34. Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

Beck

R oman squeezes me to him and hums. “It worked, kind of. It always worked better when you did it. I tried that last day to do it for myself, but it didn’t work as well without your faith in me.”

I nuzzle into his chest, realizing belatedly that I’m rubbing my nose over the spot where his tattoo is. “So, the tattoo.” His body tenses. “How did you get it?”

He relaxes a little. “I took a picture on my phone of it that day, remember? After I left, I was scrolling through my photos, looking at the ones of you, and I found it. I used the last bit of money I had to get it tattooed.”

“I can’t believe, after all this time, you’re here,” I whisper into his chest. “That we’re here. Like this. That you haven’t moved on and found someone else.”

“I have a piece of your soul literally etched into my skin, Beck. How could you possibly think I’d ever be able to move on?”

“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t really look at it like that.”

He hums, his fingers rubbing maddening little circles into the small of my back, distracting the hell out of me. “I’m sorry that it bothered you. I didn’t think about how it would make you react. It’s such a normal part of me—I didn’t even think about it. And I definitely didn’t think it would make you sick to see it.” His voice is small, and it hits me with a blinding rush that he thinks I was upset about the tattoo. I mean, I was. But that’s not what made me sick.

“I wasn’t sick about the tattoo.” His fingers pause their movement before slowly resuming. He doesn’t say anything, so I push on. “I was sick because of the look on your face when I yelled at you. You were afraid of me. I’ve only seen that look in your eyes once. It broke my heart back then, and it broke my heart again that time. I’ve never yelled at you before. I was so mean to you. Being mean to you is what made me sick, not the tattoo.”

He’s quiet for a moment, taking in my words. “I wasn’t afraid of you.”

“You weren’t? You looked like it.”

“I was afraid,” he admits softly. “But not of you. I was scared that I fucked up. That a choice I made to keep you with me in whatever way I could, ended up fucking everything up, and I wouldn’t get to be with you the way I really wanted.”

“The way you really wanted?” He lifts his hand from my lower back, and I’m about to protest when he slips his fingers into my hair. Using his grip, he tilts my head back until I’m forced to look at him.

His brown eyes are soft, adoring almost, as he stares down at me. “Yes, Beck. The way I wanted. This, right here. This is the way I wanted.”

“I don’t have any photos of you,” I choke out, unable to keep the words in any longer. Not with the way he’s looking at me. “Not even my sketchbooks. I destroyed them all.”

He’s quiet. Too quiet. “It was about six months after you left. I was so sad. And so mad about being sad that I just lost it. Deleted all the photos of you on my phone and ripped my sketchbooks apart. Then I sobbed into the pieces for hours. I haven’t drawn anything since you left.”

Pain flashes in his eyes. “I don’t know what to say. Sorry doesn’t seem like enough. I’ll never be able to make up for what I did.”

The thing is, I’m not sure that I need him to make up for what he did. I don’t want to forget our past, but I also don’t want our relationship to be me, him, and his guilt. “We need to find a way to get past that. I know you’re sorry. I know you would take it back if you could. I don’t want to spend any more time worrying about the past. I know we have to talk about it, but I don’t want you to feel you have to apologize for everything. It’s not like you had it easy either.”

He sighs heavily and reaches down to grip my thigh, pulling my leg over his until our bodies are touching at every possible point. “No, I didn’t have it easy. But one could argue that I made my own choices, and you suffered the consequences of them.”

“Did you leave thinking it would have that effect on me?”

He snorts. “No, I left thinking that I was doing you a favor.”

That hurts. I can’t think of a single thing I said or did that would make him think I hated what we shared, that I hated being there for him. But for this to work, I really need to try to understand his mindset. I want him back more than anything in the world, but if I thought I was nothing but a burden to him? If I really believed that in my soul? I don’t know how I’d react. But that I can’t say with certainty that it would be any different from how he did puts things into perspective. “Do you still feel that way?”

He hums thoughtfully. “No, I had a long time to come to terms with my fuckups, and a lot of therapy to work through my negative thoughts about myself. I actually need to call Alexis and schedule an extra appointment. My mind definitely took a turn earlier.”

“Is that why you were saying you deserve good things?”

“Yeah. As stupid as it sounds, those words really helped me back then. In the kitchen, on that first day after you found out about Dad, you told me I was good enough for anything I wanted, and it stuck with me.”

I nod, remembering the day perfectly. “Yeah, I hadn’t read the article at that point, but I still felt like you needed to hear it.”

He tiptoes his fingers up and down my thigh with one hand, while the other tightens its grip on my hair, making my stomach clench. God, his hands on me always feel so good. So fucking good. “I wanted to ask if you meant you too,” he says quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“When you said I was good enough for anything I wanted, my immediate thought was, even you? I was too scared to ask, though. So I just repeated it like you asked me to.”

