“Now,” he barks, a crazed look in his eyes, unwilling to take no for an answer.
Still don’t know what the fuck they have going on, but whatever it is, Bryce pauses. Maverick leans close to say something into his ear. Bryce nods, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.
“Not here.” He uses his stone chin to gesture to the back of the restaurant where the washrooms are.
Bryce glares, but he obeys, and thankfully, shirtless Maverick follows after him.
Weird.
“Dad, it cool if I grab a shirt from the apartment? I didn’t bring anything, and no way am I okay with my husband giving me his shirt and walking around shirtless like Mav is. His body is for my eyes only.”
“Of course, take whatever you want.”
“Even the Creed t-shirt?”
“Even the Creed t-shirt,” I say. I’ll give him whatever he asks for this week.
The bussers are fast, already have the glass gone, working on the wine on the floor. I’m about to take over for the few minutes he’s gone, but then I freeze. Is my Creed shirt even up there? Yeah, it’s gotta be. Dirk wouldn’t take that with him. If it were found outside of my apartment, we’d be found out.
Fuck.
But he was wearing it, and I don’t remember what happened to it after that. Arousal spikes to stupid levels when I’m with Dirk, and my penis brain takes over, rendering my actual brain useless. Even if it’s not on the hook where it usually lives, that could raise questions. Hell, it’s a miracle we got away with it the one time Dash saw Dirk in that shirt. Dash was too frazzled because of the whole thing with Stacey, but he won’t be this time.
I bolt through the kitchen and up the stairs to my apartment.
I’m relieved for half a second when I see that Dash doesn’t have the Creed shirt in his hand, it’s another long-sleeved one, and he’s already got the wine-soaked one off.
But then I see them—scratches all down his arms. In some places, it looks like someone tried to rip the skin clear off.
I get the same sensation as when he was a little boy and about to fall off of something. You don’t think in those situations; you rush to them and pray you get there in time. I grab his wrist, spinning him around.
You didn’t get there in time, Travis.
“What the fuck happened to your arms?” Violence swirls around me, not for Dash, but that probably doesn’t matter. Dash rips his arms away, stepping back into Stacey for protection. Or maybe it’s to protect Stacey. Smart. Everything is danger, and Dash needs to be removed from it. I lunge for Dash—I’m taking him the fuck outta here. Far away.
“Dad, stop! I did this—not on purpose!” he adds when my eyes narrow into slits.
My hand catches his wrist again. I flip it over and over, staring at them, trying to make sense of what he’s said for myself. Then I take a breath, I’ve got to calm the fuck down. Hear him out.
“You two, sit,” I growl.
I point to the couch.
Stacey helps him shrug into my shirt, and I grab a beer from the fridge, which will have to do for now. Later, I’m having a cigarette—fuck my lungs. The hiss of carbon hits the air, and I take a long sip.
“From the beginning, Dash.”
Dash takes a breath. “It’s happened a handful of times—but not for a long-ass time!” he adds when the corners of my mouth flatten into a sharp line. I can feel the whole weight of my stare darkening; he must feel it, too.
“This happened before, and you never told me?”
“Yeah, because I knew you’d act like this. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not, Dash.” My heart won’t slow down, it won’t stop feeling like it wants to pound its way out of my chest.
“I am,” he insists.
“Trav—” Stacey begins.
