Out of Nowhere (Middle of Somewhere 2)

“You were as much in prison as anyone I knew there, Colin. Only you created it for yourself. Your father paced out the cell and your brothers fit the bars and you turned the key in the lock and buried it somewhere only you know. And you stared at Daniel through the bars and cursed him for being able to walk out the door. But he’s not the one who did something wrong. All he did was save himself. And you can too. But you have to find that key and unlock the door.”

I’m shaking my head compulsively. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.

“I made my own choices,” I say. “No one forced me to do anything.”

“Things could be different now,” Rafe says urgently. “Maybe getting shit square with Daniel is the first step. Something has to be different when you go back to work with your brothers, or what’s to stop everything from being exactly the same?”

I turn and look at him, eyes narrowed.

“And, then, what about us?” he says. He’s going too fast. I don’t know what we’re talking about anymore. “Where do we go from here if everything’s exactly the same? If you’re still not able to feel like yourself? If we’re hiding in your house all the time, not even able to go to a restaurant together? Does that feel good to you?”

“I don’t—what are you saying?”

Rafe catches my hands and pulls me down on the bed next to him. He kisses me fiercely on the mouth, pulling me toward him and wrapping me in his arms. He keeps kissing me; then he pulls away and regards me seriously, as if he’s made his point.

“I just…. It feels different here or something,” I mutter, wishing he’d just kiss me again and stop me from saying stupid shit.

“Yeah, because we’re far enough away from real life that it feels like there are no consequences.” His hands keep moving on me, rubbing my back, running over my shoulders. “But what if it could feel like this all the time? What if there were no consequences to being with me?” He sounds so hopeful. Like that’s actually possible. “What if… what if we could just… care about each other all the time and that was okay?”

His expression is still warm, but there’s an urgency to what he’s saying and his grip has tightened just a little.

“You… you want that,” I say, still trying to figure out what exactly we’re really discussing. Rafe pulls me closer.

“I already feel that, Colin. I already care about you all the time.”

“Why?” I spit out. I didn’t mean to say it, but it’s what I’ve wondered every time we were together. How someone as amazing as Rafe could ever want me.

Rafe narrows his eyes, puzzled.

“I don’t….” I look out the window, but Rafe guides my gaze back to his with a hand on my cheek. “I don’t understand why you care. I… I believe that you do. I feel it, but….” I shake my head, frustrated. “But I don’t get how you can. About me. When you’re… when you’re so much more…. When I….”

I think about Daniel and how I couldn’t protect him. About the women I’ve fucked over because I didn’t care. Because I was too scared to admit why I didn’t want anything to do with them. About how I abandoned Pop in the last few months. How I can’t even take Rafe out to dinner like he wants.

“I’m not a good person,” I whisper, closing my eyes.

Rafe pushes me backward and kisses me hard.

“I see you,” he says fiercely, cupping my face. “All the shit, that’s…. I understand why you needed it, you know?”

I shake my head. I really don’t.

Rafe rolls us so we’re lying on our sides, facing each other. He throws a leg over my hip, anchoring me to the bed, and rests a hand on the back of my neck.

“In prison, people build themselves up. They construct a… a version of themselves that they think is most likely to get them out of the situation with as little damage as possible. It’s not a lie, exactly, but they emphasize some traits, cover some up. They say certain things but keep others private. And it’s armor, just like doing push-ups and lifting weights to build up their bodies. And you just… I don’t know, if you pay attention, you learn to translate it. You see which parts are armor and which parts are weapons.”

He strokes his thumb against my neck. Our faces are so close I can feel his breath warm on my cheek, see the jagged scar that breaks his eyebrow and the frown lines on his forehead.

“Armor,” he goes on. “Armor’s not dangerous. That’s for survival. It’s weapons you have to watch out for. And you—” He strokes my lips with his thumb. “It’s mostly armor, Colin. And when you’re with me, the armor falls away. Who you are without it… it’s beautiful.”