The Rut in the Road (Beyond the Veil: Rayn’s Story #2)

Chapter 1

He wanted to keep him safe. Safe from everyone who had hurt him. From anyone who might want to hurt him. From anyone who could accidentally hurt him.

He realized this was borderline ridiculous. He couldn’t very well wrap Rayn in a bubble or blanket or his arms and just keep anything from ever hurting him. Rayn was going to paper cut his fingers and touch hot things and stub his toes from time to time, whether he liked it or not.

But he still wanted to. His impulse was to do everything himself—to make sure he held the doors, that he stood at Rayn’s elbow so he wouldn’t trip on a curb or crack in the sidewalk…

Okay, it was completely ridiculous.

He couldn’t possibly protect Rayn from every sort of pain or discomfort. It would be impossible to even try, and Rayn would probably resent him if he did.

But he so desperately wanted to make sure that Rayn was safe.

It was a little alarming just how much.

I had awakened, sun streaming through the window beside my mattress on the floor, my hand resting on the cool empty sheets beside me and the thoughts that remained in them.

I was alone in bed, although I hadn’t been when I’d fallen asleep.

I drew in a long breath, and noticed that my tiny apartment smelled like bacon.

I didn’t even own bacon. I’d, in fact, never once made bacon in this apartment. Or in my life, for that matter. I’d eaten bacon, obviously, just never cooked it myself.

I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, registering that not only could I smell bacon, but I could hear music—upbeat pop music.

Those were not things that normally happened in my apartment in the mornings.

I dragged myself off the mattress, padded barefoot in my sweatpants and t-shirt out into the main living area, where I registered the soft sound of low humming, the voice belonging to a baritone.

Raj.

He’d stayed over before—the first time after we’d gone to a double-feature at the drive-in and we’d gotten back to Richmond at two in the morning—but he always got up and left first thing in the morning.

Sometimes I’d wake up when he kissed my cheek, sometimes I wouldn’t, but he always put a note on my kitchen table thanking me for letting him stay.

I was used to waking up to the thoughts he’d left in the sheets—usually along the same lines of wanting to keep me safe. Sometimes from specific things, sometimes in general.

Sometimes he thought about protecting me from himself, although those didn’t generally make much sense to me, since I never once got the sense that he wanted to cause me any sort of harm.

Nor had he ever done anything that suggested he might become violent—at least not with me.

I knew he was capable of it, that sometimes his job even required it, but he was always gentle with me, as though he thought I might bruise or break at anything but the slightest touch.

I was used to his thoughts in my bed and on my door knobs, but this was the first time I’d awakened to find him still in the apartment.

I found that I liked having him here when I woke up.

“Good morning,” he called, not bothering to step out of the small kitchen.

I walked up to the doorway, staring.

He was frying bacon, his back to me. He had on the jeans he’d worn the night before and the button-down, but the shirt was open, and when he turned, it revealed an expanse of dark chestnut skin and a tiny smattering of darker hairs just above the button on his fly.

I swallowed. “Good morning,” I repeated, once my throat was lubricated enough to make sound.

He smiled. “Hungry?”

“Where’d you get bacon?” I asked.

“The store,” came his amused-sounding response. “I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your keys—I used a paper towel so that I didn’t actually touch them.” He grimaced. “I think I managed not to touch them.”

Then I noticed that he was wearing a pair of leather driving gloves. Trying to keep his thoughts from imprinting on the objects in my apartment. It was kind. Considerate.

Also pretty unnecessary. Not only was I getting better at avoiding reading thoughts from casual contact, I actually kind of liked getting flashes of Raj’s thoughts, at least when they were positive.

“I don’t—I don’t mind if you touch things,” I told him, my cheeks flushing.

He looked over at me, his expression surprised. “You don’t?”

I shook my head.

“So… I can take these off?” he asked, lifting one gloved hand.

I nodded.

“Are—are you sure?” he asked.

“You don’t have to,” I clarified. “But I—I don’t mind your thoughts.” I felt too self-conscious to say out loud that I actually liked them.

He peeled off one glove slowly, almost like a strip tease, although I was pretty sure he wasn’t going for that. “If you’re sure…”

I nodded again.

