For a moment, I fear Miles will talk. I cross my arms over my chest, gripping my arms in hope of relaxing, but it doesn’t work. To my surprise, Miles steps up closer to Rhett and then throws his arms around him in a tight embrace.
Rhett, looking as stunned as I am, freezes up.
“Thank you,” Miles says, keeping his hold. “It means a lot knowing that you’re looking out for me. I didn’t have that when I was younger. I didn’t have anyone, really.”
“Of c-course,” Rhett stammers, his face flushed. He awkwardly returns the embrace as he gives me a quick guilty glance. I don’t say anything, nor do I move or react. I don’t want to cause a scene, but I’m on the verge of returning to the car to get my damn handgun.
Rhett takes a step back, breaking contact, and exhales. “Well, uh, all right. I have to go. I’ll see you in class later tonight.”
“Thank you again,” Miles says. “I’ll see you then.”
Without another word, Rhett walks over to his police cruiser and hops in, his stiff gait betraying his flustered state. He must not be open to public affection, which I understand, but it’s odd, considering the girls at his office seem to fling themselves at him. Or maybe he’s so far in the closet he has a shoe rack up his ass.
The moment Rhett’s gone, I turn to Miles. “What was that?”
“He stopped talking to us, didn’t he?” Miles replies. “Now we can handle our other problem.”
“You still think he doesn’t want you?”
Miles’s honeyed skin shifts to a shade of pink. “Um…. Well, I know he likes men. That much I’m sure of. It was very apparent.”
I clench my teeth thinking about what that white-knight asshole must have been imagining while holding Miles. I swear I’ve never felt quite so protective of someone, but then again, I’ve never had a relationship like the one I have with Miles. I don’t like the mood it gets me in, but I don’t have time to think about that.
Miles walks up to me and runs his thumb along the bottom of my lip. “What happened?” he asks. The blood on his hand surprises me.
I touch my lip and feel the split. It must have been from the fighting in the construction site, exacerbated by my teeth grinding. “I’m fine,” I say.
I’m surprised Rhett never mentioned our injuries.
“Let’s talk inside while we take care of this.”
I follow Miles into our house, still nervous about our problem, but it’s better to talk in private. It’s better to do everything in private, really. The public is unruly and bipolar—you never know what you’ll get when you act out in front of them.
Miles takes me into our cramped bathroom, and I take note of the guest room’s closed door. I figured Jayden would keep to himself, but I wonder if Lacy is still here or at the neighbor’s. She shouldn’t be gallivanting around.
Before I can say anything, Miles locks the door and gets a clean washcloth. He wipes away my blood, unbuttons my shirt, and then runs a hand along my side, his fingers tracing the grooves of my wifebeater undershirt. I’m a little confused but not opposed to his touch. Up until he presses against my bruised ribs.
“Watch it,” I hiss as I grab his hand.
Miles stops and instead pushes me back against the counter. I rest against it as he pulls off my button-up shirt and unrolls a wad of gauze. “So what’re we going to do? I don’t see a good solution to this. Killing him is out of the question, so it’s either let him go or take him to the police.”
“I’ve killed a lot of guys before,” I drawl. “No one will find out.”
Miles ignores my comment and instead focuses his attention on my tattooed arm. I watch him as he runs his fingers over the mark. “You don’t have to be this guy anymore,” he says. “We can solve this a different way. And from now on, you’ll be wearing bandages to cover this.”
I lift an eyebrow at the command. He’s never flat-out told me what to do before. I smirk. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” he states unambiguously. “You’ve been too lax with this, your eye, your backstory—I know when you worked for Big Man Vice he would take care of things like that, but that’s not what’s going on anymore. We need to be careful.”
“I need to be careful, you mean.”
“No, I meant we. That’s why I ordered you contact lenses, and you’re going to wear this bandage.”
“There’s no point to wearing this bandage. I’ll just keep my shirtsleeves down.”
“You keep a knife in your sock?”
“Sometimes. Not always.”
“Well, keep a knife here. Then it has a purpose.”
I scoff. “I don’t have one.”
Miles reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a pocket multitool knife. It’s small, has a few fold-out blades, a bottle opener, and a thin pick, but it looks useful. He presses it against my arm and then wraps it with the gauze. “Here. Take this.”
I pull my arm back. “I can take care of myself.”
Miles retakes my arm and holds it close. “I don’t want to lose you.”
I want to say something, but I stop. Rhett’s speech haunts my thoughts as I watch Miles finish wrapping my tattoo and the small multitool knife. If something happens—if I’m found out—Miles will be in jeopardy. His life. His goals. Everything. He has a bright future, and what do I have? By being careless I’m putting him at risk. I should’ve thought of this sooner.
“I’m gonna take that guy to the police,” I mutter.
Miles meets my gaze with his own. “Why?”
“It’s the only option.”
“You said you were worried he would tell the police who you were.”
“Most thugs aren’t cooperative with the police. Besides, I think I can talk him into keeping his mouth shut.” And by talk, I mean threaten. Guys like Castor understand promises of force and violence—and there will be a
