Chapter 13 #2
“Oh.” I sound ridiculous but it’s all I can come up with.
I hear his swallow click in the back of his throat. “I hate talking about this. I hate when people see my scars because they always want to know where they came from and the story’s so…complicated.”
“I get it,” I murmur. Because I do.
He laughs softly. “Yeah. Anyway, it’s a tender subject for me and I really don’t mean to be a dick about it.”
“No, I—it’s fine. Be a dick. That’s a huge amount of responsibility to put on a teenager,” I tell him. “There’s no shame in being sensitive.”
He laughs again, then suddenly, he wraps one arm around me and hooks his chin over my shoulder. “I’m not sensitive. I’m just…” He stops.
I don’t really know what to say, so instead I ask, “Your sisters eventually came home, right?”
Against my temple, I can feel him smiling.
“Yeah. It took my mom a few years to get her shit together, but eventually she did. And they’re doing great now.
Oldest one just got engaged, middle sister’s applying for grad school soon, youngest is about to graduate.
They’re way better off than I was at their age. ”
“You sound like a good brother.”
“And that,” he murmurs, turning his face toward my ear. His lips move against it, “sounds like a compliment.”
“Well, I…it…” I sigh. “I guess it is. You’re still a douche, but maybe not to everyone.”
“To you?” he asks.
I wrinkle my nose in thought. “You did ignore what Easton told you.”
“To come into work?” He sounds honestly confused.
“What? No. About the food.” He stiffens, and I force him to loosen his grip enough so I can turn in his arms. It’s so dark in the kitchen I can’t make out his face entirely, but I can see his furrowed brow.
“I told Easton he had to stop bringing me your food. I didn’t think he’d send you to deliver it. That is not a loophole.”
His lips twitch downward into a frown. “You don’t like my food? Easton said you really liked the chicken and dumplings.”
Something feels off. Like I’m missing something.
“Yes, I like them. But I’m not taking your dinners anymore, okay? I’m going to learn to cook so I can take care of myself, and he can stop taking food out of your mouth to feed me.”
“Oh my god,” he whispers. “Leo, you’re not taking food from me.” I make a noise of protest, and he sighs, moving his hands to my shoulders. “The stuff Easton brings you is stuff I cook specifically for you, okay?”
For a moment, it feels like the floor has moved away from my feet. Then it’s like the walls have crashed down. What does he mean he cooked it for me?
“Easton told me it was your food,” I protest, my voice weak.
His frown deepens. “It is my food.”
“But—”
“Oh my god. I love your brother, but his ability to string words together is abysmal for someone who doesn’t have a language barrier.
” He lets go of my shoulder and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“It’s my food because I cooked it. But it was for you.
Except the carbonara, but I was going to make you some of that too. ”
I take a step back, then another, then another. My ass crashes into the cabinets with a loud thud. “I don’t understand.”
North has been taking care of me all this time? Hating my guts, disgusted by my body, fucking me out of pity, and what? Feeding me? It doesn’t make sense!
“Leo?” he says. “Hey. Hey, are you okay?”
My ears are ringing, but it’s just panic, so I wave him off. “I, uh…I need a second.” Clearing my throat, I turn toward the sink and feel out blindly, turning the water on and cupping my hand under the stream so I can gulp it down.
A second later, North’s fingers close around my wrist, and he presses a glass into my hand. “This is probably better.”
“I don’t drink sink water,” I say. Granted, I just did, but I’m too fussy for a whole glass.
He sighs and takes it back, walks to the fridge, and fills it from the little pitcher on the inside.
My hands tremble as I take the glass from him, and I manage two sips before I feel sick.
“Leo,” he says after I set it down on the counter, “am I supposed to be sorry for what I did?”
I shake my head, stop, then nod, then shake it again. “I don’t know.” I fight to find the words for the question I want to ask. “Are you fucking with me?”
“What?” He sounds offended. Maybe hurt. “Why would I be fucking with you? How would I be fucking with you? I’m not poisoning your food, Leo—”
“No, no. Just…” I rub my face with my hands until the sensation hurts. “You don’t like me.”
“Uh, no. You don’t like me,” he corrects.
I open my mouth to argue, but he’s not completely wrong. I didn’t like him. He’s been a complete ass to me every time we’re in the same room together. But things have started to shift into something else.
Something new.
“You saw me naked,” I say.
He clears his throat. “Ah. Yes.”
“You thought my body was disgusting.”
“What?” He laughs, but it doesn’t sound like he thinks my statement is funny. “I absolutely do not think it’s disgusting. That’s the problem.”
No. He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep flipping everything I know upside down. I’m going to lose myself entirely if he does.
“I was worried about you,” he goes on. “You were so thin—you’re looking better now, but I was scared you were hurting yourself.”
I…was, and I wasn’t. It took me so long to remember to take care of myself, and even today, I still struggle. “It wasn’t on purpose.”
North takes a step closer, and when I don’t flinch away, he moves even closer still. Eventually, his thigh is between my legs, and I fight the urge to sink down on it. He presses his hands to the sink on either side of my body to bracket me in, and for some reason, I have never felt safer.
“I liked being able to help take care of you,” he murmurs. “I just assumed you didn’t like me.”
My head is spinning.
“The other day, when you and I—ah…” I start.
“In your bedroom or at the station?” he murmurs.
I flush. “Either. Both.”
He hums, dipping his head low, his lips brushing the edge of my jaw. “What about it?”
“Was it pity? Or…”
“Or,” he says before I can finish. “Definitely or.”
Closing my eyes, I take a breath and try to be brave. If this is it—if he’s offering me this thing I have wanted now for too long—I need to let myself reach for it. To take this moment. This gift. I need to be bold in ways I’ve never been before.
“I wanted to kiss you at the station. It felt wrong not knowing what kissing you a second time would be like.”
He laughs and shakes his head. For a moment, I think maybe he’s mocking me, but then he says, “Probably like the first time. I know I wasn’t great at it.”
Is he joking? Does he not realize it was one of the best kisses of my life?
“Why do you think that?”
He shrugs. “I haven’t done that much.”
I laugh until I realize he’s not joking, and then the sound dies in my throat. “What do you mean?”