I raise myself off his chest, and his hand falls away from my hair. I press a kiss to his mouth. It’s soft at first—gentle. But it spirals quickly. He lets out a little whimper against my mouth as I deepen the kiss, swiping my tongue against his. My heart is thudding heavily in my chest, my stomach swooping. I pull back slowly and stare into his eyes. His beautiful fucking eyes that I never thought I’d be able to lose myself in again. “Of course you are,” I whisper. “You always have been.”

His smile is like the sun, and I can’t help but smile back. He reaches across the bed for his phone. “We need new pictures.”

He holds his phone up in front of him, and his face falls. “Fuck, I missed a call from Holden.” Jealousy twists my stomach, but I shove it down as he calls him back, his expression worried. He puts the call on speakerphone, and I stare at him as we wait for Holden to answer.

“Hey,” Holden says through the line.

“Hold, what’s wrong?” The worry in Roman’s voice is strange to hear. I’m not used to seeing him in a position where he is the one protective of someone else.

“Your dad was a little upset earlier. He took a swing at me, but I got—”

“He did fucking what ?” Roman practically shouts into the phone as he all but throws me off him in his haste to climb out of bed. I jump up right after him. I may have complicated feelings about Holden, but no one deserves to get hit. Plus, Richard really hurt Roman , and he’s not exactly small. I can’t imagine how much damage he could do to Holden.

“Jesus Christ, Ro. Calm down. He didn’t make contact,” Holden says. He actually sounds a little put out, and I kinda love that he doesn’t take shit from anyone, not even Roman. Then I remember what Roman told me about him—the reason he had to learn not to take shit from anyone, and it makes my heart sink.

“I don’t give a fuck if he made contact, Holden. It’s unacceptable.” Roman is pacing back and forth, wearing a trail on my bedroom floor. He drags his hand through his hair, tugging on the strands, clearly agitated. “Fuck, I knew bringing you was a mistake.”

His eyes go wide as his pacing comes to an abrupt halt, and the other end of the line is silent for a beat. I don’t even know Holden, not in any real way, but even I know those words weren’t the right ones to say. “Oh fuck you, you sanctimonious asshole,” Holden says, and I chuckle. Called it. “He didn’t know who I was. He was freaking out because a strange man was standing in his bedroom. He wasn’t trying to hurt me, Roman. I just wanted to let you know that his mind is slipping further. For fuck’s sake.” I laugh harder, doubling over.

“What the fuck is so funny, Beck?” he growls over the line, and I straighten up, forcing myself to calm down.

“Not a thing.”

“Hmm,” he says, and I have to bite my lip to keep my laughter under control. Fuck, he’s a little spitfire, isn’t he ? Goddammit. I don’t want to like him.

“I’m coming home,” Roman says, ignoring Holden’s outburst. I hate it, but I get it.

Holden sighs. “That’s not necessary, but I know you’re not going to listen, so whatever. Bring Beck, or I’m going to hold the fact that you said bringing me here was a mistake over your head for at least the next three to five business days.”

Roman’s eyes dart to mine, and I cross my fingers behind my back that he agrees. Juvenile? Maybe. But I’m not ready to say goodbye yet. He sighs and reaches out, slipping his fingers through mine. “Yes, yes. I’ll bring Beck. Jeez, Hold, you’re insufferable.”

“You love me. Bye,” he says, hanging up before Roman even has a chance to respond.

Roman stares at his phone for a few seconds, blinking at the screen, then rolls his eyes. “Little asshole,” he murmurs and I laugh, feeling some of the jealousy and tension about Holden fade. They really do seem like brothers, and I can admit, if only to myself, that I’m glad Roman had somebody there for him for the last ten years.

“I’m keeping these sweats,” Roman says as he tugs me from the room.

A laugh escapes my lips. “Is that so? I remember a time when you would get embarrassed by wearing my clothes.”

He shrugs and smiles back at me, and my heart skips a beat when his dimple appears in his cheek. “Are you ready for this?”

I shrug. “For what? Seeing your dad or meeting Holden outside of the hospital?”

“Both. Either.”

I close the front door behind me and lock it before heading toward Roman’s car, my hand still tucked into his. “No. Not really. Probably a good thing he doesn’t know who anyone is. The last time I saw him, I punched him.”

He stops and turns to me, eyes wide. “You hit him?”

Amusement at his expression and the pain of that memory wash over me. “Yeah, I mean, the room looked like a murder scene and I couldn’t find you, and he said something like, ‘Look what he made me do.’ So I hit him. Didn’t even think about it.”

Roman blinks at me a couple of times, his expression unreadable. Fuck, did I mess up admitting that? “Are you okay?”

He nods slowly. “I walked in and he was drunk. I should have turned around and walked back out, but I didn’t. He was talking badly about you and your dad. I lost it. I wasn’t going to stand there and listen to him berate the man I loved.”

While I appreciate the sentiment, I wish he had turned around and walked out. I couldn’t give a shit less what that man thought of me back then, and that’s still the truth. “I wish you wouldn’t have gone,” I whisper.

His face crumples, pain and regret flashing across his features, but this time it doesn’t disappear. He doesn’t try to shove it down or hide it from me. He turns to me and pulls me into his arms. “I’m so glad I have this chance with you,” he whispers into my hair. My body starts to tremble in his hold, tears filling my eyes. “Thank you for giving me another chance.”

