Page 23 of Dirty Love

“I said get out!” he shouts, making me jump.

My mouth parts and I back away from him, my eyes stinging with the effort it’s taking not to cry because in all the years I’ve been pushing my luck to get a rise out of him, he’s never yelled at me like that.

Never.

Not missing the look on my face, he curses and takes a step towards me. “Nicky, wait—”

But I just keep on walking and slam his bedroom door behind me, not looking back when I hear a smash against the wall a few seconds later.

“Fuck.”

CHAPTER 11

KADE

I’m such an asshole.

I’ve thought it a thousand times over in the last twenty nine hours, lying awake and alone in my bed because Nicky straight up refused to come back to me. Aside from mandatory church with Dad and Elle yesterday morning, he locked himself up in his room for the rest of the weekend and only came out to eat once. I glared at him when he grabbed the cereal bar from the kitchen cupboard last night, told him to sit his ass down and wait for me to cook him a proper fucking meal, but he just looked right through me and took a bite out of it, barely acknowledging my existence before he walked back upstairs to hide from me again.

We’ve fought a few times over the years, mostly over stupid shit like brothers do, but never like this.

I hurt him this time and it’s making me sick.

After I don’t know how many hours of staring at the ceiling, my alarm finally goes off and I hit the stop button, forcing myself up to get ready for school. I shower and brush my teeth in what feels like slow motion, then I wrap a towel around my waist and try the door between the bathroom and Nicky’s room, not really surprised to find it locked, the same way it’s been locked since he left me two nights ago.

Since you yelled at him and kicked him out, you prick.

“Nicky,” I call, sighing when he doesn’t answer. “Nicky, come on, don’t make me kick the fuckin—”

The door suddenly opens and I shut my mouth, pulling my brows in while I move my gaze over his form. He looks more exhausted than I am, black hair a fucking mess, his eyes bloodshot and empty.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” I ask, but he just moves around me and grabs his toothbrush from the sink, holding himself up with his free hand on the counter as if it’s taking all his strength not to fall over.

The urge to grab him is there and I almost do it, almost snatch his waist and pull his back to my chest, desperate to feel him and force him to talk to me, but I can’t. I can’t because every time I touch him like that, every time I’ve got my hands on his body and his ass on my dick, I want him in all the ways I shouldn’t.

He was right before.

I want him and I can’t fucking have him.

It’s making me crazy.

When I do nothing but stand behind him and stare at his reflection, he looks up at me and side-eyes the door, working his jaw a little bit when I make no move to leave. “Do you mind?” he mutters, the words muffled by the toothbrush hanging from his mouth.

Words.

They’re not very good ones, but words are progress.

“I’ll go warm the truck up,” I tell him, not missing the small flash of disappointment on his face before he dips his head to spit.

Don’t touch him, Kade.

Not in here.

I’ll make him talk to me on the way to school, when he’s wearing more than just his underwear and I have a little more sense of self control.

With that being the best and only plan I have, I leave the bathroom and grab a clean pair of jeans from my closet, shaking my head at myself when I spot the smashed up lamp sitting in the corner.

Self control.

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