19. Hailey
“That was delicious. Thank you,” Hota says as he places the last of the dishes into the dishwasher and wipes down the counter.
My cheeks go hot. “Don’t thank me for breakfast. Thank me for not burning down your kitchen.”
His laughter is rich.
“It wasn’t even a close call,” Arlo reassures me with a hand on my bare shoulder.
The sweatshirt I’d pulled on from Hota’s closet is the whole reason I almost turned this condo into a bonfire in the first place.
I’d rolled the sleeves so many times, it made a lump at my forearms that I wasn’t accustomed to working with. When I placed the muffin tin into the oven, my new forearm roll bumped my boob, sloshing just a bit of batter into the bottom of the fancy appliance.
How was I supposed to know it would catch on fire?
Hota’s gaze zeros in on me, and his head shakes.
“What?” I cover the lower half of my face with my hands, embarrassed.
“It’s just amazing to me that you’re all flushed over a minor kitchen incident, yet you don’t blink when faced with some really kinky shit.” He dries his hands with the dish towel, making the muscles in his chest do all kinds of amazing things.
And his tattoos.
My mouth waters.
They are works of art. All fine lines in black ink, similar to mine. The content is wholly different. Discordant ribbons wrap around his right shoulder, snake across his chest, and hug his opposite hip. A knot ties them together across his sternum. Each ribbon hosts a different scene. One is cherry blossoms. Another is a detailed samurai battle. The other is a cloud scene with one long dragon weaving through the sky.
A frightening godlike man wraps around his left shoulder and nestles over his heart. Both his arms are free real estate.
Yesterday, I saw two massive cranes flying at each other across his back with an orange moon between them and a vast ocean full of rolling waves underneath.
“I’m not a really good cook. I guess it’s an insecurity.” I shrug.
“You have many other talents.” Hota’s eyes flame, and his lips twitch. “Besides.” He points at Arlo, who sits next to me at the island top. “He loves cooking and is really good at it. I don’t think you need to worry. He’ll keep you fed.”
“What about you?” I hike a brow.
“What about me?” His gaze narrows.
Will you feed me?
“Do you like to cook?” I chicken out.
“I only prepare Japanese dishes.” His gaze slips to Arlo. “No Michelin star meals, I’m afraid.”
“I’m afraid I’m in love.” I grin and then realize what I’ve said. Sure, it was in jest, but also not.
He rounds the end of the island, coming to stand so close I forget to breathe, even with the anchor of Arlo’s touch. His head drops low until our eyes are level. “You like Japanese food?” he asks, giving me grace.
Of course, I press my luck. “I love it.”
“Looks like you’re in for a sushi and storm night soon.” He winks.
I literally can’t wait to see the skyline spark with lightning from the extremely high windows.
“The forecast calls for storms on Saturday,” Arlo chimes.
Hota straightens, boops my nose, and then stands in front of Arlo. His thick arms cross over his chest. His posture unyielding. “Why now?”
He’s not talking about sushi or the forecast.
Realizing this too, Arlo stands and meets Hota’s eyes. He keeps his arms by his sides. His scarred skin is also a work of art. It wasn’t planned or chosen, but it’s a testament to his strength. They represent the horrors he was able to work past, little by little.
I feel like this will be another step in that journey.
The two of them are a picture. Two dark and battered angels with tattered wings and faces worth all your tears and hearts worth your soul.
“Since I quit seeing Hailey as my therapist, I’ve been going two days a week. I’ve been slogging through my shit and trying to deal with it the best I can. And then there’s Hailey.” He spares me a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but I see the pride in them.
“Seeing her overcome her own demons has made it easier to face mine.” He looks Hota dead in the eyes. “Even the darkest ones.”
Hota’s Adam’s apple bobs. “What happened that Christmas?”
Arlo’s head hangs, and his shoulders roll forward. It looks as though an invisible god set the weight of the world on his back.
Hota’s lips purse. He bites the inside of his cheek. I see the hope of this working die in his eyes. He nods and blinks as though trying to come to terms with the idea without losing his shit.
But I know how much Arlo wants this. I know how much he’s been working. I hold on to hope, no matter how small.
Hota’s chest heaves with a breath. “You don’t have to?—”
“I came,” Arlo blurts.
Hota’s mouth goes slack. Mine does too.
Arlo rolls his shoulders back and lifts his head. Moisture coats his eyes. “In all the times my uncle raped me, I’d never so much as gotten hard. My body would just shut down, see me through the nightmare, and then come back when it was safe.” His head cocked to the side, and his lips wiggle. “Safer.”
I pull a breath so deep into my lungs, it hurts. Hota seemingly does the same.
“When I went back, the thought of you and me was so fresh. It was the only good thing I had in that hellscape.” Arlo presses his tongue into the side of his mouth and rocks back on his heels. A tear slips from his eyes, bypassing his face altogether and hitting the floor.
“He was raping me.” My love gnaws on his cheek, and I want to go to him, but I can’t. This is his demon to slay.
Hota’s bound arms drop, and he grabs Arlo’s hands. “You don’t have to say any more. I’m sorry. Forget I asked.”
“No.” He interlaces their fingers. “I have to do this. I want to.” He nods and tears slip down his face. “He was in me, and I imagined it was you.”
The stunning panther pulls Arlo to his chest. He tucks Arlo’s tousled hair under his chin and wraps his strong arms around his wide back. A back that shakes with silent emotion. For a long time, they stay locked in the ugly catharsis of slaying demons.
I feel a little bit like an interloper, but my joy at Arlo's growth keeps me in my seat.
“I wanted it to be you,” Arlo sobs. “It was you. In my head anyway. I came, and then I looked over my shoulder and…” His words dissolve into sobs.
Mine mix with his and Hota’s.
Hota motions me over. It takes a moment to register the request. I thought surely they’d want some time alone.
I hop from the chair and grab Hota’s offered hand. He pulls me in behind Arlo and holds me tight to the man I fell in love with not so long ago. The man who changed my life, who changed me for the better.
“I felt so guilty. So dirty. He used it against me, exploited that moment of weakness for days. I was so ashamed,” Arlo admits.
“It’s not your fault,” I say.
“You did nothing wrong,” Hotaru’s voice rumbles. “I only wish we could kill him again.”
My eyes fly open and land on Hota’s, whose gaze narrows. “She doesn’t know?” he whispers.
“She knows what I did.” Arlo shudders.
Then I know. “You would never let him do that alone.”
“Never.” Hota’s head shakes.
I grab Arlo’s head and pull it to face us. “We’ll never let you face those memories alone either. There is nothing you can say to make us judge you or love you less. Nothing.”
His hand cups my face while his other cups Hota’s. He pulls us in close. My cheek presses against his pec while Hota is pressed into the crook of his neck. Our arms encircle him and each other.
Together, we take a collective breath and kill that demon.