Page 74 of Needed You

I’m angry and hurt, and I just want to shut out the world. The ache in my heart makes it hard to breathe. I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm my nerves, and I realize I’m shaking. After I give myself some time to catch my breath and regulate my body, I go to the bathroom and splash some water on my face. Then I quickly return to my room and flick the lock on my door so I don’t have to address my dad anymore.

I’m still trying not to vomit. Every time we have these conversations, or even when I mention Nate’s name, my parents just can’t seem to understand that a huge part of me died with Nate.

I pull a joint out of the tin can in my bedside table and light up, inhaling a big, deep intake of smoke. I lie down on my bed, hands still shaking, and take another hit. Then I turn on some music, strip to my boxers, and pull the covers up over me. After one more hit, I snuff out the joint.

I roll over as a single tear slides down the side of my face again, and then the floodgates open and I curl into myself, sobbing.

Chapter 37

Levon

Ispend the first twenty minutes of my morning at the shop getting all the invoices and work orders organized while I enjoy my coffee. As I’m finishing and stacking things in piles, I hear voices in the front of the building. I know we’re technically open, but it’s rare that we have customers this early in the morning during this season. In the summer, I would expect it, but not now. So I head back up front to see what’s going on and make sure Uncle John doesn’t need anything.

As I round the corner and look up, my heart stops at the sight of Darian Archer standing in my shop. That messy mop of black hair and those perfect, pink lips with that sinful lip ring attached have my senses captivated. I shouldn’t be this affected, he’s been in the shop before, just last week. But maybe it’s the fact that he’s a little bit more mine now than he was then.

Those emerald-green eyes turn to look at me as I make my way toward Dare and John. Dare gives me a half smile and holds up a carrying tray of coffee and a white pastry bag. John chuckles and takes the coffee out of Dare’s hands, thanking him and taking one.

“Double the caffeine today! It’s my lucky day,” Uncle John says, setting this new coffee down beside the one I brought him earlier this morning. It’s probably cold now, so this is a welcome delivery.

“Hey. Wha—what’re you doing here?” I ask, looking Dare up and down. He’s wearing a pair of tight black jeans, no rips today, with black checkered Vans and a T-shirt under a black, torn sweatshirt. He looks like a perfect disheveled mess, and my dick twitches at the sight of him.

He gives me one of his smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Something is wrong.

He clears his throat. “Hey yourself.” He smirks a little bigger. “I, um . . . I was hoping you were here.” He bites his bottom lip, folding his empty hand into his pocket and rocking on his toes. John seems to try to busy himself so he doesn’t look like he’s listening to our conversation. “I wanted to see you.”

I’m trying to make sense of what’s happening and maybe what Dare is trying to tell me, but I eventually come to my senses and realize we should head to my office.

“Yeah, great,” I say. “Let’s go sit and see what you brought in that bag.”

Dare and I walk back to the office, and I shut the door behind us. I sit on the chair behind my desk and assume that Dare will sit in the single chair in front of it. I don’t like this layout right now because it’s blocking us from each other, but the breakroom is too open until I know what’s going on.

He doesn’t sit, though, and when I take a longer and better look at him, I notice that he’s almost swaying on his feet. His eyes are bloodshot and swollen, and I’d normally think that was from too much drinking, but not this time. There’s something else. Something that isn’t just alcohol or pot or god knows what. It’s sadness and exhaustion.

My heart seizes with a sudden urge to protect and comfort him. Before I realize what I’m doing, I get up and walk around to the other side of my desk, my body warming as I close in on him. Remembering what he said about sometimes just needing touch, I open my arms and whisper, “Come here.”

Dare sighs and falls into me, his arms wrapping around my waist as I encircle his shoulders with a tight hug. I kiss the side of his head and inhale his smokey, earthy, evergreen scent.

We stand like this for a while, hugging, swaying gently, my lips occasionally pressing small kisses to his head, his temple, the top of his head again. I gently rub my hand up and down his back, keeping the other one anchored on his shoulder. His head is nestled into the crook of my shoulder, and he melts into me, pulling me tighter. I can’t seem to let him go, so I just keep rubbing his back, breathing in time with him.

Eventually he starts to pull away, but I shake my head slightly and hold him even tighter. I’m not ready to let him go yet. I feel like I’m trying to absorb his pain so he doesn’t have to carry it. I’ll gladly take it all. I gently rock him side to side, placing more of those same small, soft kisses to the side and back of his head.

He sighs. “Thank you.”

I feel his breath on my lips, and it makes me shudder. I need to kiss him. The urge is so strong.

More than that, though, I want to keep giving him the warmth and comfort he needs. I slightly loosen my grip on him, and he pulls back, looking up at me. His eyes plead with me, and I know he wants a kiss too. I slowly lean down, and our lips brush in a soft wisp. When I pull back this time, he still looks exhausted, but I can see the need in his eyes.

He leans in again, and this time it’s less gentle. Our lips meet and instantly tangle with one another. I get just a hint of a taste of him, but it’s not enough. I want so much more.

I swipe the tip of my tongue over his bottom lip, stopping at his tongue ring. He opens for me immediately, and my tongue plunges into his mouth. Dare lets out the softest noise, something like a half sigh, half whimper, and my cock responds to the sound, hardening insistently. I press my hips gently into him, and he meets me back, his dick equally hard. I dive deeper into his mouth, our tongues sparring and lapping at each other.

When my chest is burning with the need for air, I reluctantly pull away. Then I lead him with me as I move around to my desk chair, sit, and tug him toward me.

“Sit,” I tell him.

He does so willingly. His legs hang over the side of the chair, and his ass is almost between my legs, sideways. He keeps one of his arms wrapped around my neck, and the other is on my forearm, which is anchoring him to the chair.

Pulling my lips from his once more, I say, “Now”—kiss—“tell me”—kiss—“what you’re doing”—kiss—“here.” I pepper his cheeks and temple and the side of his eye with kisses, feeling his lashes tickle my upper lip. I hold him a little more closely, this overwhelming urge to keep him warm and safe still flooding my bones.