Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LUCAS
He got a text around noon from Frankie, though he didn’t read it while he was sitting in his dad’s car. He’d forgotten his headphones, and the last thing he was in the mood to do was blast Frankie’s voice for everyone to hear and be forced to explain himself.
He had plans to tell them everything. Just…
not today. Not tonight. Not until he and Frankie had some time together.
It was bad enough he was fighting off a meltdown caused by the anxiety of being questioned once again.
The detective was a lot kinder than the beat cops who treated him like he was incapable of answering even the simplest questions without help, but it was obvious he didn’t think Lucas was going to be much help in the case.
Luckily, they had security footage, so the attack would be added to Charlie’s charges. He was seeing a judge in the morning, and then Lucas would be sent an email letting him know when or if he would be needed for court.
It was a simple meeting, but it took up half his day, and now he was starving and tired and needed to be home so he could comfort himself without people staring at him.
“Do you want—”
“Home, please,” Lucas said, his voice tight.
Bronx sighed. “I know, bud. But you haven’t eaten, and I thought it might be better to get one of your safe meals so you don’t have to stress about cooking.”
Lucas bit his lip, his throat a little hot with emotion. He hadn’t even considered that. He hadn’t eaten. His stomach had been in knots since leaving the hospital, but he knew he wasn’t going to be any good for Frankie if he didn’t regulate his system.
But the idea of cooking—of all those steps just to make a meal—was too daunting.
“I’m sorry for being an asshole,” he whispered.
“Don’t do that,” Bronx told him. The car slowed, then turned right. Lucas had no idea where they were going, but he could guess it was probably the Greek place with the drive-thru because that was the one he always picked when shit was rough. “You’re not being an asshole.”
“I know I can be sharp. When everything is too much.”
“You can, but I’ve developed calluses over the years,” Bronx said. He sounded like maybe he was smiling. Lucas was having a hard time telling right then. “And I don’t mind if you need to take it out on someone.”
“I don’t want to take it out on you. I don’t want to feel like this at all,” he said. His face was starting to throb, but he’d been avoiding taking pain pills because they always knocked him out. He was due for his next dose of ibuprofen though, which he had at home.
“Do you want me to stay with you for the afternoon? I can be quiet.”
“No. I want to be alone for a bit, and then I have plans tonight.” He turned his face toward the window. He didn’t want his dad to be able to tell anything.
“With Gage?”
“A new friend. Can we not talk about it?” Lucas asked.
Bronx was quiet for a beat. “I’d prefer to know who. If something happens—”
“He doesn’t have—” He was going to say he doesn’t have anything to do with Charlie, but that wasn’t entirely true.
Technically, knowing Frankie was the reason Lucas had been punched.
He’d never blame Frankie. Not in a million years, but it would have been a lie, and he hated lying to his dad. “He’s my neighbor.”
Bronx’s eyebrows flew up. “Isn’t she, like, seventy?”
“Not direct neighbor. He’s two doors down from me. He has brothers, and he takes care of his sister.”
“Oh. Um…”
“It’s complicated,” Lucas said. “Can we talk about it later? We’re not going mountain climbing or anything. Just dinner and probably a movie at home.”
Bronx let out a sigh, but the car began to slow through another turn and didn’t pick up speed again, which meant they were there. “Your usual?”
“Greek?” When Bronx hummed a yes, Lucas shook his head. “Chewing hurts. I just want some pita and hummus.”
“I’m really sorry, kiddo.”
Normally, Lucas hated being called kiddo. Especially lately. He didn’t want reminders that he was still young. That people might think he was too young for Frankie. But right then, it felt good to be considered small and protected by his dad.
“Can we do dinner this week? You and Dad.”
He knew Bronx was grinning. He and Monty were always over the moon when Lucas included him in that, especially because it had been earned.
“Your place?”
“I’ll make something good,” Lucas said.
Bronx laughed softly. “Your food is always good, and yes. Monty will be thrilled. Just text me what day and time, and we’ll be there.”
Lucas tried for a smile, but the anxiety just got worse. He was going to invite Frankie, too, and maybe—probably—Elodie. He was going to introduce his dad to the new part of his life he was building, and he wasn’t sure what he would do if his dad and Monty didn’t support him.
But he didn’t want to think about that now. Not tonight.
Not for a little while.
He wanted to nurse his hurts in the arms of the man that he was—and he could say this with every fiber of his being and every atom in the universe—falling madly in love with.