I nod, turning my head to bury my face in his neck. I brush my lips over his pulse point, and he lets out a little groan that makes my cock swell. Fuck, this is not productive. And even though I won’t admit it out loud—will hardly admit it to myself—I’m worried about Holden. “Let’s go. Holden needs you.”

He pulls back, his shocked brown eyes meeting mine, and nods. Fuck me, what am I about to walk into?

When we walk through the front door at Roman’s dad’s house, I have to swallow down a rush of anxiety. The last time I was here, I was following a trail of blood, losing my fucking mind. My eyes take in the space—it’s clean, cleaner than I’ve ever seen it. And the furniture is new, or at least not broken down. There’s soft music coming from somewhere, and the lights are off. Candles are lit throughout the space, casting a warm glow on everything.

Roman calls out for Holden, but he doesn’t respond. I can see the worry rising in his features. He takes off down the hall toward the bedrooms, and I follow him, ready to jump in and defend Holden if I need to—which, hello , personal growth.

We walk past Roman’s room and stop at the door between his and his dad’s. There’s a sheet of paper folded in half, taped to the door.

Roman grabs the paper with shaky hands and opens it. I watch him, wondering what’s going on, when a small smile lights up his face. “What is it?” I finally ask when he doesn’t say anything.

He hands me the paper without a word, and I glance down at it, taking in the loopy, elegant handwriting.

I told you not to come home, but you don’t listen. There’s music playing. I made the playlist myself. Go dance in the living room with Beck. If you bother me, I’m going to assume you want me to rip your ass for saying bringing me was a mistake. Holden. 3

I smile, despite myself—at the note, and in hindsight, the very obvious setup with the candles and the music. I can feel Roman’s eyes on me, like he’s trying to read my emotions, but I don’t look up from the paper in my hand.

“Do you want to do that?” he finally asks.

I slowly lift my eyes to meet his. “Do you want to do that?”

“Dance with you? Definitely. Anything that gets you in my arms is a win.”

I nod. “Okay then, let’s go dance.”

He smiles as he takes my hand and leads me down the hallway to the living room. I rest my head against his shoulder, closing my eyes as we sway to the music. I think it’s a Niall Horan song, and when he croons, “ Don’t it feel fucked up we’re not in love? ” I have to bite my tongue so I don’t start crying because yeah, actually, it does feel pretty fucked up. It seems Holden picked this playlist with purpose. We get lost in our own little world as the song ends, another starting up right behind it.

I’m floating in happiness, held up in Roman’s strong embrace, when the sound of a sniffle brings me back to myself. I pull back, worry filling me when I see silent tears streaming down Roman’s face. “What’s wrong?” I whisper, not daring to speak any louder and break the spell that seems to be surrounding us.

“Nothing. I… I love you. God , I’m so in love with you.”

His words make my breath catch. I love him too. Fuck, of course I do. I’ve loved him since I was eighteen-years-old. I don’t think I’ll ever stop, but I’m not ready yet. Not ready to take that final leap, not ready to fully trust he won’t leave again. So instead of answering with words, I tilt my head and offer him my mouth. He takes the hint, pressing our lips together. We resume our slow swaying as we kiss for what feels like hours. Until my lips are sore and my cock is throbbing, until I can’t breathe, until I’m crying too.

Roman cups my cheeks, wiping my tears away with his thumbs. “You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know. I couldn’t keep it in anymore,” he whispers against my lips before kissing me again. He slides a leg between mine, pressing his hip against my aching cock and his thigh against my balls. I groan into his mouth, my hips moving on their own, my cock rubbing against his body.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Holden’s voice echoes softly through the room. We jump apart like kids caught with our hands in the cookie jar—or I guess like grown adults getting caught dry humping in the living room—both of us turning to face him. “I think Richard needs to go to the hospital. Can you come see what you think, Beck?”

I nod, my feet already in motion, my mind seamlessly transitioning to medical mode. Roman’s still standing in the middle of the room, so I turn back and glance at him. “You okay?”

He seems to snap out of it, nodding as he rushes to catch up to us.

With Roman behind us, I follow Holden toward Richard’s bedroom. “So, what are we looking at?”

“He has a distended stomach. I’m thinking it’s ascites,” Holden answers. “My guess is it’ll need to be drained.”

“What… what does that mean?” Roman asks, voice shaky. I can’t stand hearing that from him, so I turn to go to him. Holden beats me to it, and Roman’s face crumples right as Holden reaches him. I take a step forward as Roman collapses against Holden, who wraps him up in his arms, whispering into his ear. I freeze in place, my stomach dropping out when I realize he doesn’t want me. He just wants Holden. I watch them for a moment, renewed jealousy spiking inside me before I finally turn back toward Richard.

It may break my heart, but Holden has him. I’m going to have to find a way to deal with that. But for now, the best way for me to take care of him is by taking care of his piece of shit dad.