Page 19 of Kane

“Alright then, if no one else has anything to add, then we can wrap up a few minutes early. I hear it’s supposed to get pretty snowy tonight, and I’m sure everyone wants to avoid getting turned into a living snow-person.”

A few people chuckle, while a couple sigh or curse, and everyone starts to move and talk amongst themselves as they put their coats on and leave. I watch as some folks head over to the coffee and refreshment table, but after the jolt of energy from my mushroom coffee, I can’t get my coat on fast enough. I feel like my body’s running at full speed while my brain is running on molasses. The need to tend to my cock after everything today is palpable, and I know I’ll feel better once I come. I just wish I could experience the same level of satisfaction I get from myself, with a person. And remember it, for that matter, because it sucks not being able to remember what their touch felt like, or their pulse beneath my fingertips.

I want to remember what pleasure feels like with another person because it’s been so long since I’ve felt it, I’m worried I’ll never know it again.

Just as I get one arm through my sleeve, Carter nudges me, which makes me jump.

“What the fuck?” I snap, because I swear for a minute, I forgot where the hell I am.

Carter narrows his gaze at me. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” I say, brushing off my momentary jolt. I slide my other arm in the remaining sleeve before straightening the collar out. “Why?”

“You seemed… different today.”

I tense at his words, though I know I shouldn’t. It’s not like he’s a mind reader or anything, nor does he know what my life is like. The most he knows is what he’s heard in group, and I’m always careful about how much I tell everyone.

“I don’t know what you mean.” I start buttoning my coat, avoiding his scrutinous gaze. “I’m the same asshole I was yesterday.”

Carter twists his lips, appraising me with a knowing glare. “You looked like you wanted to say something.”

“If I wanted to, I would have,” I say, trying not to sound like a dick. I know he’s trying to help, maybe even give me an outlet like I do with him sometimes, but I’m not sure I even know where to start. So it’s best to just not start at all, I think. Save myself and Carter the trouble.

His expression shifts as he furrows his eyebrows, his lips turning into a frown, and immediately I feel like the biggest asshole.

See? This is why I avoid getting close to people, even people I like.

I’m bound to disappoint them eventually. I always do.

I shove my frustration aside and quickly respond with, “Sorry, it’s uh… just been a rough night,” hoping the words are enough to placate him and his concern. It’s not that I don’t trust Carter—in fact, I probably trust him more than anyone else—but sometimes it’s easier to lie because everyone has their own deep, dark shit they’re dealing with, so the last thing they need is me whining to them about all my problems. Especially Carter. He’s doing better, and I don’t want to bring him down with my bullshit. But of course, being the absolute good boy that he is, Carter doesn’t buy my lame attempt at an excuse. He knows me too well, at this point, which is both a blessing and a curse.

“You know you can talk to me, if you need to.”

I freeze, mid-button, my chest getting tight. I debate telling him the truth—about my dad, about the phone records, about Veronica and my siblings, and about the cute barista who’s taken over my thoughts tonight. But the words get stuck in my throat, and all I can say is, “Not tonight.”

This isn’t the first time he’s asked me. It’s also not the first time I’ve told him no, not tonight. As if someday I’ll change my mind, when we both know I won’t say anything different next week. Or the week after that.

Carter doesn’t press me or say anything. He just nods as I continue to button up and then leads us out of the room, slowing down to walk by my side when I catch up with him. We walk side-by-side towards the elevator in companionable silence. There’s a comfort here, I can’t deny that; but not in a romantic sense. Carter just… gets me. He gets my silence and my boundaries and doesn’t make me feel like an asshole—most of the time—about them, and I’m more than grateful for that. Maybe he just knows how to be a good friend better than I do. I haven’t had many friends in my life considering I was ten before I even set foot in a school and it showed.

“You know…” Carter starts as we head into the elevator. I slip both my hands in my pockets as he presses the button for the lobby. “You really can tell me anything. You know that, right?” It’s the way he says it, like he really means it. Part of me wants to believe him. That I really could tell him anything and maybe, just maybe it would make me feel better.

But at what cost?

I know telling Carter the truth—all of it—will make him see me differently, and I don’t want that. I don’t want him to look at me like a victim, like some messed up freak who might lash out and hurt him, like I’m someone he can’t trust, because that’s what we expect of psychopaths. Which I’m not a psychopath, psychologically speaking, but that doesn’t matter. People see what they want to see, and no one sees a man with the blood of a killer in his veins as the good guy. So I don’t tell him, even though I wish I could. It’s better this way if I want to keep the good parts of my life, however few there are, intact.

“I know,” I say, my voice softer than it should be. The elevator dings, and I hurry out, Carter on my tail.

The chill of the air bites at my cheeks as I push through the door, a bitter reminder of the storm ahead.

Chapter Seven

Kane

The bright high beams nearly blind me as I spot Carter’s boyfriend—Nash, the detective who worked on his late boyfriend’s case—waiting in his truck, parked in front of the building. The sight makes me both happy and equally sad. Because I know this is where we part our ways now, Carter and I. It’s been that way for a while. No more walking him to the subway every night and making sure he gets on safely. Margie’s words reverberate in my head; our conversation a sharp echo in my psyche.

Of course it matters because he doesn’t need you anymore.

That’s a good thing, right?