanchard? Who made you so overbearing and needy?”
He just wants to get a rise out of me.
Unfortunately, it’s working. I have the reputation of having a short fuse, and there’s damn good reason for it.
“You need to stop and go sober up.”
“You came looking for me!” He scoffs and wraps his fingers around my elbow.
The touch feels like an inferno, but I don’t pull away.
“Because I was worried about you.” I keep my voice low and steady. “Because Micky said when you get like this, you?—”
“I what?” He leans in close, nose brushing my cheek. “What do I do, Daddy?”
I swallow heavy and shut my eyes. “You want to fuck around.”
“Fuck around?” He chuckles and then grows silent. Seconds tick by, and he pulls away, but I still feel his breath across my face. “You thought because you said … Malachi.”
