Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
He’s staring off into the distance, like he wishes for that too.
“Your dad?”
Rafe clucks his tongue. “No. My father would not be okay with it, but he hasn’t been in the picture for a long time, so.”
“What’s his deal?”
“He was pretty much gone by the time I was twelve or thirteen. He went back to Zamora—Mexico—with some of his cousins and left my mom with three kids and no money. Not that we were sad to see him go, since when he was around all he did was make us wish he wasn’t.” He shakes his head in disgust. “So, what did your mom think about Daniel being gay?”
“Nothing. She died when I was twelve.”
Instead of the empty “sorry” most people say in response, Rafe just moves closer to me and squeezes my arm.
“What would she have thought, do you think?”
What would she have thought? She always wanted me to have a wife. A family. Like Rafe’s mom, I guess. Maybe all moms want that. Would she have been disgusted if Daniel told her… that? I don’t know. He was her baby and she loved the crap out of him. I know that. Fuck, I don’t know.
“I think… she would have loved him,” I choke out, and it isn’t what I meant to say.
“And your dad. Does he still love Daniel?”
“I don’t know.”
“But he loves you.”
“Yeah.”
We eat in silence for a bit, and though I’m clumsily using my left hand to avoid getting food all over the nice, clean bandage Rafe put on, so far I haven’t actually slopped food onto myself.
“So, what’s the deal with you and your brother?” Rafe says, blatantly changing the subject. “I mean, you seem angry with him. But I would think that if you’re both gay, you would’ve stuck together.”
“Hey! I’m not—I never said—I don’t—”
Rafe has this glint in his eye, like maybe he’s provoking me on purpose. But, as usual, even if he is trying to throw me off balance, there’s a core of sincerity. And I don’t know how to answer him. Am I angry with Daniel?
“I’m not mad at him. I barely even see him,” I insist.
“But you think about him all the time. You talk about him a lot.”
“Not usually. I don’t usually talk about him at all.”
“Well, I’m glad you feel like you can talk about him with me.” I don’t know how Rafe can say this touchy-feely shit and still sound tough. “So? Why are you so upset about him? Don’t bother saying you aren’t. You get this look on your face whenever you mention him.”
“What look?”
“Just a kind of… jealous, pissed-off brother look, I guess.”
“I’m not—I just.” Jealous? Ugh. I’m too tired to talk about this shit. But Rafe keeps looking at me expectantly, like he’s daring me to finish the sentence.
“Daniel didn’t care, okay? It was easy for him to risk us all hating him because he was gonna be out of there. He had nothing to lose. I mean, he didn’t even want to hang out with us, so no big deal. He didn’t want to work at the garage, so who cares if no one wanted him there. He didn’t give a shit about Pop, so whatever if he thought he was a freak. Well, that’s great for Daniel, but I—”
“You do care.”
“Of course I fucking care if my own father thinks I’m disgusting.”
“Is that what he thinks? That your brother is disgusting?”
“I don’t—look, why are we even talking about this? Are you, like, obsessed with my brother or what? You keep bringing him up.”
“No. I’m not obsessed with your brother.” He gives me this long, amused look, but I don’t know what’s so fucking funny.
“Anyway, thanks for the food.”
“Come here.” He pushes his chair back and stands up.
“Why?”
“Come here, Colin.”
So fucking bossy. I glare at him and he comes to me instead. As he gets closer, my stomach flips and my neck feels hot. This close, the air between us is so charged it seems alive.
He takes my hand and my heart starts to pound.
“I know you feel it.” Rafe’s voice is so soft it’s almost a whisper. My gaze jumps to his face and I can’t mistake the heat in his eyes.
“Feel what?”
“This.” Rafe closes the distance between us, looking at me intently. I look away.
“This,” he insists, and before I know what’s happening, he backs me up against the wall.
My breath comes in a gasp, but it’s not my stupid breathing thing. It’s something very different.
Rafe’s eyes go sleepy and dangerous, his gaze tracking down my body as he presses up against me. I close my eyes. It’s too much. I’m shaking my head and I didn’t even realize it.
“This.” He runs his palm from my neck to my chest to my stomach, and I’m shivering, so freaked out and so turned on that I don’t know what to do. I close my eyes and tip my head back against the wall.