Confessions in the Dark (4 page)

I
t probably said a lot about Cole's day that the best thing to happen to him in it so far was being allowed to wait in a car.

It wasn't even a particularly nice car. Ten years old if it was a day, rattly and rusting on the outside, though at least the interior was clean. He shifted, trying to get comfortable, but it wasn't much use. He'd already slid the seat back as far as it would go, and he still had to hold his blasted leg at this precarious angle if he wanted to keep it straight.

He took a deep breath. Everything would be fine. Serena would return with the tiny human he was supposed to make nice with and train to do tricks, and then she'd take him home. Back to the silence that sometimes threatened to suffocate him but that he'd give just about anything for right now.

Silence and solitude. No doctors belittling him or women railroading him. No one touching him. Placing the softest of hands on the bare flesh of his thigh, setting off sparks beneath his skin, making
him
reach out. God, she'd felt so good inside his grasp. It'd been the most fleeting moment of contact, and yet his flesh burned hot at the very memory.

He should've shut it down much sooner.

Rapping his knuckles against the window, he stared off into the distance at the field they were parked in front of. Children of all sizes stood around, some of them tossing balls back and forth, and his throat went tight.

If she'd told him her nephew was an athlete from the outset, he could've avoided this whole ridiculous excuse of a farce.

He squeezed his eyes shut hard against the flash of a boy twice his size standing over him. A rugby player, that one, though all the imbeciles from the clubs were the same. Muscle-headed tormentors, and he'd been easy pickings then. Too small and too smart and entirely too keen on making certain everybody knew it.

Already incapable of walking away from a fight.

He rubbed at the jagged line across his upper lip and exhaled long and low. The hundred agitations of the day had his blood up, but he could keep it under control. He could come across as civilized for however long this took, no matter what this child looked like or how he acted—

His eyes snapped open at the sound of the car door opening. Serena slid into the driver's seat, mid-conversation with the boy currently getting in behind her.

And Cole's breath got stuck in the back of his throat.

This wasn't the hooligan he'd been imagining, wasn't one of the bullies who still plagued his nervous, sweating dreams some nights. It was a boy. Clear green eyes the same shade as Serena's staring out at him from behind Coke-bottle glasses, the thick plastic frames resting on ears that stuck out just a little too far from a narrow head. Pale skin and freckles and braces, blond hair with a fringe that was a hint too long.

The blooming blush of what would be one hell of a bruise on his arm.

Forget Cole's blood being up. It sang in his veins, memories of impact playing out across his ribs, of being down on the ground, his glasses shattered on the pavement, and his vision went red.

“What. Happened.”

Whatever Serena had been saying cut off abruptly, her head whipping around. The boy's eyes went wide, and that was fear there. Fear Cole knew entirely too well.

Serena followed Cole's gaze, then scowled. “Max. You're supposed to keep ice on that thing.”

Max looked away, reaching for an ice pack Cole hadn't seen and holding it to his arm.

“It's nothing,” Serena said. “Just a new pitcher throwing a little wild.”

But Cole watched the boy's face. The way his skin pinkened and his mouth went tight. “Is that so?”

Max nodded, but he wouldn't meet Cole's eyes.

“Come on.” Serena put the keys in the ignition. “Buckle up, or your grandma's going to blame me for getting you home late for dinner.”

Cole kept watching the boy as he did as he was told. Serena put the car into gear and backed them out of their space. As she turned to check over her shoulder, she caught Cole's gaze. Her brows furrowed.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.” Cole drew out the word. He twisted to sit facing forward again, cracking his knuckles in front of him.

A wild pitch, his arse. Even if the story wasn't a complete fabrication, the throw had been intentional. And Max was pretending it hadn't been.

Cole's lungs pressed hot against his rib cage, the violence that lived in his bones changing and shifting. Howling to be let out.

It was all he could do just to keep it in.

