Getting It Twisted (Unforgivable Needs #1)

17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Nathan

So I ended up here after all. What a joke.

Half-dressed, writhing, and panting on a leather couch with a man on top of me. Part of me is someplace else, floating away with the beat of my heart, swimming in the pleasant buzz of drugs in my veins.

Wait . . . who is sliding his tongue into my mouth and palming my crotch? Who does that manly, musky scent of mint, sweat, and cologne come from?

Sideburns scratch my cheek, and a jean-clad thigh parts my legs, and . . . Yeah, it’s him. That biker . . . The bouncer from the party. The guy I tried to pick up at Moe’s Den all those weeks ago. I don’t remember his name, so in my mind, I call him Moe. Not that it matters what his name is. For tonight he’s just my ticket to the fuck I so desperately need.

The heat of his hard body presses against mine, down onto the couch where countless others have no doubt gotten their fill before me. Girls with short skirts and smudged mascara. Guys with bared collarbones and slack, open mouths.

I groan into the kiss, but something feels off . . . or maybe just different. With the cocktail of drugs in my system, I can’t really tell.

This used to feel right. It used to feel like the only correct thing in my sad excuse for a life. But it doesn’t feel the same as it once did. Don’t tell me Daniel ruined casual sex for me too. It’s all I have left.

“Hey!” someone yells from outside, followed by the dull thud of a body hitting a wall. “All right, all right! But make it quick.”

I break the kiss and put my hands on Moe’s chest. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry about them,” he says, leaning in to kiss me again.

A door slams open, and footsteps barge into the room. Next thing I know, someone rips Moe away from me, and he doubles over from a punch to the gut.

Daniel looms behind him, a thunderous expression on his face. “Get out.”

“Dude, what the fuck,” Moe growls and grabs him by the shirt, fist raised.

“Go ahead,” Daniel says, nostrils flaring.

They glare at each other for a few moments. With a snort and a “fuck this,” Moe stumbles out of the room.

As soon as we’re alone, Daniel shifts his attention to me. “Get up.”

“Here to finish the job?” I ask, spreading my legs to clarify the meaning.

“No. I’m taking you home.” His hand reaches out for me, and his knuckles . . . His knuckles are tinged with red.

“Oh, baby,” I drawl, “is that blood?”

I haven’t seen Daniel fight in . . . how long? He should show this side of himself more often; he’s hot when he’s angry.

“I said, get up.” Sick of waiting for me to take his hand, he grabs my upper arm and pulls me to my feet.

I struggle against his hold. “Lemme go.”

“What did you take?”

“Not sure. A bit of this, a bit of that. Feels good, though, and I was about to feel even better. If you’re not gonna finish what he started, you might as well leave.”

“I’m not going to leave you. You’re coming with me.”

I lean backward, but instead of hitting the couch, I sway unsteadily, and Daniel catches me by the shoulder. I feel faint—untethered to my own limbs and estranged from my mind. Then again, I don’t remember the last proper meal I got in me. It might be that. Might also be the insane amounts of alcohol and drugs I’ve consumed these past few days.

“What if I don’t want to?” Again, I try to shake him off. My childish stubbornness drives even me mad sometimes, but now I want to ride that wave. Daniel deserves to sweat a bit. “Come on.” I grab onto him and slide my arms around his neck. “Just continue where the other guy left off. I know you want to.” Prove to me you’re just like them so I can stop caring about you, because caring about you hurts.

“I thought you agreed to quit fucking other people.”

“Well yeah, but that was before you broke things off with me and left me alone in that house!”

His eyes soften. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Whatever.” I glare at him, delighting in the uncertainty that flickers across his face.

“I want to talk to you,” he says and glances around the room—at the empty beer cans, the drug paraphernalia, and the general filthy state of the place. “But not here.”

“Why not? Whatever you want to say to me, you can say it right here.”

His face twists with frustration. “Could you at least put your shirt on?”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, baby,” I say with a smirk and an obscene gesture with my hips. “Or does it distract you too much? Won’t be able to help yourself?”

