37. THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-SEVEN
Dirty.
Wrong.
Repulsive.
Despite my best efforts, I took it out on Gray. All that suppressed rage, frustration, and self-loathing.
And now I’m weak.
I don’t allow myself to break down again while going through my shower ritual, but god, do I want to. It’s exhausting keeping the mask in place when every minute of every day, I just want to scream.
I’d convinced myself throughout the shit show that was my day that Gray had to go.
Our relationship keeps contorting, changing, and deepening.
At some point, I won’t have it in me to push him out the door.
Perhaps I’m already there because I couldn’t find the right words to say to him when I pulled into my garage.
How could I ever accurately express the way I now need him? Even if we stay in this weird limbo of not quite lovers but not exclusively platonic either, I don’t know how to stop my fascination turned obsession.
I have nothing to compare it to—nothing that comes remotely close to what I’m experiencing. What’s worse is that I hold so much of the power. Gray is aware of it, too, never letting me forget that I brought him into my world and I alone will be responsible for shoving him out of it.
I don’t want to—can’t stomach the thought—but I know it has to happen for both of us.
However, now that he knows my darkest, ugliest secret, I’m petrified that I won’t get a say in any of it.
Gray seemed to have taken it well enough.
Logically, I know it isn’t that bad. Plenty of people go through it.
But it represents the most fundamental part of me while highlighting my biggest mistake.
Who knows where I would be now if I hadn’t been able to cover my tracks? I wouldn’t have anything or anyone, and I certainly never would have met Gray.
I’m sick with worry, guilt, regret—an endless loop of negativity, drowning in the crushing waves of my poor choices. And what it all boils down to is this: do I save Gray or myself?
Do I even care to try anymore?
Can’t we crash and burn together so I won’t have to remain alone?
A sharp knock on the bathroom door pulls me out of my thoughts. “Yeah?” I call, rinsing my loofah.
The door opens, Gray slipping through. The frosted glass hides my body from him, only revealing outlines and shadows.
I watch him move around before sitting on the closed toilet seat.
Flashes of yesterday pierce my brain, reminding me of how he held me so tightly, kissed me like I was the only source of his breath, and only my body could provide him the relief he so desperately needed.
“Everyone has a past, Hunter,” he says. “We all have done things we regret.”
I stay quiet, but I'm not sure what he’s getting at. Pumping shampoo into my palm, I lather it up while waiting for him to keep talking.
“No amount of showers can get rid of the past, though. I hope you know that.”
“It…makes me feel better,” I admit. “Like I can control something.”
“That’s why I never left home.”
“Home?”
“My town. No one ever wanted me to stay, not once my parents died. But I did it anyway. Making those streets my home made me feel like I was still in control no matter what anyone said or did to me. I still had a choice.”
I rinse the shampoo out of my hair, absorbing his words. “So why were you so afraid to leave?”
A long pause. “Because then I’d be forced to acknowledge what I already know. Choices are an illusion, and there’s nowhere I belong.”
He belongs with me. I want to say it, force him to acknowledge the depths of my feelings that are rapidly coiling around his every word and touch. He might not fit in my world, but I could fit in his. What better place to take up real estate than a vacant plot?
“Is that why you’re afraid, too?” he asks softly.
I consider it for a while, long enough for the hot water to cool, the steam to fill the air in a thick cloud, and long enough for Gray to exit the bathroom. Eventually, my hand reaches out to turn off the water. Just before I do, though, I admit the truth to the empty space.
“No, I’m not scared of not belonging. I’m afraid I’ll like it too much.”
I find Gray back in the living room, his phone hovering in front of his face and a worried expression cast over it.
It’s too early for pajamas, so I’m wearing one of the few pairs of athletic shorts I own and a grey shirt.
There are no pockets for me to stuff my hands into, so I settle on folding my arms as I lean against the arm of the couch.
“Find anything good?” I ask, curious but not wanting to start another argument by peeking at the screen.
“There’s too much to remember,” he grumbles in annoyance.
“May I?”
He doesn’t seem sure, hesitating while something like shame flashes in his blue eyes. “I guess.” Quickly passing me the phone, he gnaws on his thumb, eyes trained on his lap.
