38. Chapter Thirty-Eight
I glance at my watch, wondering if it’s too late to make dinner as I make my way to the front steps. I have plans tonight, but I was going to make something for Bryson at least, since he’ll be here alone. After the physical fight he and Chris had last night, I wanted to give him some space today, but didn’t want him to think I abandoned him either. I’d told him I had a meeting with a client today, but because of his potentially vulnerable state, I wanted to pop in to check on him before heading out again.
The house smells delicious when I step inside. It’s not late, but maybe he ordered food and already ate, figuring I wouldn’t be here.
I hang my keys on the hook and head to the kitchen.
Bryson is standing in front of the stove, mixing something in a saucepan. There’s a dish towel tossed over his shoulder and a stack of dishes in the sink.
“Hey,” I say carefully.
He glances at me over his shoulder, keeping his stirring steady but smiling. “Hey,” he answers brightly. “I thought I’d make you dinner for a change.”
He turns back to the stove and my stomach drops.
Bryson is making me dinner?
I take in the state of the kitchen. The stack of dishes, the empty cans and boxes on the counter. The oven is on and there are pans on the stove. He’s easily been in here for an hour. Whatever he’s making, it smells so good and there’s no way that’s macaroni and cheese and chicken nuggets.
He looks back at me and must notice my face because he frowns. “What’s wrong? You don’t like chicken Parmesan?”
Fuck. That’s one of my favorite things.
I shake my head. “I do, I just…”
“Just what?” He turns off the stove and brings the pan to a cool burner. Turning to face me, he grabs the towel from his shoulder to wipe his hands.
“It’s nothing,” I say.
“It’s something, Cole. Just tell me.”
His anxiety is written all over his face. I don’t want to upset him and tell him I have plans to go out to dinner with someone. But I don’t want to lie to him either. He took time out of his day to make a meal for me. Bryson isn’t one to spend time in the kitchen. He eats cereal and Top Ramen when left to his own devices. He doesn’t make full meals. But he did for me.
Still, I have to be truthful with him. Lies help no one.
“It’s nothing, really. I had plans, but I’ll cancel them.”
He nods slowly, eyes going to the floor. “Oh.”
“I’ll cancel them,” I repeat, stepping deeper into the kitchen.
He shakes his head. “No, you should go. It’s fine. You can eat the leftovers tomorrow.”
I pull my phone from my pocket. “I’m going to cancel.”
I turn to leave the room, but he barks, “No.” I stop and turn back to him. He’s never raised his voice at me like that.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Just don’t worry about it, okay? This was stupid anyway. Go out. Do what you were going to do.”
He turns around to grab a glass dish from the cabinet and places it on the countertop harshly.
I shouldn’t go to him, but I do. Because something draws me to him. We can’t do this, but I want to help him. To make him feel better when he’s hurting, and he’s obviously hurting right now. I need to make him feel proud of himself, especially now when he’s done something like this. I love the way his eyes light up when he knows I’m proud of the things he does. The happiness that fills his eyes when he pleases me, sexually or otherwise.
That look is addicting.
It’s fucking addicting, and it’s going to get me into so much trouble.
I grab his arm and turn him toward me, but he shakes me off.
“Go, Cole. Just leave me alone.” There isn’t much fight to his words, which tells me he’s more disappointed than mad.
“I’m not leaving you alone.” I reach for him again. He shrugs me off harder.
“You need to.”
“I don’t want to,” I say softly.
He hangs his head, his shoulders sagging. I try touching him again—one hand on his bicep. And when he doesn’t shrug me off, I turn to him and wrap my arms around him, pulling him against me.
His forehead rests on my shoulder, and he sighs heavily.
“Had I known you were making me dinner, I wouldn’t have made plans.”
“That defeats the purpose of a surprise,” he mutters.
I smirk. “I understand that, but honestly, this isn’t something I expected from you.”
“I was just trying to be nice. Repay you for everything you do for me.” His words are muffled since he’s speaking into my shirt. He doesn’t hug me back, but he rests his weight against me as I hold him.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“I want to.”
