Chapter 243
“Well, thank God for that,” Andy said. “He was trying to goddamn rapeyou, that little scratch you gave him is the leastof what he deserves.”
Andy broke up in the shimmer of tears, a hundred tiny versions of him. “I hurt someone. I hurt someone again. Andy. You have every reasonto be scared of me.” Andy had left him once because of it. And Andy should go, he should take Billie and get away. Oh, God
“Oh my God, is thatwhat this is?” Warm hands cupped Scooter’s face and Andy brushed a gentle kiss on his forehead. “You hurt him in self-defense, sweetheart, that’s…I’m not scared of that. He was trying to hurt you so much worse. And I know it bothers you, I know, baby. But you’re not going to hurt me. You’re not. You’ve only ever hurt anyone in defense. Hell, you have to be wound up so tight it hurts just to get you to yell at me when we’re fighting. Anyway, what kind of asshole would I be if I dumped you for defending yourself, hm? Kat would hunt me down and stab me with a spoon.”
Scooter wanted to explain it, Andy wasn’t listening, he wasn’t. Like a blanket of rage, the urge to be violent had dropped on him, he never planned it. It just…just happened. Maybe it needed a certain trigger. Scooter tipped his head, chasing the thought. It was that fear, that sickening fear…for Jason. For Lewis Callahan. For himself.
Andy…Andy had never, ever made Scooter afraid. Not like that. Never like that. It was like a realization, sending silver shivers up his spine. Scooter stared at Andy. God, he was an idiot. “What the hell am I even thinking?” he asked. He didn’t expect an answer. “Oh, Andy.” He didn’t know how to put it in words, he sounded like a lunatic even inside his own damn skull. Trying to push him away when Andy was the best part of Scooter’s life? Might as well do Chris’s work for him. No, no and no. “Oh, God, I…I’m stupid. I love you. Don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Andy promised. “You’re not stupid, you’re traumatized.” Andy pulled Scooter in and kissed him, light and warm. “I love you, too, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”
Traumatized. Scooter almost snorted. Big Win would have had a lot of ugly words for Scooter, letting himself get soft, letting—Scooter gasped, hard. His chest ached. You don’t talk bad about the dead. You don’t…Scooter was panting for breath in Andy’s arms. Jesus, was it…“Oh, Christ, baby,” he managed. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe I am.” That was a big admission. Andy’d been pushing him, careful and quiet, to talk to the family counselor. They’d taken Billie a few times, to help her deal with grief and the trauma of the move.
Maybe it was time. He swallowed, his mouth rough and dry and sour. “Maybe I need some help with this,” he confessed, burying his face against Andy’s chest, brutally ashamed of himself.
Andy tightened his hold, pulling Scooter close against him. “Okay,” he breathed. “We’ll make that happen. You’re going to be okay, baby, I promise.”
* * * *
…you slip up, just once…
There was nothing but mist, as far as Scooter could see in any direction. Distant, dark shapes that vanished as soon as he got close.
He couldn’t even see the ground under his feet; there was nothing but white in any direction
“Andy!”
His voice echoed, bounced back at him from a hundred different directions at once, reverberating until Scooter fell to his knees, arms shielding his head from sound that attacked him like ghosts.
When the sound faded, there was still nothing.
No one answered.
He staggered to his feet. Picked a direction at random and walked, hands out to feel his way through the fog.
…when Andy runs off on you…
Nick. Golden blond and pretty, his lip curled in disgust. Looking down on Scooter like Scooter was nothing but trash. Like he thought he was better. Dressed sharp, the sort of man that Roni St. Vincent might approve of, a man who knew what looked good on him. Picked clothes that accentuated that gym-toned body, drew attention to his clever, handsome face.
“He left, didn’t he?” That smile, beautiful and cruel. “I told you he’d come back to me.”
Scooter shivered, wanted to deny it. But where was Andy, what—”What did you do to him, bastard?” He wanted to rub that smug look off Nick’s face. Wanted to see that lush mouth bruised and bleeding. His arms felt weak, like he could hardly move, swimming in glue, weighed down by grief and guilt. “Where is he?”
“He’s where he belongs,” Nick said, confident and easy. He leaned close, until Scooter could feel the warm puff of his breath. “He was so very grateful that I rescued him from your—”
…pathetic hand to mouth existence.