17. Hotaru
“You have to stop laughing.” Arlo tuts.
I brace against the wall of the shower with both hands, look at Arlo kneeling at my feet with my dick inches from his face, and fight against the contractions of my stomach. It’s no use. Every time he swipes the soapy rag between my toes, my giggles ignite once more.
“Not such a tough guy now, are you?” he taunts, zipping the rag over my arch.
All sense of decorum leaves me, and I squeal.
Arlo’s unadulterated laughter blends with mine. It’s tattered and reedy and the most glorious thing I’ve ever heard.
His mouth is stretched wide. The smile lines around his mouth come out to play once in a while, but they’re not used nearly enough. That’s about to change. I’ll make him smile every day.
“All clean.” He laughs and stands.
I trace the lines of his smile.
He stares at my mouth, and his smile shifts to a smirk. Then something headier and more intense comes out. His hand clamps around the back of my neck. He licks his lips.
He’s going to kiss me.
Unlike last night, I have zero reservations about it. I lick my lips and absolutely gawk at his mouth. Everything I’ve wanted since I laid eyes on him is within my reach.
An unfamiliar sound blasts through the layer of our lust, shattering the trance.
His eyes go wide, and his smile vanishes.
The sharpness of his gaze slices toward his room.
It’s his phone. He doesn’t have a cell phone, though he’s been talking about getting one so we can communicate in class. The landline in his room is ringing. It’s never done that before.
Unease turns my joy to dread in an instant.
I push it aside and grab his cheek, trying to tug his eyes back to me. “You don’t have to answer it. I’m sure it’s nothing. Maintenance or a wrong number.”
The hand on my nape shakes. “It’s not maintenance.”
“You don’t know that.”
His gaze narrows. “Nothing is broken.”
The pitch of his already reedy voice hits a squeak that tells me all I need to know. He’s petrified.
“It’s okay.” The faucet squeaks between two defining rings as I turn it off. I grab his towel, drape it over his shoulders, and grab my own. “I’ll answer it. Find out what’s up, and then we’ll get breakfast.”
He doesn’t answer.
I dry enough so I don’t leave puddles where I step, then dart for the phone. When I reach it, I just stare. It’s as if my marrow knows this call is an omen.
The ancient phone weighs more than it should as I lift it to my ear. “Mr. Judge’s room.”
“Who is this?” Miss Booth’s high pitch melts through the line.
My shoulders settle. The knot in my gut loosens.
“It’s your favorite student, Miss Booth.” A haughty smirk takes over my face. “I’m surprised you don’t recognize my voice from your dreams.”
Arlo appears in the doorway, wary like a street cat. A very hot street cat with a towel slung low on his waist.
“Mr. Kido,” she admonishes. “You little flirt.” The last is a whisper.
“Nothing little about me, Miss Booth.”
That earns me an eye roll from Arlo but not a smile. Not yet. I’ll get it. I’m naked after all, and a very good flirt.
“You’re so bad.” She laughs. Someone says something in the background. I can’t make out the words. The tone is harried and harsh. “Yes, sir.” Her voice flattens. “Listen, I need to speak with Mr. Judge.”
My spine stiffens.
“He can’t come to the phone right now. I’ll give him a message.” I grab the back of his desk chair, intuition telling me I’ll need it.
“His uncle is here to pick him up for the holiday break.”
Her words are bombs. They land in my heart and discharge.
“No,” I snap.
“Excuse me?” she gasps.
“He didn’t register Arlo for the break. He can’t take him.”
“He can if he gets the okay from Headmaster Bridgeport,” she whispers.
“No,” I growl. “Put the headmaster on the line.” When she hesitates, I bristle. “Now!”
“One moment please.”
The line goes quiet, devoid of life for several beats.
“It’s him.” Arlo reels, falling back against the doorframe.
“I won’t let him take you,” I snarl, strangling the hard plastic in my hand. My heart clangs against my chest, and my skin feels several sizes too small. It’s the feeling I get before a big matchup, when I know I’ll have to use my whole body and every bit of my brain to win. But win, I do. And win, I will.
For Arlo.
For me.
Arlo’s gaze meets mine. I pour every bit of confidence into my gaze. He nods. The confidence he has in me makes me smile.
“Hello?” A deep, but kind timbre flows through the phone.
“Yes, this is Hotaru Kido. Mr. Judge cannot return to his uncle’s home for the holiday break. He was not properly registered for the break, and we made plans for the time that cannot be broken.”
“Plans?” The headmaster reels.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m sorry, but his uncle is adamant that Mr. Judge celebrate the holiday with him.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not possible. They disagree on what connotes proper holiday celebrations. It would be a horrid time for them both. Besides, Father Oliver at The Holy Trinity is counting on us to set up the games for the orphans, help cook and serve the Christmas meal, and carol throughout the break.” I draw a breath, making up stuff as I go. “Arlo is counting on those service hours for a class grade. You don’t want him to fail and have a miserable holiday, do you, Headmaster Bridgeport?”
