that Silver couldn’t see, when he’d been trying everything to keep himself safe.
The sound of the front door opening had Silver ready to retreat to his room in case Quinn launched into his own version of the your-life-sucks-and-it’s-your-own-fault speech. But when their paths intersected in the hall, Silver saw Quinn had brought home a nice, safe target for Silver’s anger.
He stood in front of Zeb. “So what are you supposed to be? My gentleman caller? Is he on the approved list, Daddy?”
Before Quinn could answer, Eli came out of the kitchen. With a sneer in Zeb’s direction, Eli got up in his boyfriend’s face. “Did it follow you home? I’ve told you to wipe your feet before you come in.”
Quinn put his hands on Eli’s shoulders. “He’s a friend. And he’s a guest.” Quinn’s calm was usually a nice contrast to Eli’s flail over everything, but right now it got on what was left of Silver’s nerves. Quinn started to back Eli into the kitchen. “And he’s here to apologize.” Quinn looked back for a second and raised his brows in Silver’s direction.
Nice for someone to ask permission in running his life. Silver rolled his eyes and said, “Fine,” mostly for Eli and Quinn’s benefit.
Zeb, looking earnest and so damned sure his sorry would fix everything, provided a perfect opportunity to cut him to pieces, let him know nothing would ever be all right. Because there was no fix for what had happened after that night. But instead, Silver’s toes curled and gripped inside his sneakers, and he found himself fighting the urge to back away, swallowing the words to send Zeb out of his life for good this time.
“Jordan—or should I call you Silver like your friends do?”
It didn’t matter. Because Silver wouldn’t let Zeb be around long enough to let it matter.
Silver shrugged. “Jordan’s fine.” Silver sounded weird coming from Zeb. As long as it wasn’t Jordie—Silver blocked the memory of the way Zeb had whispered it, voice full of awe.
“It suits you though. Silver. With your hair and eyes.”
As if Silver didn’t know what he looked like. White-blond hair and gray eyes, thin and tall. One of the tweakers he’d met when he first landed in the city had given him the name. He’d liked it enough to keep it.
He couldn’t keep his feet still anymore, so he let them take him into the living room, plopping in a chair and swinging his feet up so he could press and flex them against the coffee table.
Zeb took the couch. “I owe you an apology.”
Well, that was the fucking understatement of the decade. “Yeah? What for?”
“Getting you in trouble.”
It sounded like someone from church talking about a girl who was pregnant. Silver arched his brows.
“Getting you arrested. I should have listened to you the other night. Seeing you—I didn’t think. I only wanted to know you were okay.”
The other night he should have listened? The other night he wanted to know if Silver was okay? Last Saturday was the only night he was going to apologize for?
Silver’s tongue was thick enough to choke him. It was the only excuse for the fact that none of the words were making it out of his mouth.
Zeb went on, “If your friends hadn’t stepped in—I want you to know, I would have done anything to get you bailed out. I was praying I could get enough from selling my car, but your friend Jamie said they had it covered.”
“He’s Quinn’s friend.” A lame protest was what Silver came up with? Every reason in the world to tell Zeb what he could do with his lame-ass apology, and Silver whined something about the cop not being his friend. Pathetic didn’t begin to cover it.
Zeb’s smile showed off one dimple and crinkled his eyes. “Arguing with you would be a lousy way to apologize, but I think he is your friend too. You have good friends. Great friends. Though I’m not surprised.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve always seen something amazing in you,
The sound of the front door opening had Silver ready to retreat to his room in case Quinn launched into his own version of the your-life-sucks-and-it’s-your-own-fault speech. But when their paths intersected in the hall, Silver saw Quinn had brought home a nice, safe target for Silver’s anger.
He stood in front of Zeb. “So what are you supposed to be? My gentleman caller? Is he on the approved list, Daddy?”
Before Quinn could answer, Eli came out of the kitchen. With a sneer in Zeb’s direction, Eli got up in his boyfriend’s face. “Did it follow you home? I’ve told you to wipe your feet before you come in.”
Quinn put his hands on Eli’s shoulders. “He’s a friend. And he’s a guest.” Quinn’s calm was usually a nice contrast to Eli’s flail over everything, but right now it got on what was left of Silver’s nerves. Quinn started to back Eli into the kitchen. “And he’s here to apologize.” Quinn looked back for a second and raised his brows in Silver’s direction.
Nice for someone to ask permission in running his life. Silver rolled his eyes and said, “Fine,” mostly for Eli and Quinn’s benefit.
Zeb, looking earnest and so damned sure his sorry would fix everything, provided a perfect opportunity to cut him to pieces, let him know nothing would ever be all right. Because there was no fix for what had happened after that night. But instead, Silver’s toes curled and gripped inside his sneakers, and he found himself fighting the urge to back away, swallowing the words to send Zeb out of his life for good this time.
“Jordan—or should I call you Silver like your friends do?”
It didn’t matter. Because Silver wouldn’t let Zeb be around long enough to let it matter.
Silver shrugged. “Jordan’s fine.” Silver sounded weird coming from Zeb. As long as it wasn’t Jordie—Silver blocked the memory of the way Zeb had whispered it, voice full of awe.
“It suits you though. Silver. With your hair and eyes.”
As if Silver didn’t know what he looked like. White-blond hair and gray eyes, thin and tall. One of the tweakers he’d met when he first landed in the city had given him the name. He’d liked it enough to keep it.
He couldn’t keep his feet still anymore, so he let them take him into the living room, plopping in a chair and swinging his feet up so he could press and flex them against the coffee table.
Zeb took the couch. “I owe you an apology.”
Well, that was the fucking understatement of the decade. “Yeah? What for?”
“Getting you in trouble.”
It sounded like someone from church talking about a girl who was pregnant. Silver arched his brows.
“Getting you arrested. I should have listened to you the other night. Seeing you—I didn’t think. I only wanted to know you were okay.”
The other night he should have listened? The other night he wanted to know if Silver was okay? Last Saturday was the only night he was going to apologize for?
Silver’s tongue was thick enough to choke him. It was the only excuse for the fact that none of the words were making it out of his mouth.
Zeb went on, “If your friends hadn’t stepped in—I want you to know, I would have done anything to get you bailed out. I was praying I could get enough from selling my car, but your friend Jamie said they had it covered.”
“He’s Quinn’s friend.” A lame protest was what Silver came up with? Every reason in the world to tell Zeb what he could do with his lame-ass apology, and Silver whined something about the cop not being his friend. Pathetic didn’t begin to cover it.
Zeb’s smile showed off one dimple and crinkled his eyes. “Arguing with you would be a lousy way to apologize, but I think he is your friend too. You have good friends. Great friends. Though I’m not surprised.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve always seen something amazing in you,
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