Page 78 of Fallen Rook

“I don’t get it.” I shook my head. “All because I was an hour and a half late?”

“No.” He frowned. “It was because… Well, fuck, can you just sit down so we can talk about it? What do you want to drink? Water? Coke? Coffee?”

Staying was a bad idea, but bad ideas seemed to be my specialty where this man was concerned.

“Coke’s fine,” I heard myself say.

I knew I was in a state of delirium when I stopped counting carbs.

He jumped to his feet, uncharacteristically eager, and dashed to his modern black-and-gray kitchen. I took a seat on his couch, avoiding the spunk stains I’d put there. He came back with two cans of Coke and sat beside me. He stared at his palms. They were rough and pink.

“I apologize, Enzo. From the bottom of my heart. If you want to go down to the police station and have me arrested, I won’t blame you.”

An awkward bark of laughter escaped me. “You couldn’t assault me with two firearms and a battalion. I chose not to fight you off.” My chuckle was defensive, and bitter as nightshade.

“Lie to them, then,” he offered. “I’ll back you up.”

“I’d kill you before going to the cops.”

“Wouldn’t blame you for that, either.”

“I ought to punch the daylights out of you.”

He turned to me seriously, angling his face toward me. “Then do it. I won’t fight back this time.”

I stared at him, somehow even more furious than I was five minutes ago.

“Well, fuck.”

His brokenness took the sting out of my anger, and that also infuriated me, because he deserved all the shit I planned on hurling his way.

“What happened?” I asked finally.

“I saw you with Katya.” His throat worked around a swallow. “I didn’t like it.”

Warm satisfaction spread all over me. He was jealous. But that only made an already impossible situation even more catastrophic.

“I have to marry her.” I swallowed.

“I know.”

“But she knows the score. She understands it’s an arrangement, and we agreed to an open marriage.”

“This is good,” he said, running a hand over his stubble distractedly. “You need to be able to be yourself, even if in a small capacity.”

“You and I can be exclusive,” I blurted out.

We probably should be, considering he was allergic to condoms. Then again, what was I doing, handing him prizes after what he’d done to me?

He shook his head. “That’s not a good idea. In fact, we’re not a good idea. Never were. Still, if you do want to continue this, it’s best if I get used to what you and I will be. No point in playing pretend.” He sniffed. “Hurts too much.”

“Does it look like you’re handling sharing very well?” I asked incredulously.

“No, but that’s for me to worry about.”

I ran my palm over my face. “Fuck, Tom, what was that?”

“PTSD.” He met my gaze, allowing me to see everything inside those blue eyes, even though I knew it made him uncomfortable. “I was diagnosed after I returned from Afghanistan and worked relentlessly through my issues. I thought I was out of the danger zone. I haven’t had an episode in eight years. Not since…” Not since he told Matt to go fuck himself and still blamed himself for what happened. “Until tonight. Something in me just snapped. I swear I wasn’t in control of my body. It was… Fuck.” He covered his face again, shaking his head. “I won’t let it happen again, because next time, I’m not waiting for you to leave. I’ll walk out that door myself, whatever it takes.”