10. Anders
TEN
ANDERS
Henry’s silence is deafeningly loud. So loud that I can practically hear his thoughts, because he’s projecting his confusion so loudly.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Giving him some space and not overwhelming him with my need for control is what I should be doing, but every time I open my mouth, the words that come out make me sound more and more unhinged.
Backing off is the smart thing to do, but I can’t do that. He’s mine. I feel the rightness in that conviction down to my core, and distancing myself feels impossible. But I need to figure out how to show him that I’m all in without strangling him with my own psychotic needs.
Neither of us speaks again until I slow my car to a stop outside my house.
My dick is rock-hard, but after my outlandish exclamation that I’m ready to marry him, I need to slow things down and get to know more about him than just how pretty his cock is and how tight his ass will feel when I’m fucking him.
Sucking in a breath, I exhale slowly, forcing my body to calm. I repeat the action until my racing heart starts to settle, and I feel the fog of want and need start to dissipate.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, unclipping first my seat belt and then his, before reaching for my door.
“Starving,” he says, his voice quiet and breathy.
I’m glad that he’s reacting as strongly as I am, but his words perturb me. “What did you have for lunch?”
“I wasn’t hungry, we had that big breakfast,” he tells me airily.
Turning to look at him, I narrow my eyes. He’s lying. “I don’t like being lied to.”
“What?” his eyes go comically wide.
“You didn’t not have lunch because we ate breakfast. So, what was the real reason?”
“I told you I don’t normally eat breakfast.”
“Answer the question, Boy. Why didn’t you eat lunch?”
Pressing his lips together, we stare at each other for a long moment before his shoulders slump. “I usually bring lunch to work with me.”
“Why didn’t you say anything or make your lunch this morning like normal?”
“I need to go grocery shopping,” he admits, reluctantly, his cheeks blushing pink.
He’s not lying, but I don’t think he’s telling me the full truth either, but I don’t push him to explain. Instead, I ask. “So why didn’t you go and buy something at lunchtime?”
His cheeks bloom even redder as he lowers his gaze to his hands. “I don’t waste money on eating out.”
I don’t need to be a genius to read between the lines. He’s broke and didn’t buy lunch because he couldn’t afford it.
Gritting my teeth, I clench my jaw, swallowing down the urge to tell him he’s moving in with me so I can look after him.
It’s not that I don’t want him to live with me; I do.
But if I move him in now, there’s no way I’ll be able to temper my behavior around him.
My dominant side will take over, and I’ll exploit his naturally submissive personality until he’s asking permission for everything.
Sucking in shallow, controlled breaths, I keep my mouth shut, not trusting myself to speak. Instead, I throw open the door and get out, circling the hood and opening his door before reaching for his hand and guiding him out of the car.
Leading him up to the house, I unlock the front door and hold it open, gesturing for him to go in first. Once he’s stepped past me, I follow him inside and close the door behind us, twisting the lock into place before I can convince myself not to.
The smell of rich tomato sauce and garlic hits me, and I inhale deeply.
The lasagna I made earlier is staying warm in the oven alongside the foil-wrapped baked potatoes.
The salad I made for us is in the refrigerator, and with an urgent intensity, I step past him and hurry into the kitchen to plate up his dinner.
We’ve barely made it into the house and I’m already changing the plans I had for us tonight, because right now, nothing else matters other than feeding him.
I hear him cross the room, his soft footsteps barely audible past my racing heart and frantic need to take care of him.
“Sit,” I snap, grabbing his plate with shaking fingers and placing it down on the table.
“This looks?—”
“You’re hungry. Eat,” I snarl. I’m acting like a lunatic, but I don’t seem to be able to moderate my behavior.
“Are you eating with me?” he asks, his tone timid.
Bracing my hands against the counter in the kitchen, I close my eyes and suck in a slow, deep breath. I need to calm down, but it bothers me more than it should that I didn’t consider his needs this morning.
I was focused on what I wanted and needed, and it never crossed my mind that he hadn’t brought food with him or what he would eat at lunchtime. Knowing that he spent the day hungry while I messed around thinking about myself guts me.
Grabbing my own plate, I hold it so tightly my knuckles are white as I carry it over to the table and take the seat opposite him. Instead of eating with gusto, his eyes are downcast and he’s toying with the salad, pushing the food around the plate without bringing any of it to his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp.
