Broken Compass

“That ID is fake, isn’t it?” I press. “You ran away from home, and you don’t want to be found. But why?”

I mean, hey, I just blew the guy, came from seeing him come apart. We shared a moment,

an intimacy I haven’t shared with anyone before, and that after a year of taking care of each other, living under the same roof… it has to count for something, right?

But still he says nothing.

“So you’re nineteen. That’s good. Social services can’t take you. You don’t have to hide anymore.”

“But I do,” he whispers through clenched teeth.

“Why? What are you running from? What happened?”

But he stares stonily up at the ceiling, silent.

“Are you on the run from the law? Did you rob a bank? Did you hurt someone?”

A small shake of his head.

Good enough.

“You can’t protect me from danger by keeping me in darkness,” I tell him. “And you can’t stop me from caring about you, Kash Graham.” I stroke the ink on his arms, the phoenix and the dragon. “Just so you know. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Something shatters in his expression then, and he hauls me back down, into his arms. “Good.”

Something wakes me in the middle of the night. Or maybe it’s early morning? The blinds are shut, not letting any light penetrate. I never close mine completely, so… this isn’t my room. Or my bed. Plus, a big, warm body is pressed behind me, a heavy arm draped over my middle. There’s a scent of spicy male sweat and sex.

Sex.

Kash.

I lie there, stunned, as last night’s events unfold in my mind. The way his cock looked, so large and rigid, the way his body bowed with pleasure and need, his arms around me afterward…

God, I can’t believe I went down on Kash. A rush of heat goes through me, followed by something like… pride? Female pride for having someone want me this much, for pleasuring him so well. For liking it, too. For wanting more.

I’m a woman now. After kissing and touching West, I’d felt more like a grown-up, and I feel it even more now. I wanted Kash to fuck me. I wanted it so badly.

He’s asleep. I glance down at his hand that’s resting over my stomach, and study the ink that’s curling around his forearm.

Did he really say he’s my age? I always thought he looked younger than what he said. He’s not older than us, yet he’s been taking care of us, protecting us like an adult would, working his ass off. Living on his own for… how long?

How long has he been running?

A wave of affection rolls through me, just like last night, this urge to protect him, too, to make him happy. To love him. I’d turn around and hug him, but I don’t want to move and wake him up, not yet. He looked so exhausted last night.

So I lie there, trapped under his muscular arm, too warm, sticky, and my body already reacting to his, pressed so firmly behind me. I should feel gross, and uncomfortable.

But I don’t.

A smile pulls at my mouth.

A black leather-bound book catches my eye, peeking from under a tablet on the nightstand. What is he reading? Curious, I pull it free and gently flip the first page open, only to realize it’s a notebook.

No, a journal. At least, I think it is. On the first page is only the date—roughly five years ago, and a big capital K.

For Kash, I guess.

He mentioned it once, didn’t he? His journal. It’s filled with fine, cursive handwriting, pages and pages of it, with dates from years ago. Sometimes it’s a few sentences, sometimes paragraphs. In the dim light, it’s hard to read, but I make a random word here and there.