Silence hung heavily in the air of the car as Serena steered them through the nightmare of minivans clogging the exit to the parking lot. She checked the rearview mirror before casting a glance at Cole and easing over a lane.

“Cole,” she said, “this is my nephew, Max.”

He released his breath and his grip on the seat. He could pretend to be under control. Twisting in his seat, he extended his hand toward the boy. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Max nodded and dropped the ice pack long enough to return the gesture, frigid fingers clasping Cole's palm with a surprising grip. He looked up, not the meek child he'd been a second ago, but one with challenge in his eyes.

He knew that Cole knew, and he wanted to know what Cole would do about it.

Cole stared at him steadily, giving his answer. Nothing. Not yet. Letting out a sigh of relief, Max pulled his hand away.

Serena smiled, utterly oblivious to the conversation they'd carried out in gestures and looks. “Cole's offered to help us out, Max. He's going to be your new tutor.”

Max's focus shifted in an instant. “Aunt Rena!”

“Uh-uh. This car is a no-whining zone. I've given you plenty of time to find one on your own.”

“But—”

“Do you want to go to Upton next year or not?”

Sulkily, Max redirected his glare out the window. “Yeah.”

“Then we need to get those math scores up. Just a couple of afternoons a week, right, Cole?”

But Cole was distracted. He'd idolized going off to university when he was Max's age, probably for the same sorts of reasons. He would've done anything for the chance to change schools right then and there.

And now he'd do anything to help this boy have the chance he hadn't. To avoid what had happened to him...

“Cole?” Serena said again, prompting him.

“Yes.” The affirmation came out too strong, his throat rough with the weight of it all. “Yes, of course.” He managed a tight smile, his lips scarcely remembering how.

Her shoulders more relaxed after his agreement, Serena started negotiating schedules, but it wasn't anything he had to pay much mind to. His weekly pilgrimages aside, he was at his leisure, nothing but time.

And now this boy. This woman. This circling tide of memories. Of chances that maybe, for once, he could make right.

It was some kind of minor miracle that Serena found a parking spot right outside their apartment building. She'd dropped Max off at her mom's already, declining the typical invitation to stay for dinner for once in favor of getting home. She glanced over at the man in the passenger seat and sighed.

He better appreciate her giving up her mom's meat loaf for him.

Checking her mirrors, she managed to parallel park with only a little bit of curb-scraping, then turned the engine off.

“Well. Here we are.” She mentally shook her head at her own nattering.

“Indeed.”

To his credit, he only put up token protests when she insisted on giving him a hand pulling his crutches out of the car. Holding the door to their building for him and pacing him on the stairs.

As they passed her door, he shook his head. “I can manage...”

“I never said you couldn't.” But she kept going with him all the same.

By the time they reached the second floor, a fine sheen of sweat had broken out around his temples, making the dark tangle of his hair look black in the dim hall light. His jaw clenched, the point of it hard beneath the cover of his stubble, and the muscles in his shoulders bulged. She licked her lips before she made herself look away.

She was doing him a favor here, was all. Being neighborly and being nice. She'd help anyone in his situation, attractiveness aside.

But she wasn't sure she'd have quite the same buzzing under her skin as she did. The same temptation to reach out a hand toward his arm to steady him.

In the end, she couldn't resist.

If anything, his biceps tensed harder as her palm settled on that warm muscle through the fabric of his shirt. Her heart pounded. But he didn't push her off. Just mashed his lips together and kept his gaze directed straight ahead.

At the top of the stairs, she was perfectly prepared for a polite dismissal. She pulled her hand away and stepped aside. A low shiver worked its way along his spine, and he turned to look at her, the full power of those dark, piercing eyes pressing down on her, making her breathing speed.

“Would you like to come in?”

She boggled, blinking hard, snapped from her reverie. If it was possible, he seemed as surprised by his invitation as she was. The lines around his mouth pinched, lips parting as if to say something else. To take it back, perhaps, but after a silent moment, he squared his jaw, looking to her in expectation. Challenging.

