Page 62 of Chasing Kit

I looked down at him, pale and beautiful and alive, and heat went straight to my cock. Down, boy. Your boss will be here soon. “You could wear a hazmat suit and you’d still scare him.”

Kit liked that. He went into the bedroom with me following and rummaged for a T-shirt which happened to be mine, because they were all mine, and pulled it on inside out. He was obviously too distracted to care. I stared at him for a very long moment, amazed he was mine to watch. I couldn’t bring myself to look away. He was handsome, and I didn’t know how I’d caught his attention, but now that I had it, I didn’t want to lose it.

I dressed as well, and I was quicker than him from the years of training and needing to be ready in a heartbeat. I winked at him and went back to the kitchen.

I poured the coffee, fixed a mug for Kit in a way I thought he may enjoy—way too much sugar, a drop of heavy cream, borderline undrinkable. When he came back into the kitchen, he sipped the sludge and made a pleased little noise. One point to War. Fuck yeah.

“You’re good at this,” he said.

“At what?”

He shrugged. “Being a person, not a soldier.”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I just watched him drink. His Adam’s apple bobbed with every sip and his eyes closed with the enjoyment I craved to see from him. If this was what he liked, I’d give it to him every morning. I’d have the coffee ready before he even woke.

There was a knock at the door, slicing through the moment, and I sighed. The honeymoon period had barely begun and it was verging on being over, especially now that Derek was here. Straightening my shoulders, I took a deep breath, slipping back into the person I was outside of the house.

Kit looked at me, and I looked at him, and for once, neither of us flinched.

I moved toward the door and answered it.

Derek Uhlig had aged five years since I’d last seen him, and it had only been yesterday. He wore a navy suit with no tie, the collar unbuttoned and the shirt underneath wrinkled at the throat. His hair, usually combed into submission, stuck up in the back like he’d raked his fingers through it half the night. He looked up, saw me, and his eyes did that sharp, dark scan I’d first seen when we traveled through the city—ticking off threat vectors, exits, potential witnesses—the same thing I did. Now he only had one thing to worry about, and it was currently hiding behind me in an inside-out T-shirt, sweats that were too big for him, and bare feet.

I stepped aside, making a silent offer to let Derek in or fuck off, his choice. What had I become? The me a few weeks ago would be falling over myself to let Derek inside and fix him whatever he wanted. I was the faithful dog. Now, Kit was my owner. I growled and bit for him.

Derek stepped across the threshold, pulling at the collar of his shirt with his pointer finger.

He didn’t look at Kit right away. Instead, he scanned the rooms he could see from where he stood. Was he expecting a sniper? We didn’t hate him that much. Then, he exhaled a slow unsteady breath and let his shoulders drop.

Kit hovered at my side, clearly confused and uncertain, but when I started moving toward the kitchen, they both followed and lingered near me.

“Coffee?” I asked, not sure what else to say. Derek loved coffee, but he had the completely opposite order to Kit. He preferred no sugar and as black as his criminal soul.

Derek shook his head. “In a bit. Thank you, though.”

He looked at Kit, and the world shrank down to just the two of them. I took a step back, but Kit caught my wrist, a silent plea to not make him do this alone.

“Hi, Dad,” Kit said.

“Hi, kid.” Derek’s voice was so hoarse it sounded like gravel in a blender. He looked at Kit for a long, brutal second, taking in every mark and every sign that he’d failed to keep his son safe. He blinked, and I swore he was holding back tears, though I’d seen him cut a man’s finger off and never break a sweat. Kit was the most important person to him, other than Sky, so I understood. Even monsters had weaknesses.

Kit cleared his throat. “I, uh⁠—”

Derek raised a hand, cutting him off. “I’m not here to make you talk. I just wanted to see you. To make sure you’re . . . .” He gestured at Kit’s face, then his shirt and the way Kit was latched on to my arm. “Alive. Okay.”

Kit tensed. I wasn’t sure if it was an accusation or an observation, but I stayed still. Ready to defend my boyfriend.

“I’m fine. Better than I was.”

Derek nodded, and I saw the cracks in his armor. They were damned near invisible, but there for my trained eyes to see. “Good.”

No one said anything for a while. Even the fridge was silent, the entire townhouse holding its breath.

I busied myself with the coffee, more out of habit than need, and lined up two mugs on the counter. Kit was still drinking his and even though Derek said he didn’t want one, he would finish it. I’d worked with him for too many years not to know that. I kept one hand near Kit’s back at all times, the other ready to intercept if this conversation went nuclear.

Derek finally took a seat at the kitchen table. He looked out the window, saw nothing but a gray morning drizzle, and smiled at it anyway.

“I want to apologize,” he said, the words landing like stones in wet cement. “For everything.”