“Do you want to, or do you feel like you have to?”
He slowly looks up at me. Our eyes lock. He presses his palms to my sides, sliding them until they’re over my chest.
He swallows hard, and says, “I want to make you happy. Want to make sure you know you’re appreciated.”
I move my hands from around him to cup his face. “I don’t want you to ever think you have to do things for me because I do them for you. I enjoy doing things for you. It makes me happy. Taking care of you? I like that. I don’t do it because I want something in return. Do you understand?”
“I do,” he answers quickly. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t want to do stuff for you too.” I nod, running my fingers along his cheeks. He looks tired. Stressed. It’s been weeks since I’ve made him feel good. I don’t like that. “You really can go out.”
I shake my head. “No, I really can’t.”
Leaning forward, I brush his lips with mine. He makes the tiniest whimpering sound—and yeah, I’m not fucking going anywhere.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell him.
He nods, and I step out of the kitchen to make the call to cancel for tonight. When I return to the kitchen, he’s putting the pan of chicken parmesan into the oven.
I walk to him and lean my back against the counter. He looks at me and moves to the sink to wash the dishes.
“Was it the girl from the diner?” he asks suddenly, and I frown.
“No,” I answer honestly. “It was a work thing. But nothing that couldn’t wait for another day.” He nods, a bit of the tension leaving his shoulders. I hate that I’m about to bring it right back. I can’t make him feel better over something he shouldn’t feel better about. “But the girl from the diner. She… we have…”
He freezes and guilt chokes me.
“Recently?”
I grit my teeth, not wanting to tell him, but knowing I have to. “Yes.”
I won’t lie to him. I slept with Connie. I shouldn’t have, but I had to. I was worried if I didn’t, I would burst into Bryson’s room uncontrollably and Chris would really hate me. But Connie did nothing to make me not want Bryson. I thought it would help, but it didn’t. It only made me miss him more because she was nothing like him.
“So you two are dating now, or what?” he asks, pressing his palms to the counter and leaning forward.
Bryson takes a heavy breath, waiting for my response. When I don’t give him one right away, he opens the dishwasher to put the dishes inside. He’s trying to act like he isn’t bothered by this, but I see how much it hurts him.
I see him.
“I’m not dating anyone.”
He looks at me, pursing his lips. “So you just like fucking people, then?”
Damn, Bryson. Where did that come from?
I raise a brow and he holds my gaze.
“I like fucking you.”
“And the woman from the diner, apparently.”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t like that. Honestly, it wasn’t even good, which is why it only happened once. It was a mistake.”
“I’ve heard that before,” he mutters, focusing on loading the dishwasher.
I grab his arm and tug him toward me, spinning so he’s caged against the counter. “Do not ever compare me to some immature little shit who cheats on someone and uses the stupid excuse that it was a mistake.”
He grits his teeth, looking away and proving my point that it’s exactly what his ex did to him. Bryson never told me, but I’ve been around long enough to figure it out.
“Haven’t you?” he mutters.
My brows furrow and I grip his jaw, forcing him to look at me.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Nothing,” he mumbles, closing his eyes.
“Look at me,” I demand. He squeezes his eyes tighter before opening them. “Tell me what you’re talking about.” I hold his gaze, noting his eyes are slightly unfocused. He seems almost bored, but I’m pretty sure he’s losing himself. I hate that the fire in his eyes is gone.
“I can’t.”
“Why the hell not?” I drop my hand, confident he won’t turn away again.
“Because even though Chris is a dick, he’s still my friend and I’m not getting in the middle of your fight.”
He may not want to tell me or get into the middle, but the more he speaks, the more hints he gives me. And maybe he’s doing that on purpose, or maybe I’m just hoping he is. Either way, I’m going to figure this out. It seems he’s under the impression I’ve cheated on someone before. And he got this information from Chris. I’ve barely dated anyone since Tabitha and I got divorced. There were a few quick things here and there, but nothing serious. I was too busy focusing on my son and my business. Which makes me think he can only think I cheated on Tabitha.
But why the hell would he think that?