Chapter 42
Zeus
"You can just leave your car here," I say as we walk hand in hand toward the front door. "I can call and have it picked up."
"My car?" he asks. "I didn't drive."
I turn to look at him.
He waves his free hand in front of his face as if he thinks I could've forgotten about his injuries.
"I can hardly see," he says with a smile that highlights the cut on his upper lip. "I did Uber."
"Even better," I say.
He's walking better, but there's still a hitch in his steps that I can tell he's trying to hide.
"Maybe this was a bad idea," I say.
I stop when he plants his feet and stares at me.
"I'm good," he says.
"And I don't want to be the one to cause you any more pain. I've done enough of that over the years."
He frowns, and it triples the guilt inside of me.
"We're moving forward. There's no sense in living in the past," he says with a small shake of his head that makes me wonder if the man truly means it or if he's also struggling to let go of the way I treated him. "The only thing I need from you is a promise that you won't do it again."
"I swear," I tell him, turning to fully face him so he can read the sincerity in my eyes. "Hurting you is the last thing I'll ever do. That's why I think we should wait."
He shakes his head again, but there's a softness of understanding in his eyes.
"I'm not going to coerce you into making love to me, Frankie. I'm not on board because I think it's just what you want. I've wanted to share that experience with you for as long as I can remember."
I run my hand over my head before scraping it down my red beard. I still don't know what my choice is going to be. It's a stall tactic at best.
"We started with pain," I mutter, my throat threatening to seize. "I don't want to continue that trend."
"It won't be painful for either of us. I assure you."
He tugs my hand, urging me out of the house.
"If you keep looking at me like you love me, then things are going to get really awkward right here in the foyer, considering you said you didn't want to get laid in your parents' house."
I laugh, loving that he has a way of lightening the mood.
"We'll need... umm... supplies, right?"
"We will," he says as we pause on the front porch so I can lock the door.
I don't take an extra moment to take the place in, despite knowing I'll never step foot on this property again.
There are no good memories here, nothing I want to look back on.
If anything, a trip a few streets down would be better. His childhood home carries more good things than this place ever did.
It's hard to work in the field we work in and not reflect on our own lives. I know my life would look great from the outside looking in. My parents had money. I wore designer clothes. My first car was brand new and paid for in full.
It was all out of obligation, and there will always be feelings of gratitude inside me for what they provided, but not all pain is physical pain. I didn't have to be beaten to be brought to my knees as a child.
Still, I know I had it better than a lot of other kids had it, and in knowing that, there's guilt for letting it control so much of my life.
I didn't go to school, having to cover up bruises or worry about my next meal.
I'm not saying psychological abuse is worse or even equal to physical abuse, but it leaves a mark on a person just the same.
"I don't know if I'm ready to go into a store and buy those sorts of things," I confess, feeling as if my readiness for this with him is wavering.
I want it. Don't get me wrong, but I feel like it's a process, as if baby steps are needed.
As much as I just want to take a big deep breath and exhale everything that would prevent me from just walking into the sunshine with him with my head held high, I know that's not realistic.
I'm aware enough to know my limitations, and I can only hope that he's as understanding of that as I need him to be.
"Stop," he says a few feet from the rental truck as he once again plants his feet.
I shouldn't have even brought it up until we were in the truck and on the road. At least that way, I could keep my eyes on the road instead of being forced to look right at him.
"Nope," he says, getting right in my face, his hand releasing mine so he can reach down and tilt my chin up. "Don't hide from me."
"I'm..." I shake my head before a lie slips out because he's right.
I want to avoid this conversation.
I want to pretend I'm not too much work and that there's a chance he'll walk away because he doesn't have the patience for it.
"I know that all of this is going to take some time. I know there will be things you're comfortable with and things you may never be comfortable doing. But never hide your truth from me." He gives me a weak smile, his hand flexing on my face when I attempt to look away. "Do you love me?"
"Of course, I do," I answer without hesitation.
"Do you want to be in a relationship with me?"
