Page 61 of The Associate
“You were mugged,” he said, his tone flat.
Samuel blinked, the world tilting. He tried to assemble the fragments.
A wave of memory crashed over him;: the shove, the tearing strap, the bright star of pain, the wet concrete. The dizziness returned, a sickening swirl. He lifted a trembling hand to his temple, his fingers coming away clean but his head pounding as if they hadn’t. A fine, uncontrollable tremor began deep in his core, vibrating outwards until his hands shook in his lap.
The city streamed by the windows; a blur of light and dark. They were in a part of the city he couldn’t afford to breathe in.
Gael’s voice came again, lower now. “It’s okay. Everything will be alright.” He didn’t look over.
The car slowed. They turned into an underground garage. The car glided to a perfect stop in a numbered bay.
The engine cut off.
Samuel’s tongue felt thick, clumsy.
“Where are we?” His voice was a cracked whisper, barely audible in the quiet.
The driver’s door opened and closed with a solid, hushed thunk. A moment later, his own door was pulled open. Cool air washed in, along with the presence of the man now leaning in.
“Here. Come on. Easy.”
Gael extended a hand.
Samuel’s mind screamed a chorus of refusal.
I’m fine. I can do it. Don’t touch me. Don’t.
He couldn’t be weak. Not in front of him. He had to prove he wasn’t broken.
Ignoring the offered hand, he placed his own on the doorframe and pushed himself up, intending to stand on his own. His legs, treacherously, were made of water. They buckled instantly, folding beneath him, sending a fresh, nauseating spike of pain from his ribs up his spine. He pitched forward.
Gael was there. An arm banded around his waist, strong and unyielding as an iron bar, hauling him upright before his knees could meet the concrete. The contact was a shock; a jolt of searing shame at his own helplessness, immediately overridden by the undeniable, terrifying solidity of the hold. He was held, completely, against the solid wall of Gael’s body. For a second, he couldn’t breathe, and it had nothing to do with his ribs.
Gael didn’t ask if he could walk.
He adjusted his grip, his arm a solid, inescapable band around Samuel’s torso, and guided, or rather, steered him across the garage floor.
They reached a set of brushed steel doors. Gael tapped a key fob against a discreet panel. The doors slid open without a sound, revealing a small, mirrored elevator.
Samuel caught a fragmented glimpse of himself as he was guided inside: pale, disheveled, a dark smear of blood on his temple and underneath his nose, leaning heavily into the tall, dark form beside him. He looked like wreckage.
The doors sighed shut.
The silence was absolute, insulated, thick as velvet. The only sound was the faint hum of ascent and Samuel’s own ragged breathing. Gael kept his arm around him, bracing him against the wall, his body a firm, warm line against Samuel’s side. The heat of him was a brand through their layers of clothing.
Samuel’s internal state was a silent, screaming war.
He was hyper-aware of the solid muscle of Gael’s arm across his back, the hard plane of his shoulder against his own, the scent of him, sandalwood, cold night air, and something indefinably male, filling the enclosed space. The urge to pull away was a physical itch.
Sin. Danger. Run.
But warring against it, with a violence that stole his breath, was a desperate, aching pull. A need to lean into that support, to let the strength of that arm hold him upright, to surrender. It was the same treacherous impulse that had made him arch into Gael’s touch. His body remembered the peace of that surrender, even as his mind condemned it.
The memory of the kiss was a live wire in the confined space. It crackled in the air between them, in the inches separating his bruised mouth from Gael’s impassive profile. He could almosttaste it again; the coffee. His skin prickled with the ghost of those hands on his face, in his hair.
He felt utterly exposed. Broken open. Every vulnerability was on display in the mirrored walls. Yet, within the cage of Gael’s arm, in this silent, ascending box, he also felt a perverse, terrifying safety. No one else could get in. The world with its muggers and its judgments was on the other side of the doors.
He said nothing. Words were impossible. Any sound might shatter the fragile, charged stillness and force a reality where he had to acknowledge what was happening. So he stayed silent, his head bowed, his body a tense, trembling line where it met Gael’s unyielding support. His silence was a battleground, and he was losing the fight to the part of him that just wanted to close his eyes and be held.
