Zane (Inked Brotherhood 3)
Chapter Eleven
Zane
Goddammit all to hell.
I lean against the living room wall and try to get my shit together. Hard to do when I think I feel rough hands on my back, when I think I smell burnt flesh, when all I want to do is curl up and howl.
Fuck this shit. I’m not a kid anymore. Have to get over this. Working on it. Hell, I’ve done things with Dakota I never tried before, things I was sure would send me into la-la-land or rocking in a corner, but I’m okay. I was okay, until she touched my back.
Jesus fucking Christ. I wipe a hand over my mouth and suck in a deep breath. What am I doing? Having her here, having her stay. Am I out of my damn mind?
I hear soft footsteps, and I straighten, put on my poker face. My chest constricts as she walks out of the kitchen, barefoot, her hair messy, her eyes a bit wide. I scared her again. And I will keep on scaring her if she insists on sticking around.
Maybe after a few days with me she’ll change her mind and go. And I have no right to feel that sting inside when I think about it. She should go, find a sane person to be with.
“Zane?” She’s staring at me, her small hands clutching the hem of her blouse.
Guilt presses on my chest like a stone. Against my better judgment, I reach for her, draw her close. “Sorry.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” she whispers, placing her hands on my chest, and her lashes seem wet.
Shit. “You shouldn’t be. I’m the one who’s not normal.”
“I like you as you are,” she says, and some of the pressure lifts from my chest.
I nod, but can’t speak, my throat closing up. Why isn’t she running for the hills? How come she’s not scared of me?
“Let me show you your bedroom,” I say.
“My bedroom?” A flash of disappointment goes through her ga
ze.
We can’t sleep together. If she’s not scared now, she will be then.
I pull her along and open the door. “Here.”
It’s clean and empty, just the narrow bed, the closet and the shelves nailed to the wall. Just as Erin left it, and I feel a pang, remembering how good it was to have someone nearby who didn’t judge me and wasn’t scared of me.
Then again, I rarely saw Erin when she lived here, and besides, I shouldn’t be thinking of this. Dakota will be gone in a few days. She’ll find a roommate, and move out again, and I’ll have to decide what to do. Maybe I should move, too, find a studio to live in on my own.
The thought is like a kick in the guts. I lean on the doorjamb, watching without really seeing Dakota walk around the bedroom. I know I’m not easy to be around. But I don’t want to be alone forever. I’ve wished to be alone so many times in the past, when people only gave me pain, but I’m afraid that if I’m left alone, I won’t make it out of the tunnel sane.
Or even alive.
***
It’s late when I come home from work. I open the door to the apartment to find the lights on and a heavenly spicy smell in the air. I stand stock-still, key still in hand, warmth coursing through my veins, spreading in my limbs. A smile tugs at my lips as I hear a voice singing from the direction of the kitchen.
My feet carry me there, and I linger at the kitchen door, looking inside. Dakota is stirring something on the stove, humming and shaking her head. She’s wearing headphones, I realize, and she taps her hand on the counter to a beat only she can hear.
I could get used to coming home to this, I think, and shit, this isn’t a good line of thinking.
She’s dressed… Oh fuck, she’s dressed in one of my muscle shirts—sleeveless, and so big it’s slipping off her shoulders. It’s long enough to cover her ass, but as I zero in, I can see no panty outline.
She’s naked underneath. Following my rule.
Naked. Underneath my clothes. My T-shirt wrapped around her curves, her breasts, her ass, all around her silky skin.