Dangerously Happy (33 page)

Trying to be cool and expressionless again, tears welled and spilled as he said, “But it’s ruined anyway. Isn’t it?”

“
He won’t go to the police. He can’t. You’ve got evidence of what he’s done. Bethany would testify. Me. Melissa.”

“
That’s not what I mean.”

“
Tell me,” I said.

“
I mean . . .” Wet, bloodshot eyes fixed on me, like a desperate, last look from in front of a firing squad. “. . . this. Us.”

“
Dario—”

“
I shouldn’t have asked you that. It’s not fair.”

We went to my car. Drove back to the loft. Stayed up all night. Maybe around ten the next morning, I made Dario smoke a bowl with me, just so we’d get some sleep.

“
You took him to Xavier,” I said to Dario when we were up again.

“
You mean, to Xavi, and not to you.”

“
Yeah.”

“
I needed someone I knew would go along with me on punishing him.” He sounded more guilty about choosing Xavier over me than about what they'd done.

“
You decided that quickly.”

“
To go to Xavi?”

“
To punish him. To hurt him.”

“
I don't really remember making a decision. There was no dilemma. As soon as I had him, it was like I just knew what I needed to do.”

“
And you were sure Xavier would do that?”

“
Yes.”

“
Why? Because he's into domination and rough sex? I can't believe you think the two bleed together that much.”

“
Xavi has history. Something happened to his kid sister. Her sophomore year of college. Someone gave her roofies, or something like roofies. After, she tried to kill herself.”

A little sickening wave rolled through my gut. Then a shudder of horror at the thought of what Xavier must be doing to the man Dario had brought him.

“
But mostly I wanted to leave you out of it.”

“
Because you didn’t want me to stop you.”

“
Yes. But more because I didn’t want to do that to you. Muddy your soul with that.” He laughed, which just made his wan, pain-distorted face even more heartbreaking. “Xavi wouldn’t even let me stay. I would have done it with him. That’s what I’d meant to do, bringing him there. I didn’t expect him to be so protective of me.” He met my eyes. “But I know that doesn’t change anything. It was still me who did it.”

The rest of the day, all that night, Dario was remote. Silent. Brooding. I gave him his space. But when it was past two in the morning and I was exhausted and longing for sleep, I went looking for him. Called out his name. Finally, I found him on the roof, sitting with his back against the stairwell, staring out at the L.A. night.

“
You okay?” When he didn’t answer, I asked, “Do you regret doing it?”

He looked up at me. God, he looked frightened. “I don’t know what to say.”

“
Tell me anything. Whatever you need.”

“
I don’t want to lie to you.”

I knelt down by him and said, “I don’t want that, either.”

“
No. I don’t regret it. I just hate that you look at me differently now.”

“
What are you talking about?”

“
It’s okay. I understand,” he said.

“
How am I looking at you?”

“
Like you’re afraid of me. Of what I am.”

He was right. I was terrified. But not like that. I took a deep breath. Let it go. “I'm not afraid of you. But yes. I'm scared.”

“
Of what?”

“
A lot of things. You going to jail, for one. God, I can’t even let myself think about that.” Saying it suddenly made the possibility of it—of the police showing up any moment and taking him away from me—sickeningly real, and I heard my voice ramp up loud and high on my spiking dread. “How could put yourself in that kind of danger? How could you risk ruining everything?” I was shaking. Almost yelling. Almost crying.

“
He was in my house!” Dario practically screamed.

It hit me. So hard it almost knocked me down. Dario hadn't just taken the drugging and assaults personally because they tapped into the pain of what had happened to him in the woods a decade earlier. He'd felt unsafe. Been afraid. Terrified of the raping predator circling the crowd at the loft. Invisibly, silently picking off victims.

I moved to put my arms around him. The way he flinched, I was afraid for a second he wasn't going to let me touch him. But then he clutched me in a desperate embrace, his whole body shaking against mine.

“
I'm sorry, Aidan. It was so selfish of me. I know that. I just . . . I had to.”

“
I know, love. I know. It's alright. Just, I’m scared you’ve hurt yourself, doing this. That you won’t be able to live with it.”

He drew back and looked at me. “I’ll live with it just fine,” he said with sudden, startling sang froid. “I’m only scared you won’t.”

“
Why?”

“
I had someone hurt, Aidan. That must upset you. Must make you think less of me.”

“
Dario, I don’t give a fuck about that guy. I hope Xavier made him cry and beg ‘no’ for hours. A day and a night for every woman he’s doped and hurt and left lying in some corner to wake up alone and scared. To be left wondering what was done to her. Who did it. All I care about is you having to carry this around with you for the rest of your life.”

Tears slid down his cheeks, into the dark stubble peppering his jaw. “I haven’t ruined this?” he asked.

“
No, love.”

I put my arms around him, and he embraced me tightly, like he was clinging to me for life.