He throws my shirt at me. “Just shut up and put it on.”

I do as he says. Not sober enough for rational thinking, I suppose. I feel out of sorts, and not just because of the drugs and the vodka.

“So . . . you hate me now, right?” I look up at him, biting my lip in a sideways pout. “I’m an asshole, and you can’t stand the sight of me. Is that what you came here to say?”

“No.”

“That’s what you told me. You said it would be best if I leave again.”

His chest heaves in a sad excuse for a laugh. “I don’t hate you, Nathan. Don’t you get it?”

“Get what?” Mouth set in a hard line, I cross my arms over my chest.

He looks annoyed and resigned at the same time. His face scrunches up as if he’s in pain, though he smiles through it.

“I love you.”

The words ring in my ears, but they don’t stick. Are the booze and drugs playing tricks on me, spinning lies I’m too far gone to understand?

“You what?” My lower lip trembles. I feel like crying.

“Do you want me to say it again?”

“Yes.” It comes out a whisper—a raw, pathetic one.

“I love you. I love you, Nathan,” he says, and his hand brushes my cheek. “I always have.”

Holy shit. Holy shit. My heart beats as if it’s trying to break through my ribs.

“Even when I’m being a jerk to you? Or to your friends?”

“Yes,” he says, voice firm. “I feel it constantly, all the time. Even when I try to hate you, I always end up loving you in the end.”

I close my eyes, and for now, I allow myself to believe. I beg the universe to please let it be true . I’ve been in the dark for so long, oh please let me have this one thing . . . This one beam of light in my life.

But . . . “What about that stuff?”

“What stuff?”

“The pictures. The stuff you saw.”

The stuff I’ve told no one except for him.

The stuff I should’ve taken with me to the grave.

That’s what started this whole thing, isn’t it? Daniel couldn’t handle how damaged I am. He freaked out. He deemed me unsalvageable, unfixable, just like everyone would if they knew what he does now.

“Oh, Nathan,” he says, voice pained. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it.”

Usually I can’t stand pity, because there’s no way anyone can understand all the shit I’ve been through, and I don’t want them to understand. But with Daniel, it feels less like he’s pretending to understand and more like he’s just sad and angry on my behalf.

Maybe that’s what makes the words spill from my mouth.

“I’ve tried to get rid of it, all right? I’ve tried to control it—all this . . . all this badness in me.” I clutch my chest, and tears well up in my eyes. “But I can’t. What if I’m broken and can’t be fixed? That’s what she said. My mom. That I was bad and that I always would be. And those men, those pictures . . . That’s not all. You remember when Wayne Hastings caught us shoplifting?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember how he kept me at the station for ages? He gave me nothing to eat or drink for hours, wouldn’t even let me piss. He said bad kids like me weren’t meant to roam the streets and threatened to lock me up in juvie for years . . . Unless I did something for him.”

“Did what?”

My scoff comes out as more of a sob. “Fuck, you’re clueless sometimes. He made me suck his dick, okay?”

“Oh god . . .”

“Yeah, that’s right. The world isn’t just sunshine and rainbows. But of course, I already knew that when I knelt with my hands cuffed behind my back, getting ready to suck your uncle’s—”

“Stop.” His hands tighten on me, his breathing rough and fast. “I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna kill all of them.”

“You get it now? You get how fucked up I am?”

“It’s not you, Nate. It’s them . They’re the ones who did this to you. You were just a kid. You’re not the one to blame; they are.”

Goddamn it. My eyes burn, and stinging tears trickle out when I blink.

“Come here.” Daniel opens his arms, and I fall into his embrace. “I’ve got you.”

I cry into his shoulder, clutching onto him like a lifeline. “I’m sorry,” I choke out, my whole body racking with a sob. “I’m sorry for leaving you. Sorry for the shit I said. Sorry for everything.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“This kind of makes up for it.”

Me crying in his arms like a blubbering mess makes up for five years of heartbreak and sorrow? That makes zero fucking sense, but okay.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat and hug him closer. It’s all I can say, and it’s all I can do, as he strokes the back of my head and clutches me with all the strength in him, everything he means to me, and the forgiveness I thought I would never deserve.

