“You and your big words and fancy education. Your two-thousand dollar suits and your ridiculous million-dollar haircut that barely needs to be combed after a shower. You’re either pushing me away by calling me a whore or trying to fit me into your world by making me more than what I am. I’m just Peter. A guy who didn’t finish sixth grade and had to have his younger brother help him with college work.”
I was stunned by this progression of conversation and required restraint not to lash out at him. Or check my hair. “Why are you so angry now?”
“Why are you trying to make me some gifted student who magically learns things and has a great future?”
“Why wouldn’t you have a future?”
“I have a future, just not one that fits into what you expect!”
“And just what do I expect?” Our voices progressively grew louder.
“Some fancy linguist or interpreter or something like that. It’s not going to happen.”
“Because you won’t ask for help? Is it money?”
“Oh, it’s always about money with you, Austin, isn’t it?” He stood up, our noses barely inches apart. My eyes flickered to his lips, tongue darting out to wet my own.
“You’re lucky my ass hurts or I’d throw you on the bed and show you exactly how much it isn’t about money with you!” I twisted on my heel, snatching the cell off the bureau and slipping it into my pocket as I shrugged my jacket on.
“And if your ass didn’t hurt I’d fuck you so hard into the mattress you’d forget every word except ‘more’ and ‘please’!”
I froze in the doorway, heart marching like an army platoon, and came face-to-face with a wide-eyed, red-faced Cai.
“Oh, um…yes…well…there it is,” he mumbled, eyes darting frantically around as he pointed down the hall. “I—there’s—they—” His face was so red I half expected the glow to light my way downstairs as he zoomed away mid-sentence.
When had I become so self-involved? Answer: always
“Shit,” Peter muttered, ready to chase after him. I stopped him before he could get out the door, slamming it shut and closing him in.
Cai had dialed my anger down to simmer, allowing my tone to come out calm. “This conversation isn’t over,” I said.
“We’re not fucking, so if that’s what’s—”
“Peter, goddammit, you’re the one with a mood disorder!” He glared at me. I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “How did we go from helping me with my tie to your screaming at me?”
After too long a wait, he answered, “I don’t get you. Your mother is dying and that doesn’t even merit a thought. You’ve haven’t known us two weeks, but you do all these insane things for Cai and me, and Darryl even. What matters to you? What do you want from me? It’s not just sex, and I don’t have anything else.”
I had been so focused on my own problems that I had completely disregarded Peter’s. He’d lost his home, his books, his livelihood—and was about to lose his brother. He was now completely reliant on me. He was even wearing my clothes. Not even minutes had passed since he’d had to help me with my expensive suit, and before that I’d told him to ask me for more money. If he was keeping some kind of tally, he was destined for a terrifying number at this point.
I prodded, thinking I’d show him that not everyone expected quid pro quo. “I don’t expect— Peter, Joe didn’t want anything from you, did he?”
“To be near Iss.”
“What?”
“Iss wanted me. Joe wanted Iss. By keeping me, Joe had a hold on Iss.” I was understandably confused. It must have shown on my face, because Peter looked away and added, “Iss was obsessed with me—or that I reminded him of that guy you both knew; Jess. He’d call me that sometimes when we f—” I watched as his eyes widened slowly and turned to meet mine. “Oh, now I get you,” he said quietly.
I blinked slowly at his accusing look, almost taking a defensive step backward. Not that he was giving me more than the faintest clue of his anger and hurt. I read it in the tiny lines formed between his brows and the slack parting of his mouth. “Jesse’s hair was blond and his skin less fair, but you could be his brother,” I admitted.
He sighed, shoulders almost imperceptibly deflating. “So I’m supposed to be him for you, too?”
“No.” I stepped closer to Peter, fists clenching at my sides to avoid shaking him. “However much you look like him, you’re not him. It’s like comparing honey and sugar. Jesse was uniform, no complexities. And he was weak. When things got difficult for Jesse, he stood on the hood of his father’s car, hooked a belt over a tree limb and around his neck, then kneeled down. There’s not even a miniscule part of you that’s either passive like that or would give up.”