Lucas got his lunch and listened to Frankie’s message as he ate. Frankie was going to be delayed for a bit. He was at Fenton’s house, spending some time with Elodie, and he had a meeting with his attorney about her adoption hearing coming up.
Frankie: But I will be home at five. I made us a reservation if you’re up for eating out. If not, I’ll cancel and we’ll eat in.
Lucas wasn’t sure he was up for eating out, but he wanted to try.
He wanted to do something that felt, well, normal.
He wanted to sit in a restaurant. He wanted to hold Frankie’s hand and maybe feel the flickering warmth of a tealight candle.
He wanted to listen to the low chatter of people whose lives were as complicated as their own.
He wanted to eat, and laugh, and maybe kiss Frankie when it was all over.
Then he wanted to go home and be wrapped up in him, feeling every inch of his body pressed against Lucas’s.
He wanted to be fucked so out of his mind he forgot how bad things were.
He wanted to come down from an orgasm high listening to Frankie’s heart, feeling the wide expanse of his bare skin, and the roughness of his beard as he rubbed his face back and forth along Lucas’s shoulder.
He wanted to sleep in his arms and wake up beside him with warm, morning-sour kisses.
So whatever discomfort he might feel now, he would get through it to have this little bit of peace.
Lucas: I’m fine going out but I do look a little weird with my bruise I’m not sure if other cited people will care
Frankie: Did you know that your voice-to-text spells sighted with a C?
Lucas: Blind discrimination
Frankie: LOL. I don’t give a shit what people think as long as you don’t. I want to go out with you.
Lucas: What time should I be ready
Frankie: Reservation is at seven. I will be home before then.
Lucas: I’m going to nap I’ll leave the door open come in when you’re hear
Frankie: Can’t wait to see you.
Lucas: Yeah me two.
His phone fell against his side, and he curled up with his uninjured part of his face against the pillow and didn’t rise to consciousness again until there were warm lips against the back of his neck.
For a moment, he thought it was a dream.
His dreams were often surreal and difficult to tell apart from being awake when he was deep in it.
But the moment he could smell properly, he knew he was no longer unconscious. Frankie’s usual soap scent wafted across his nose, and he smiled as he turned, wincing when his bruise bumped against some part of Frankie. He ignored it in favor of a kiss.
Frankie was being careful with him, which was necessary but annoying.
Every time he moved his jaw, it aggravated the fracture in his cheek.
Luckily, without his prosthetics, there was virtually no movement in his eye socket, so that was the only thing sitting at a dull throb instead of searing pain.
“Did I hurt you, princess?”
“No. The bruise is hurting me. But I’m ignoring it. I want more kisses.”
“I can do that.” Frankie’s lips attached to his neck, suckling at his pulse, gently at first, then harder with teeth. He kissed upward, nipping at Lucas’s earlobe, then ghosting his lips over Lucas’s jaw until he finally—finally—reached his mouth.
“More,” Lucas said as he tried to deepen the kiss in spite of the pain.
Frankie’s strong but careful hands turned Lucas to face him, the bed dipping with their combined weight. “Easy, princess. Let me do this.”
“I want more,” Lucas begged.
“You will have everything you want, but I can’t hurt you. So let me do this right. Trust me?”
“I trust you,” Lucas said. He went pliant, falling backward against the pillows as he braced himself for touch. He hadn’t melted down after he got home, but he’d been able to rock and rock until the world stopped feeling like it was closing in on him.
The pressure had been relieved, so he was able to take it now—the unexpected touches, the light pressure of fingers over his jawline as his head was carefully maneuvered the way Frankie wanted him.
And then he was kissed again.
Frankie’s lips were thick and warm and a little wet as they brushed over his own, powerful in their own way as they urged Lucas’s to open and let him in. He followed those wordless touch commands and swallowed down Frankie’s groan of satisfaction.
“How long do we have?” Lucas asked as they took a pause for air.
“As long as we want.” Frankie’s fingers danced lower, over his pecs, then to his shirt. He rucked it up and immediately pinched his left nipple.
“Dinner,” Lucas gasped, arching into the touch.
“An hour and a half. Plenty of time for me to spoil you naked and rotten and get you clean before I mess you up again.”
Lucas shuddered. How had he gone from untouched virgin to wanton whore in the span of a few weeks? How had Frankie unlocked and awakened things in Lucas he hadn’t even realized he had buried in him?