I draw in a breath and let it out with a slump of my shoulders. “I’m tired.”

“Me too. Come, I’ll take you home.”

Home. I wince at the image that floats into my head. Compared to the safety of Daniel’s arms, the house at Wayward Road feels like something out of a horror movie. I knew from the start it wasn’t good for me to live there, but I didn’t care. I craved it. I wanted that horror—those memories—to sink into my chest and slice me open. But now . . .

“I don’t want to go back there,” I say, rubbing my cheek into Daniel’s chest.

“I know. You don’t have to.”

“I do though. I don’t have anywhere else to go.” I sniffle around a final, chest-heaving sob.

“We’ll go to my place.”

“What about George? He hates me. He’ll beat the shit out of me.”

“He won’t. We’ll spend the night there, at least. After that, we’ll figure things out.”

Figure things out. He makes it sound so easy, but nothing’s ever easy with me—surely he must know that by now?

“B-Because . . .” The words get stuck in my throat. I’ve never felt more pathetic than this, but Daniel doesn’t seem to mind. I told him once that he likes my bite, but maybe he likes this side of me better. That would serve me right, wouldn’t it? All this time, I’ve kept these emotions walled off, but all it took was a couple of weeks in his presence for what’s been trapped in me for so long to come bursting out. It hurts, but there’s relief in it too. Thousands of miles and countless hookups and orgasms couldn’t do what Daniel just did. “Because you . . .”

“Yeah, that’s right—because I love you.” He wipes my cheeks with his thumbs and smiles, despite my sobs. Because he knows my tears are not solely from pain. He knows me, like nobody else does. He’s seen me at my darkest moments, and even after everything we’ve been through—even after all my fuckups and mistakes—he’s still here.

He came for me. He loves me.

And when his hand reaches for mine, I take it.

Heat spreads from the arm wrapped around my waist and sunlight shines into my eyes. I turn around, and instead I face a different kind of light.

Daniel’s sleep-tousled hair spreads over the pillow. His freckles and golden eyelashes seem to shimmer in the sunlight. Eyes closed softly in sleep, with the slightest wrinkle between his brows . . . He’s so beautiful.

My lips stretch into a hopelessly happy smile with the memory of last night. Now that I’m sober, yesterday’s confession feels distant and jumbled up in my mind. I remember crying a whole lot. My face feels puffy and my eyes sore and dry. I remember us hugging. I remember him telling me that . . . that he loves me.

Heat rises to my cheeks. Sure, I can joke about it, especially to tick George off. But to hear it from his own mouth and as sincerely as last night . . . That’s different.

No one has ever loved me. Not my grandfather, not my mom. People can love me for a short while, sure, like when I’m cracking a spot-on joke or when they’re balls-deep inside of me.

But I know that’s not what Daniel meant. He wouldn’t use that tone of voice if he weren’t sincere. Daniel’s not like me; he wouldn’t lie, and he doesn’t play games. Right?

At least he didn’t say it just so he could get me home and fuck me; otherwise, he would’ve done it already, and as muddled as my memory is, I don’t remember us having sex last night. All he did was help me out of my clothes, put me to bed, and wrap me in his strong embrace.

He brought me here to take care of me. To let me sleep off my days-long bender. Speaking of a hangover: Despite my wickedly dry mouth and my pounding head, I don’t feel all that bad. I do feel hungry though. My gut is like a black hole, ready to swallow just about anything.

I sit up from the bed, but before my feet land on the floor, a hand grabs my arm and pulls me back.

“How are you feeling?” Daniel asks.

“Starving. And thirsty as hell.”

He hands me a bottle of water. “Here.”

I chug a couple of mouthfuls and glance at him, unable to hide the suspicion on my face.

“Now that you’re sober,” he says, “we need to talk.”

There it is.

“Talk? We talked forever last night, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, but not about this.” He sits up and gestures for me to sit next to him. “Not about the grad party.”