He took off the other glove, setting them both on the counter, then came over to stand in front of me. “You were very deeply asleep,” he said softly, one hand reaching out to brush the backs of his fingers over my cheek. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

I felt my skin flush under his fingers, remembering how I’d fallen asleep with one of those same cheeks resting on the bare skin of his chest.

It was as ‘far’ as we’d gone—usually he wore a t-shirt for our dates, either with or without a short-sleeve button down, but last night he’d been wearing a long-sleeve button down, since September was starting to get cooler, and instead of leaving that on, he’d—after making sure I was okay with it—stripped it off and hadn’t had a shirt on underneath it.

I’d had no objections whatsoever. If anything, I wanted our physical relationship to move faster than he did.

Not that he seemed unwilling to engage in physical activities, but I was starting to want more than kissing, cuddling, and hand-holding. Sleeping next to him, cuddled up to him, his fingers stroking my hair, his lips pressing kisses to my forehead and fingers, was fantastic, but I wanted more.

I also knew that pushing him for more than he was willing to give wasn’t the way to have a strong or healthy relationship.

Everything I’d read—because reading about it was the least awkward way I could think of to learn about how romantic relationships were supposed to work—suggested that if there was a mismatch between partners about how quickly to escalate the relationship, it was the person who wanted to go slower who should dictate the pace.

Otherwise, they might be pushed into doing things they didn’t want to, and that could breed resentment, if it didn’t veer into downright unhealthy coercive territory.

While I might wish things were moving faster, especially physically, I definitely didn’t want Raj to feel pressured into anything. He already had enough reasons to resent me for things I’d done before we started dating, that I didn’t need to add any new ones.

I’m sure the fact that skinny little six-foot me being the aggressor in our relationship would be hilarious to anyone else, given Raj’s six-four muscular frame, but just because he could throw me didn’t mean he would.

Even if I kind of wanted him to—under very specific circumstances.

I looked up at him, the crinkles around his gold-brown eyes, the dark hair of his neatly-trimmed goatee and thick, wavy locks that framed a face with defined, but not sharp, cheekbones. He wasn’t… beautiful, exactly, but he was striking. Alluring.

“You can always wake me up,” I told him. “Whether you stay or go.” My cheeks heated. “Although I like it better when you stay.”

His smile spread. “Do you?”

I stepped a little closer, cautiously reaching out to put my hands on his waist—but intentionally sliding them between the open sides of his button down so that I could put them directly on hot skin. Under my fingertips, it was smooth and soft, and Raj sucked in a breath.

“Are my hands too cold?” I asked him, hesitating.

“No,” came the response. “They’re… fine.” His big hands settled gently on my shoulders.

I kept sliding mine, then paused again when I felt a slight ridge under the fingers of my left hand. I traced the raised skin with a fingertip, although I couldn’t see what I was touching.

“I was stabbed,” he said softly, and my eyes snapped up to his.

“I was working under cover at the time, trying to catch a bribe in action while posing as a homeless guy. But I got made—” He grimaced.

“We knew one of the cops involved, but didn’t realize his partner was just as corrupt, and the partner came up behind me.

” He let out a sigh. “I honestly don’t know whether he realized I was a cop or just thought I was a nosy bastard who would be trouble, but he decided to remove me as a witness. ”

“Can I see it?” I asked him.

He stepped back a little, using one hand to move the fabric of his shirt so that I could see the long, raised scar, slightly darker against his brown skin. I traced it again. “Does it ever bother you?” I asked him softly.

“No.” He shook his head. “Does it bother you?”

I frowned up at him. “No. Why would it?”

His lips twitched. “Some people don’t find scars particularly attractive,” he replied.

My brow furrowed deeper. “That’s… ridiculous,” I replied. “You can’t help having a scar.”

He chuckled. “Nevertheless, some people find them off-putting.”

“I’m not one of those people,” I informed him.

“You find scars attractive?”

“No. It’s just… a scar,” I replied. “It is what it is. It doesn’t have anything to do with how attractive you are.”

He seemed to find this statement amusing. “Am I?” he asked.

“Obviously,” I replied.

That made him laugh outright. “You’re going to inflate my ego,” he told me, lifting my chin with his fingers.

“Is that bad?”

His smile widened. “Only if you ask Hart, which I am not going to,” he replied, then bent and kissed me softly.

