Broken Compass

At this rate, I’ll probably lose my job, and I don’t care. I should, I should fucking well care, but I can’t. The moment my shift is over, I grab my stuff and get out of Dodge. Thank God I’m not picking Sydney up from her work. It’s Nate’s turn to walk her home today, anyway.

And I don’t want to talk right now. About last night, my fucked-up, dead family or…

“I love you.”

Goddammit. At least before I thought I knew how things stood, where I stood, no matter how fucking depressing that was. But if she loves me, if she means it… Then everything changes. I got a fighting chance.

Whatever that means, since I don’t wanna fight the others, don’t wanna change a thing, only… have more. More of what we have.

Jesus, this is nuts. It’s fucking with my mind.

But I’d rather get all twisted up about this than remember the past weeks, and all that’s happened. The reason I’m shacking up with Syd and the guys in the first place.

“I wanted to ask you about your grandfather.”

Christ.

I’m done. Totally fucking done with the past and everything that used to be my life. I’m not who I thought I was. Nothing was as I thought. It was all a damn lie, and it took death to bring the truth to the light.

Strangely, thinking I knew neither of my parents was okay with me. I thought I had a sister, and a grandfather. That defined me. It made me who I was.

Not anymore. I’ve no idea who I am, or where I’m going.

It’s really late when Kash comes back. I hear the apartment door click open, then the click of his keys in the bowl and the snick of the lock closing again. His steps thud softly on the floor as he approaches me.

I’m lying on the sofa, an arm thrown over my eyes to shield them from the lamp we always leave on for when Kash returns at night.

“I know you’re awake.” He says it matter-of-factly, in that quiet, deep voice of his. “Move over, you’re taking up the whole sofa.”

I lift my arm to glower at him. “I’m a big guy.”

He smirks. “I know.” His pale hair is a curtain over his face. He pushes it back impatiently, his gray eyes fixed on my face. “We need to talk.”

Yeah, I should have expected it. I did expect it. Thought he wouldn’t let me off the hook for long. Stick his nose into my bloody past.

Who told him about this? Because it sure as hell wasn’t me.

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nbsp; What is unexpected is the touch of his hand on my bare chest, gentle, light. He has long fingers, like a violinist or something, and he trails them over my ribs, over my pec.

Should it feel weird? It feels good.

I catch his hand, keep it pressed there, over my heart. “We have talked. Time to sleep. You look beat.”

“Don’t change the topic.”

“We never had a topic, dude.”

He’s gazing down, at my hand covering his. “Your grandfather, West. Let’s get this over with.”

“Let’s not.” I shove his hand off me. “I’m going to sleep. I suggest you do the same.”

“You suggest…?” His face twists in what I realize is anger. He’s suddenly on top of me, pushing me into the cushions, straddling me, his hands pressed on either side of my face, his face in my face, gray eyes glittering dangerously. “Fuck you, man. Fuck you. I overheard an exchange I wasn’t supposed to hear, between your sister and someone I’m guessing was your grandfather, and I wanted… I wanted…”

He runs out of steam, and I realize I’m gripping at his shoulders—trying to shove him off? Pull him closer? I’m not sure, except for the fact he’s damn heavier than he looks. Fucker’s not skinny anymore but packed with dense muscle, and boy, does he look pissed.

And he seems to be struggling with something.