Page 90 of Phantom Faceoff
He taps his fingers on the table, watching me for a silent moment before continuing on.
“It’s why he has a short fuse. Why he can so erratically jump from mood to mood. It means he feels everything very intensely.”
I bite down on my lip, staring down into the cooling coffee. “What happened to him?”
“He was abused,” Julian says the words like they’re poison. “By everyone. His birth parents. His foster parents. The people running our group home. He wanted to protect everyone, and he paid the price for it.”
“So he’s naturally a Daddy?”
My eyes widen as the word comes out, filter be damned, but Julian simply chuckles.
“He doesn’t think so, but he is. I think … this thing he’s got going on with the both of us … I think it’s helping him cope. He’sbeen so much happier, so much more open the last few months. More than I’ve ever seen him.”
“Then, what did I do?” I ask, voice cracking a little at the end. “How did I … trigger him?”
Julian sighs and drops his chin into his palm. “Mal has a few big triggers. One being crowds. He’s always the last to class to avoid the rush of people. It’s why he was so oppositional about going to your games.”
Well now I feel like an ass.
“The others?”
His smile this time is sad. “Being touched. Usually casual touches are fine, but … the more intimate ones can be hard for him. Which is why I was really proud when he showed you his tattoos. And part of why we talked about the three of us fooling around. He wanted you to have whatever you needed, even if he couldn’t give it to you.”
He takes in a deep breath and straightens. “You two having sex is a big deal. That he felt comfortable and safe enough to do that with you? That’s monumental.”
So he says, but now I’m not so sure. We were both upset. Tensions high.
He told me repeatedly that he wanted it.
But what if he just said that so I’d let him take care of me? Let him give up a piece of himself he wasn’t ready to give?
My throat feels thick and dry.
“Zander?”
Julian reaches a hand across the table, offering it to me. I take it even though my stomach feels like it might capsize.
“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” I whisper, the rawness clipping my words.
“I know,” Julian says, squeezing my hand. “Mal knows, too. Sometimes he just needs some space. He’ll be back.”
I hope he’s right.
I spend the afternoon hiding out in Julian and Malachi’s dorm waiting for him to come back. The dorm is a safe, non-crowded place that we both agree he’ll return to once he’s cleared his head.
Julian waits with me for a while, but as the blue sky turns a dark gray, he offers to pick us something up for dinner. I loan him the truck and wait—rather impatiently—on Malachi’s bed.
I wake up to Julian gently rubbing circles on my shoulder. Sleep clings to my eyes, and even as I swipe it away, the heaviness of exhaustion is still present.
“It’s late,” he says, stroking a hand through my hair. “Wasn’t sure if you wanted to get back.”
Right. This isn’t my room.
A quick look around reveals that Malachi hasn’t returned, and I sag against the pillows.
“There’s Chinese if you want me to heat it up.”
I shake my head and dig my palms into my eyes.
