Chapter 22 Archangel
TWENTY-TWO
ARCHANGEL
“What the fuck?” Steph shrieks.
I groan and press my face into the pillow. Sleep fog clouding my brain, and I cannot focus on my sister.
“What do you want?” Wolfe says in his ‘I’m still asleep and about to kill you’ voice.
“It’s past dinnertime. Mom thinks you’re having sex.”
I lift my head to find her shielding her eyes. “Fuck off. We fell asleep.”
“So you claim.”
I shove out of bed even though I don’t want to. “I have shorts on. We’ll be down in a minute. Get out.”
“You could have been on your way to having sex.”
“We had an hour. I can assure you we don’t need that long.”
“Hey!” Wolfe interjects. “Sometimes I like to take an hour…but I’m not leaving my clothes on that long.” He gets out of bed to stand in front of Steph. “Get out so I can change.”
“I’ve already seen it.”
“And your privilege has been revoked.” Wolfe points at the door. “Fuck off.”
Stephanie scoffs but turns on her heel and leaves. Wolfe and I scramble to get clothes on.
“I didn’t have time to iron anything!” Wolfe stands in front of the full-length mirror in a Christmas sweater I’ve never seen before. At least I think it’s a Christmas sweater. It’s a pattern and green and red, but it doesn’t really make sense.
“Where did you get that?” I come up behind him.
He smirks in the reflection. “I ordered it.”
“Why?” It’s not something he’d normally wear, and it looks good on him, but everything looks good on him.
He doesn’t spend a lot of money on clothes because he doesn’t have a lot.
Goalies aren’t given a ton of sponsorship money, and he doesn’t love when I buy him stuff unless it’s for his birthday or Christmas.
He only owns a couple of outfits he wears to games.
He’s pretty good about mixing and matching what he has, so he doesn’t look the same in photos.
So for him to spend money on clothes means something.
He doesn’t say a single fucking word. Just seems remarkably giddy about it.
“What did you do?” I demand, shoving him a bit. “We have to go to dinner before my mom sends a rescue team.”
“Turn your head to the side and look at the pattern.”
“What do you mean?” I cannot imagine what he’s getting at.
He cocks his head, putting his ear nearly on his shoulder. I mimic him, and the pattern turns into words.
I burst out laughing, clapping a hand over my mouth. “You can’t wear that!”
“Why not?”
“Wolfe!” I’m laughing too hard to argue. “I’m serious.”
“I don’t see the issue?” He steps away from the mirror. “We need to get to dinner.”
I grab his arm, trying to make a real demand. “You can’t actually wear that.”
“Why not?” he asks again.
“The pattern says ‘I’m really gay’. What will my parents think?”
“Do they not know I’m gay? This is awkward,” he deadpans.
“Fuck you.”
“I mean, if you’re offering, but you better make an excuse for dinner because I do not want your sister walking in on us again.” He says it so normally I can’t tell if he’s joking.
He’s got to be joking…right?
“Come on.” I grab his arm and drag him out of the room before this devolves anymore.
“You were the one holding us up.” Wolfe pulls open the door, and Steph falls into him.
He holds up his hands, basically letting her bounce off and crumple. “What are you doing?”
“Coming back to get you,” she says, but she’s lying. “You could have caught me, dick.”
“No, thank you.” Wolfe’s voice drips with disgust. “I don’t want to touch you.”
“Were you listening at the fucking door?” I ask, processing what I witnessed.
“No!” Steph turns and stomps off again.
“Why would she be listening at the door?” I say.
He lifts his shoulders and holds out his hands. “Don’t ask me her motivations.”
“Does she really want to catch us having sex or something?”
“God, I hope not.”
I’m still thinking about Steph listening at the door later while Wolfe and I are sitting down by the lake. I pull the blanket tighter around me.
“Steph was weird all night, right?” I ask, taking a sip of my beer.
Wolfe rolls his head to the side, glancing my way. “I guess now that I think about it, she was way more in our business than she used to be.”
“What do you think her angle is?”
“Who knows what any of her motivations are. Don’t ask me.” Wolfe pulls another beer out of the cooler and opens it on the edge of the fire pit.
“She’s got to be up to something. I’m not asking you to talk to her about it,” I say but then it occurs to me. “Could this have to do with Mark’s weird behavior?”
Wolfe tilts his head from side to side, considering the idea. “But how? She’s clearly lied to him about something, but why would that make her be so on top of us?”
“That’s what I can’t put together. But there’s more there.” I stare into the fire, trying to piece together my sister’s motivation.
“It doesn’t fucking matter.” Wolfe reaches out, taking my hand. “She’s not coming between us.”
We sit in silence for another little while.
“You said something last week.”
Wolfe visibly flinches pulling his hand back. “Yes.”
I ignore his reaction, because if I don’t, I’m going to get distant again. “You said you miss being touched.”
He turns to look at me, but it doesn’t last. He tears his gaze away, tipping his head back to look at the sky. “I did. Are you about to say some more stupid shit?”
“No. I’m trying to be nice and understand. Talk about things!” I throw back.
He crosses then uncrosses his arms. “I just don’t want other people thrown in my face to use.”
It’s my turn to wince. “It was just a suggestion.”
“A bad one.”
I laugh, and then he laughs. “Fine. A bad one.”
“Glad you agree with me. Why are you bringing it up?”
“Because I want to understand what you need,” I say carefully.
What I want to know is if what I did helped. Or maybe selfishly, I want to do it again. Doing all of this while celibate was probably our worst idea ever.
Wolfe closes his eyes. “I don’t want you to stop touching me. But maybe it’s weird for you now.”
It’s not weird. It’s agony. But how can I say that to him?
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it? You didn’t have a problem with it before?”
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” It’s as honest as I can be.
“When have I ever given you that impression?” His voice is cold. Or maybe I’m reading it wrong.
“I don’t know.” I want so badly to touch him, but I don’t trust myself. How many times can I do this until it consumes me? I’m already dangerously close. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve jacked off to memories of my lips around him.
“When you figure it out, let me know, so I don’t do it again.”
I’d give anything to know what he’s really thinking.
And I don’t want to let the resentment build again, so I turn my chair more toward him, scooting closer, not only because I don’t want our conversation overheard but because I miss how close and easy things used to be. I want it back. “Is that all you need?”
“No, but it’s better than nothing.” He drops his attention to where our skin almost touches, but he doesn’t move, clearly leaving it to me.
“What do you mean?” I slide my foot over his, linking it behind his leg, trying to be how I used to be, but it feels awkward.
He leans forward, resting one elbow on his knee to hold his face, while his other hand slips behind the bend in my knee. “That I’m going to be cranky and horny sometimes, but I don’t expect you to do anything about that. I can live with it.”
I swallow hard.
Fuck.
I look at my hands. “I could help you out again…” I kick myself and add quickly, “No need for you to return anything either.”
“I told you I can’t do it that way. I’m not an asshole.”
“Then we don’t have to.”
“I didn’t say that…”