“Why?” Henry asks, his expression openly confused.
Sometimes I’m so consumed with how right it feels that he’s mine that I forget how young and inexperienced he is. I’m apologizing for being an asshole, and he looks like he has no idea that he should be mad at me.
“I’m being an asshole.”
Henry shrugs. “You made me dinner, that doesn’t seem like an asshole move.”
“I’m mad at myself, and I’m taking it out on you. That’s why I’m an asshole.” I wait for him to agree, but instead he just sighs. “Please eat.” I’m not begging, but if he doesn’t take a bite, I soon will be.
I hold my breath until he cuts off a small piece of lasagna and brings it to his mouth. Relief makes me sag into my seat, and I watch him take two more mouthfuls before I start to eat my own dinner.
“What made you pick business administration?” I ask when he’s eaten half of his food and my riotous anger has settled to a seething ball instead of a furious bomb on a hair trigger.
“I wanted to get a degree that could actually help me get a job once I graduated,” Henry admits with a wry smile. “Although clearly it didn’t work.”
“Bay and Penn have offered you a full-time position, though, haven’t they?”
He nods, his mouth full of food. “They did when I first started at the garage.”
“Why haven’t you taken it?” My tone is blunt, but it feels important that he be honest with me.
“The travel mainly. It’s a long, expensive commute on public transportation. I let Bay and Penn know that I’m still applying for jobs, and they said they were happy for me to temp until either I find something else or they find someone to replace me.”
“I know you said that you get distracted when you drive, but I could help. I could teach you,” I offer, fighting the urge to tell him I’ll pay for a driver, or an apartment, or a golden cage that he could live in…naked.
“No.” His eyes fill with fear as he vehemently shakes his head.
“Did you take driver’s ed in high school?”
He shakes his head. “I took the tester session, and it was a disaster. I almost crashed.”
“You didn’t take the full course?”
He shakes his head again. “Too expensive.”
“Your foster parents couldn’t afford it?”
His shrug is full of nonchalance. “I never asked.”
“And they never wondered or questioned why you didn’t learn to drive?” I know I sound incredulous, but learning to drive feels like a rite of passage. Especially in Montana. I could maybe understand it if he’d grown up in a big city like New York. But out here, a car is essential.
“No.” His answer is so vague that I know he’s using half-truths to avoid being fully honest with me.
“Are you close with your foster parents?”
“No,” he scoffs.
“You lived with them for years, though,” I say.
“No.” His focus is entirely on his plate, and his lack of attention on me is starting to piss me off.
“Did they have a problem with you being gay?” I ask, hoping that’s not the reason he’s not close with the people who raised him.
Sighing, he lowers his silverware to his plate, then lifts his expressive eyes to look at me. “I was in foster care from a week old until I was eighteen. I lived with so many families I’ve lost count. I doubt any of them would even remember me.”
Stunned, I blink at him. “What?”
Shrugging, he picks up his fork and stabs a piece of lettuce, bringing it to his mouth. “It’s not uncommon for kids to move around in the system. I don’t need your sympathy.”
“I know that. I just…how did that happen? Why were you never adopted?”
“Lots of foster kids never get adopted,” he says flippantly.
“But you were a baby?”
He shrugs again. “My bio mom’s parental rights were never severed, so I couldn’t get adopted, not that any of the families I stayed with tried to keep me.”
“Were you born in Montana?” I ask, trying to wrap my head around what I’ve learned about him so far.
“No, I was born in Nevada.”
“Then how did you end up here?”
“Montana State offered me a scholarship.”
“So, who brought you to school?”
“Greyhound.”
“You came to college alone?” I know I must sound like an idiot, but my stomach actually hurts at the idea that this boy. My boy moved across the country on his own. That no one settled him into his dorm room and hugged him goodbye.
“I’d been living alone for a while then, so it was no big deal.”
“Living alone where?” I growl.
“At a youth shelter.”
“You were homeless?” I yell, hating the way he flinches.
“No.” His tone is curt. “I lived in a shelter for teens.”
“But you were alone?”
“I’ve always been alone.”
His words stun me to silence, and I don’t speak again as Henry finishes his food.
I don’t know what to say to make things better, or even if I should be trying to make things better.
He’s here, he’s fine, he’s thriving. But I can’t help feeling like what he just told me is another reason why I can’t allow my own issues to affect him.