“It’s a valiant effort you’ve put forth for your friend, Mr. Kido, but?—”
“You can’t make him go.” Sweat slicks my freshly cleaned chest. All my charisma and smooth talking disintegrates. “His uncle?—”
Arlo snatches the phone from my grip. “I’ll be down in a few minutes, Headmaster.” There’s a short pause in which my brain still scrambles to keep up. He’s talking to someone other than me. He’s talking to the head asshole.
“Yes, sir. I can speak. I prefer not to because of how my voice sounds and the ridicule I’ve received for being different.” My mouth gapes. It’s bullshit, but it’s believable. “I’m sure. I’m sorry about Hota.” Another pause. “Yes, sir. He was just joking around.”
I blink at him. My mouth hangs open, and I just stare, completely fucking confounded.
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate your discretion.” Arlo sets the phone in its cradle. His jaw is set. All the joy that bled from him moments ago looks like it never was.
“I was going to tell him about the abuse.” I choke.
“I know.”
My hands fling toward the phone. “Then why did you take it away? Why didn’t you tell him?” My voice ratchets up a level with each syllable. “I have your back. I would vouch for you. He would have to believe you. At the very least, they’d have to open an investigation into the claim and wouldn’t let you go until it was completed.”
I step toward him.
Arlo’s gaze narrows. The skin creases between his suddenly sad eyes. “We can’t raise suspicion, Hota.”
“From the stories you’ve told me and from what I’ve seen…” My head shakes. “It wouldn’t be suspicion. It’d be a slam dunk. Lock his cell doors and throw away the key.”
My guts twist, but I push ahead. He needs to understand. He needs to see he can’t leave. If he leaves, I’ll crumble.
“They would find your blood all over that house. They would find the cuffs and the barred window. They would never make you go back there.”
“I have to go.”
“No!” My head shakes so fast that I get a little dizzy. “You can’t kill him. That’s a great concept but a ludicrous task. It’s so risky, and you can’t kill him while you’re gone. They’ll know you were with him. You’ll be the first suspect.”
“I know.”
“Then let’s tell Bridgeport.” My arms go wide. My voice cracks. I’m on the verge of puking or sobbing or both.
He grabs my hands and presses them to his chest. His heart beats hard against my fingers. Arlo lowers his head just a bit so we’re eye to eye.
“I don’t want him in jail, where he’ll get daily walks and three-square meals and leave early on good behavior.” The tendons in his neck pop. His jaw works. “I want him ended, where he’ll never be able to hurt anyone ever again.”
“I want that too, but not at the risk of you.”
“He can’t kill me now, for the same reason I can’t kill him.”
My head is shaking. I grab his shoulders, no longer caring about scaring him off. He’s scaring me too much. “Please, don't go. He’ll hurt you. He’ll…”
Arlo pulls me into the fold of his chest and the haven of his arms. He is my home. More than any place in this world has ever been. More than Japan. More than London. More than my parents’ house.
He is my home.
Tears slip down my cheek. I feel as though I’m being cut away from the newfound part of me. I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back.
“I will heal, and I will be back.”
“Please, don’t go.” I cry against his chest like the baby I’ve never been.
“I have to, but first, I need you to promise me something.” The rumble of his request reverberates in his chest.
Reluctantly, I lean back and meet his gaze.
“Promise me you won’t come to the house.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he presses his finger to my lips.
“I know you’ve been plotting and planning to help me.” His free hand brushes the hair out of my face and traces the line of my cheek. “Promise me you’ll stay here. Nothing he can do to me would hurt me as much as him getting his hands on you.” He holds my face in his hands. “Promise me.”
“No.” Tears slick my cheeks. “I won’t lose you.”
Arlo’s chest works on a harsh breath. His gaze hardens on mine. “I don’t want to go, but more than I don’t want to go, I need him to die, and I need to do it. If I don’t, I’ll never be free of him.”
His hand clamps around the back of my neck. “If he were to hurt you”—his lips form a silent sneer—“kill you, my reason for living would be gone. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
That if I got hurt, he’d end his life.
I grit my teeth so hard I’m surprised they don’t crack. “Fuck you.” My shoulders shake with my snarl and sobs.
“Promise me you won’t come to the house.”
Against my better judgment and everything in my heart, I nod.
“Your words,” he demands.
“I love you.” Tears gather on my upper lip and I rub them onto his neck as I bury my face and breathe him in.
His arms tighten around me to the point of pain. Pain I’d live a million times over to have him for forever. I push back and say the truest thing to my soul as tears slip down my cheek. “If me staying here is what you need, then I love you enough to give it to you, even if it kills me.”
“Thank you.”
They’re not the words I want to hear. This is not the circumstance I want to endure.
For him, I will.
He sets me at arm’s length and rushes around the room, throwing on clothes and packing just a few in his ratty old bag.
“Use my bag.”
His head shakes. “He’ll destroy it.”
He’ll destroy you if you go.
Arlo sets the makeshift bag on the simple bed that he never sleeps in, grabs my towel, and wraps it around my waist. “I’ll be back. I promise.”
I nod. It’s all I can muster.
He grabs his pillowcase, takes one last look at me, and then leaves.
I know it’s the last time I’ll see him. I know he’s taking my fucking heart with him as he goes too. I don’t stop him. I don’t follow him.
I promised I wouldn’t.