She probably would've said yes regardless, too curious about this man to miss the opportunity, but the dare in his eyes was what clinched it.

“Sure. For a minute.”

With a sharp nod, he turned his head and advanced on the door. He got it unlocked and pushed it open, holding out his crutch as an extension of his arm, motioning for her to go first.

It was dark within, only thin gaps in thick curtains allowing any of the twilight glow from beyond the windows to seep in. She took a bare handful of steps, afraid to bump into anything or trip. Closing the door behind himself, he turned, and then his whole body was coming into contact with hers, hot and hard against her spine, and her breathing sped, while his seemed to stop. The wet sound of his throat swallowing echoed in her ears, so close, and she shut her eyes, tempted to lean back into him.

But then there was rustling, the hollow sweep of a hand across plaster. The metallic
thunk
of his crutch tumbling to the floor and a click.

And all at once, the place flooded with light. Warm brilliance bloomed from behind her lids, and she snapped her eyes open, suddenly aware of herself again. Of the awkwardness of how they were standing, pressed together like this. She sprang forward, and he swayed, like he'd been leaning into her, too.

Or maybe like he'd dropped his crutch in his hurry to get the light.

“Oh.” She scrambled, embarrassed heat spreading over her cheeks. She dipped to pick up his crutch. It left her still too close to him, and her face was even with his hips now, and—

A strangled sound erupted from his throat, making her face flare even hotter. God. Could she make any more of a fool of herself? Practically coming on to him in his doctor's office, and now this? What was she thinking?

“Sorry, sorry.” She got his crutch and stood, too fast, looking everywhere except at him as she passed it back to him.

But then his hand brushed hers as he accepted it, long fingers overlapping her knuckles. Stilling her.

“Serena.”

His voice was rough and low, and her name sounded way too good in it. She jerked her gaze to meet his. His eyes had gone even darker, and his Adam's apple bobbed, and she stopped.

Maybe she hadn't made such a fool of herself after all.

This was insane. She'd only just met this man, and he was hot and cold in turns. He didn't meet any of the many, many standards she'd set for if she ever did get around to dating again. But there was something in his gaze and in his tone, in the way his body
did things
to hers.

His fingers flexed, his lungs expanding, rib cage so close to grazing the points of her breasts.

Then, so slowly, with what seemed like painstaking control, he let her go.

The spell broke, and she stumbled backward. The instinct to apologize rose in her throat, but she'd already said she was sorry once. Besides, he'd been the one to touch her.

He took a deep breath and let it out with what seemed like staggering control. All sharp efficiency, he turned away, gait uneven as he got his crutch back under him and lurched toward the kitchen. Calling over his shoulder, he asked, “Tea?”

For a second, she gawked. “Excuse me?”

“We never got to have ours earlier.” Now that he was saying more than one word, the shakiness to his voice shone through. “I can make some. Proper tea,” he added.

Working to get her footing again, she nodded. “Right. Yes. Please.”

She raked a hand through her hair. Maybe she should be offering to help. The rubber tips of his crutches made thudding noises against his kitchen tile as he got the water going, and it couldn't be easy, managing a kettle and keeping all his weight on one leg. But her brain was still buzzing, her hands trembling and heart thundering. She wanted to laugh. Chances were, she wouldn't manage to make the tea
properly
, anyway.

Taking the minute to herself, she hugged her arms across her chest. Now that he wasn't so close to her, she could think again. Could process and see.

And part of the appeal of coming in had been the chance to get a look around.

The floorboards creaked as she moved beyond the cramped little entryway where she had stopped on their way in. The place was...white, mostly. Stark, unpainted walls, entirely bare. Except for—

“Oh.” One entire wall of his living room was floor-to-ceiling shelves, crammed nearly to the point of bursting. She lost her hesitancy, the English major in her drawn like a magpie toward those soft leather spines. Pitching her voice over her shoulder, she asked, “Did you raid an entire library or something?”