Instead of asking why he’s spooked like this, I steer my gaze to the screen. The Google search is up, and typed into the top bar are the words: jobs that hire felons .
My face whips in his direction. I don’t know why I never considered he’d have criminal history. Despite Gray’s rough exterior, I only see the soft middle. The almost innocent kindness in his actions. He shrinks further into himself when he realizes I’m staring.
I walk around to the front of the couch and sit beside him.
He glances at me, timid and worried. It dawns on me that this simple act of showing me what he’s been fixated on all day is an act of trust. He forced my hand earlier, knowing I could somehow handle the exposure.
Maybe even counting on the fact I wanted him to know, because I do.
It hurt finding him holding my secrets, and I hate acknowledging they even exist, but I want Gray to know me, and by extension, those too.
“Is this one you’re interested in?” I point at the first listing. It’s a hardware store.
He nods once. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
I click the link. “If you press this star icon up here,” I show him what I’m referencing, “and click it, it’ll bookmark the page. Then you can find it whenever you need it here.” His undivided attention shows how much he’s trying. Does this mean he wants to go?
Why wouldn’t he? A young twenty-two-year-old with nothing but himself and a future…
“Thanks,” he says softly as I hand him the phone. “You’re not going to ask?”
I could, but the more important question is, “Do you want me to?”
The ghost of a smile on his lips and a sad look in his eyes makes my heart drop. “Not if you don’t want to know.”
“I do,” I rush. “I want to know everything.”
His shoulder brushes mine when he pockets the cellphone, the physical connection making my breaths falter. The last time we sat like this, I held him.
Does he want that?
Another glance through his dark lashes answers my question. I lift my arm and he comes easily, banding his arm across my middle and snuggling into my side. Gentle fingers grip my shirt while he wiggles in a futile attempt to get comfortable. I make a mental note to look into a better couch.
“I’ve got a felony and a few misdemeanors,” he whispers. “I guess I do deserve them. I was there and involved.”
“What happened?”
“Remember how I told you about the guys from my group home?”
“Yes.” I tighten my hold around his shoulders.
“I was seventeen and stupid. They might’ve been worse.
A whole group of us decided to go steal some spray cans.
We’d done it before and nothing bad happened, ya know?
” He pauses so he can slip his hand under my shirt.
The scorch of his palm against my skin sends unwarranted reactions throughout my body, but I ignore it.
“While deciding what colors I wanted in the back of the store, one of the guys, Vincent, was at the register. I don’t know what the fuck he was thinking, but he brought a gun.
One minute, I was telling myself I only needed two cans.
No one would notice just two. The next, Vincent screamed at the cashier to give him the money.
It happened fast. The other guys who were with us all knew about the gun.
I didn’t. So when I ran up to the front, trying to figure out what the fuck was happening and to tell Vincent we needed to go, the cashier pulled his own gun out.
I guess he had it under the counter or whatever. ”
“Gray…”
“Vincent threw his gun at me. I didn’t catch it, but it smacked me in the chest. The others were grabbing shit off the racks, telling Vincent it’s done .
I swear to god, I looked down at the gun between my feet, looked up again, and they all ran.
Just left me there. The cops showed up while I was held at gunpoint.
I’m pretty sure I pissed myself. I couldn’t think, couldn’t talk to defend myself, and once I was in handcuffs, it fucking hit me. ”
“What hit you, sweetheart?”
He shakes in my hold, squeezing my hip so tight I’m sure there’ll be bruises. “That the way it went down was always the plan. Take whatever they could grab while I took the fall. I would’ve never gone if I had known Vincent had that gun. I’m not that fucking dumb,” he growls.
No. He isn’t. The way his whole body reacts to his story, the tension in his limbs, the bite in his voice—I believe every word. An innocent act of petty theft turned into armed fucking robbery. I’m irate for him. I want to know where Vincent is and make him pay for his crime.
Pressing my lips to his temple, I rub soothing strokes down his arm.
“The judge charged me as an adult, I was sent to jail, and after I got out, the group home wouldn’t let me stay.
It was days after my eighteenth birthday.
Literally days, and they kicked me out. I had nowhere to go, nobody to tell me what to do.
I—” he stops, sighing heavily against my pec.
“I don’t qualify for state assistance because of my record.
Couldn’t even get food stamps—once I found out what those were. ”