I let my hands go back to his sides, leaning into the warmth of his body. He let out a soft thrumming sound.

“Not that I mind,” he said softly, “but if you stay here, the bacon is going to burn.”

I smothered the sigh that wanted to slide out.

There was always something that made him slow down, stop, or step away. And it was always understandable. Burning bacon, for instance. Or having to get up early for work.

I understood.

I didn’t like it, but I understood.

“Get me a plate?” he asked.

I did as he asked, pulling one down from the cupboard and setting it beside him. “Should I make eggs?” I asked him.

“I was gonna do it in the bacon grease, if that’s okay,” he said.

I nodded. “That sounds good. Toast?”

“Get me the bread, and I’ll fry those, too.” He offered me a smile that I returned, despite my slight sexual frustration.

A frustration that was not really alleviated when, after putting fresh bacon in the pan, Raj gripped the back of my hips and nuzzled his face into the side of my neck, breathing in deeply.

Especially because I wanted him to keep doing it, frustration be damned.

He did keep doing it—off and on in between pans of bacon, several rounds of scrambled eggs with peppers and cheese, and pieces of toast fried in the bacon-and-egg grease.

By the time we sat down to actually eat it, I was hard and aching, although the baggy sweatpants I’d pulled on were doing their best to hide it.

I had to admit, bacon grease did make both eggs and toast considerably tastier.

I even had myself mostly under control by the time we finished our breakfast.

I lost most of that control once I started rinsing the dishes, because he did it again.

I let out a small, strangled noise.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, softly, speaking into my skin.

“No,” I half-groaned. “Never.”

He laughed, and his hands slid under the fabric of my t-shirt, the heat of his palms warm against my already-heated skin. “Well, that’s convenient, because—”

His phone rang, and I might have let out an extremely rude noise.

He growled.

“Parikh,” he all-but-snapped into the phone.

I could hear a voice on the other end, but couldn’t tell whose it was or what they said—but I could see Raj’s free hand clenching into a fist at his side.

“Are you fucking shitting me?” he ground out between angry teeth.

“Goddamn it, Hart, it’s supposed to be my day off.

” I watched him draw in a slow breath. “No, I know it wasn’t your call.

Fuck.” A heavy sigh. “I’ll be there in about thirty, but tell him not to expect me to be dressed appropriately.

” He thumbed the button, and the phone beeped as he hung up. “Fuck,” he said again.

“You have to go to work,” I said, entirely unnecessarily.

He grunted. “Apparently,” he snapped, then sighed again and ran a hand over his dark waves. “I’m sorry. I really wanted—”

“I know,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure what, exactly he’d wanted. It didn’t seem to matter at that precise moment, although there were plenty of things I wanted just then, too, and all of them involved Raj not having to go to work.

He’d set his phone down on the counter and was buttoning his shirt back up.

I wasn’t going to be particularly useful with that task, but I could make sure he went with coffee.

I had several insulated water bottles that would work for hot or cold, so I pulled one down and filled it from the pot he’d made earlier—about half the pot was left, so it easily filled the bottle.

He drank it black, so I didn’t need to add anything.

And then I went into the fridge and pulled out some bread, ham, and cheese, as well as mustard and mayo, and set about making him some sandwiches to take.

“Are you still hungry?” he asked, noticing what I was doing.

“For you to take for lunch,” I replied, pulling out some aluminum foil to wrap each one individually.

Arms wrapped around my stomach, and Raj nuzzled the back of my head, breathing in deeply. “You don’t have to do that,” he said softly into my hair.

“I want to,” I said, simply, wrapping the first sandwich and moving on to a second.

He pressed a kiss to the side of my forehead. “Thank you,” he said softly. “And I’m sorry.” He stepped away, leaving my back cold in his absence.

When he returned to the kitchen, I could hear that he’d put on his shoes—and socks, presumably. I finished wrapping a fifth sandwich, then stuck all of them into a plastic grocery bag I’d pulled out from under the sink. “Here.”

He bent and kissed me, taking the bag.

“And the coffee,” I said, pointing over to the bottle.

“Rayn…” But he didn’t say more than that, kissing me again before stepping away to grab the bottle. “I’ll text you later.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“I really do wish—”

“I know.”