I nod.
"More than friends?"
I scoff, nodding again.
"Monogamous?"
"Better be," I growl.
His grin grows wider, eyes shining as if that hint of possessiveness is exactly what he needs from me.
"We're building a future together?"
"That's what I want," I assure him.
"That's what I want as well. Let's take it day by day," he says as he turns to get in the truck.
"I don't want that," I say, hating the way his shoulders slump slightly. "I want to make plans. I want to know that we're working toward building a life with us together."
He looks over his shoulder, less pain in his eyes from his injuries than he had yesterday, but there's still a hint of discomfort.
"Then we're on the same page. Can we go now? There's a pharmacy that will have all of our extracurricular needs just a few blocks away."
I chuckle, going around to the driver's side door and climbing in. I watch as he gets situated, noticing the hesitation in his movements as he reaches for the seatbelt.
"Don't," he snaps as he clicks it in place, noticing me watching him. "I'm fine."
"You'd tell me if you weren't?"
"I would," he says.
I pull on my own seatbelt and crank the truck, keeping my eyes straight ahead as we pull away from the house. There's no glance back in the rearview mirror, no emotional response. I formed a detachment to this place long before I ever moved out.
"We should swing by your house," I suggest. "How long has it been since you saw your parents?"
"Too long, according to Mom," he says. "But she'd lose her shit if she saw me like this."
His parents were always kind to him, even if they were a little less involved with his day-to-day life than any parent should be.
"So you still have a good relationship with them?" I ask, checking both ways before turning onto the street that takes us out of the gated community.
"It's okay. Neither of them is happy with the work I chose, and I've always thought they didn't care enough about what happened to Dakota," he answers.
"I know they're sad she's gone. It's not something they'd ever wish on any parent, the loss of a child, but they also fight that voice that tells them that addicts are a lost cause the second they use drugs the first time. "
"Lots of folks with lots of uneducated opinions. I don't know that I wouldn't hate them if I were you," I say.
He keeps his eyes out the window, and I don't know if he's taking a trip down memory lane as we drive out of our childhood neighborhood, or if what I said upsets him more than I intended it to. I don't want to hurt him at all, but he said he always wants honesty.
I frown, knowing that honesty and saying everything that pops in my head without a filter isn't the same thing at all.
It's going to take some fucking time before I can get this relationship shit right, it seems.
"I'm disappointed in them. I think the only thing that makes me feel better about all of it is that they never rejected her.
Granted, she never showed up asking for help either.
It all went sideways so fucking fast. They hired her an attorney instead of just letting her rot in jail, so I guess that's something.
She was just gone before they really had to put any personal energy into her recovery. "
"You think they'd just wash their hands of her if she got out and struggled?"
I look over in time to see him shrug. "I don't know. I think everyone has their limit, but I don't know if the tough love would've started immediately or if repeat relapses would be what it took. I hate that we never got a chance to find out."
"I hate it, too. I hate that I wasn't there for you," I add.
"Honestly, I don't know if you would've wanted to be around me back then," he says, his voice low and full of more pain than he showed with the beating he took. "I was so angry. There's a very real chance I would've said some stuff even a distant friendship couldn't survive."
"If it's your truth and how you feel, then I want to hear it," I assure him.
I look at him as I slow the truck at a red light.
He's slow to look in my direction, but eventually he locks eyes with me.
He gives his head a slight shake.
"I will," he says. "Eventually, but for my own sanity, I need some time. I need to know that we're strong enough to go back and relive some of that shit."
"I understand," I tell him. "Hopefully I can prove to you that I'm in this for the long haul."
"You have nothing to prove. Just be present with me. It's all I need right now."
"I'm here," I promise. "Always."
He gives me a quick smile, then reaches out and takes my hand when I offer it.
I think for the first time in my life, my head is silent, and I can just live in the moment without a million things piling up and weighing me down.
I know I can't feel like that forever. There will be times when we don't see eye to eye, but I can have faith that things will work out and our relationship will survive.