We went to bed and slept wrapped around each other. The next afternoon we went to Xavier’s.

“
Where is he?” Dario asked. He sounded anxious and looked around as if we might discover the guy tied up and gagged on the sofa.

“
Catch and release.”

“
What? You just put him in his car and let him go?” I asked.

“
Not here. Somewhere far away. He has no idea who I am or where I live.”

“
You really let him go?” I asked, not sure I’d believe Xavier even if he swore it.

“
I could have killed him. I mean, I’m capable of that. I realized that while I had him out there, tied up. But that’s not what I did. I find the idea of him having nightmares about his time with me for the rest of his life more satisfying than the thought of his corpse rotting in the woods.” Quiet voice, faraway gaze. He looked, sounded aroused. I felt cold. Through and through. Like there was a grapefruit-sized ball of ice in my gut radiating a chill through my whole body.

Xavier put a bottle of tequila and three glasses on the table. Dario barely drank, but between us Xavier and I put away about half the bottle. I don’t really know how it happened, because there wasn’t any discussion, and there hadn’t been any kissing or touching or innuendo, but when it got late, we all went to Xavier’s room together. I stayed close, sometimes holding, sometimes kissing Dario as Xavier made love to him. It was a strange, fraught, sad coupling that seemed more like mourners comforting one another than lovers fucking. Xavier didn’t touch me at all, until we all curled up together to go to sleep, and with Dario between us, Xavi curved his big hand gently against my side.

“
He’s never done that before,” Dario told me in the car the next day. “Just made love to me. No power play.”

The days went by. The weekend slipped past. I played my gig with Babel, did my solo show. Everything was pretty much like normal. Except he was having the nightmare again.

And we weren't having sex. I don't know if it was me, or if it was him. A couple times, in bed, we'd kissed and touched and cuddled, but neither of us took it any further.

It wasn't that I didn't want him. I'd see him naked, in the shower, and feel that bolt of need fire through me. But there was a woundedness, a fragility about him that had me feeling wary. And I also realized how much his perpetual, insatiable hunger had driven our relationship. Now that it had dimmed, it felt like we were separated by a wide chasm, a thick veil of cool fog rising between us.

But I didn't want to lose him. Didn't want to let what we had wither away. In bed, I reached over, laid my hand on his belly. Just feeling his abdomen rise and fall as he breathed, there was that familiar rise of tender need for him, not just to sate a physical drive. His earnest gaze. My beautiful Dario, with the most undefended gaze of anyone I'd ever known, like he was showing me his soul every time he looked at me.

For a long time we kissed. When he put his arms around me, that strange, dark joy that feels like heartbreak swelled up in my chest while I started to really touch him, exploring the fine contours of his abdomen, his chest. One shy, brief brushing of fingertips over a nipple. And, God, when he started touching my cock, a sudden, violent arousal that matched the highest highs of all those thrilling firsts Dario had led me through. Kissing his way down my chest, down my belly, making me gasp as he licked my skin, bit my flesh, I was already whimpering and writhing when he started nursing at the head of my cock, then suctioned my entire, pulsing, aching length into his mouth.

Hurtling hard and fast toward the point of no return I pleaded, “Love. Wait. I want to make love with you.”

Without relenting in the least from his exquisite sucking and slurping of my cock Dario caught both of my wrists as I was combing my fingers into his hair, gently trying to coax him up. Gripping me hard, he pulled my hands from him and pinned them down on the mattress, and went on sucking, exerting that unbearable vacuum pressure on my dick, tonguing me to absolute frenzy, massaging my cockhead with his lips and tongue, then taking me all the way into his mouth, feasting on my cock until my balls seized and I erupted, groaning the eviscerating release of so much pent-up need.

Still shaking, I felt his vice grip on my wrists release, and then he was beside me, pulling me into his warm embrace. When I caught my breath, I kissed him, loving that familiar taste of my cum on his tongue, loving the familiar comfort of his arms around me. Our legs intertwined, I caressed his hip, his ass, pulled him against me. Slid my hand down to fondle him. He was soft.

“
It's alright, love,” he said, meeting my eyes. “I don't need to tonight.”

“
Alright.” I'd been so oblivious. So wrapped up in my own arousal I'd completely missed that he wasn't there with me. That he was just being kind. I felt selfish. I felt hurt. But I didn't say anything.

But then he smiled and said, “I'm glad you wanted to. Glad you wanted me. I confess I've been a little worried.”

“
Me too,” I said, trying not to sound too wounded.

He kissed my lips, warmly, sweetly. “I know you said we were alright. But it's been hard not to worry that your feelings for me might have changed.”

“
I love you. Like always.”

Heartbreaking, hopeful smile. “Good.”

“
What about you?” I asked.

He caressed my face, held my gaze. “Love. I know I've been a little far away. But that's about me, not you.”

“
Tell me.”

“
If I knew what to tell, I would.”