My face goes blank save for a slow, sarcastic tilt to my mouth. Here it goes—my final line of defense. My last-ditch attempt at keeping him away. “What’s there to talk about? You had a good time, didn’t you?”

He shakes his head, a pained crease between his brows. “You needed me to take care of you and take you away from that place, but I didn’t save you that night. I wasn’t any better than Eric and Tyler. I hurt you, and I didn’t understand, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I shrug, glancing to the side. “It’s fine though. I’m over it.”

“Clearly you’re not, and even if you were, it’s not fine.” He grabs my hands and envelops them with his own. “I’m so sorry, Nathan. I’m sorry I let you down. I wish I could do it over. I wish I could turn back time and know then what I do now, but I can’t.”

“You didn’t let me down.”

“I did. Please tell me I did. If I didn’t, it just means you didn’t expect better from me.”

“It’s not that simple.”

He smiles a bitter smile. “Well, at least one thing became simple after that night: You didn’t feel the same for me as I felt for you. I was in love with you, and you treated me like I was dirt. We were supposed to be friends, and I ruined it—I know I did. But you hurt me too. You gotta know you hurt me too.”

“I’ve already told you; I do know that, and I’m sorry, okay? And that other stuff is fine, I—”

“It’s not fine. And you leaving me for five years proves you didn’t think it was fine either.”

My lower lip trembles. Why? Why do I feel like crying all of a sudden? I wept enough last night. I wept enough for a lifetime.

“Tell me I hurt you,” Daniel says.

I nod, afraid I’ll break into tears if I talk.

“Say it.”

“You hurt me,” I whisper, swallowing against the thickness in my throat.

“And nothing I say can ever make it right. That’s why I’m giving you a choice.”

“A choice?” My pulse quickens. I don’t like the sound of this, not at all.

“I can’t stand it if you’re hurting yourself by being with me. Maybe we can’t be together in a healthy way. Maybe it’s better if we’re apart.”

“What?” I rip my hands away from him and shoot to my feet. “Fuck no! Look.” I point between us. “You’re my best friend. You’re the only one who’s ever even liked me. You think I’d throw that away just because you did what all guys do when they have me naked in bed?”

“I wanted to be different from them. I ruined it.”

“Maybe you did, but fuck, Daniel, what’s done is done! You were drunk, same as me, and I hurt you too. We hurt each other. I won’t let you throw me out just because of your messed-up guilt and savior complex, okay? I’ve been with men who hurt me, who hurt me badly, and I know the difference. You’re not them. You’re good to me. You’re the only good thing in my life. If you make me leave you, you’ll hurt me more than those sadistic motherfuckers ever did. I’m lost without you. There’s nothing out there for me. Only you. Don’t you dare take that away from me.”

He hesitates.

“Okay?” I say sternly.

“Okay,” he replies.

I get dressed and walk downstairs, but when I reach the kitchen doorway, I stop dead in my tracks. It’s not April who’s making breakfast, as I hoped and expected.

It’s George. In baggy gray sweatpants and a T-shirt, he’s flipping eggs by the stove.

He glances at me over his shoulder. “Oh, you’re up. Where’s Daniel?”

I plop myself onto the kitchen counter next to him. “Shower.”

Without a word, George prepares a plate of toast with sliced tomatoes, ham, and fried eggs. It smells fucking incredible. I bet the excitement shows on my face when he hands it to me.

“Here. You’re skin and bones. Daniel not feeding you enough?”

I smirk and raise my brows. “Oh, he feeds me plenty.”

George sends me a look. “Don’t start.”

He prepares his own plate and sits down by the kitchen table. I stay on the counter, swinging my legs and pulling my toast apart as I eat, sprinkling crumbs all over myself and the floor.

“So.” George chews his last piece of toast and brushes his hands together. “I’ll allow you to move in for now, just until you and Daniel find another place.”

“I don’t need any charity.”

“Oh, this isn’t charity; you’ll pay for it.”

“But I won’t even take up any space! I’ll just sleep in Daniel’s room.” I pick a slice of ham off the toast and dangle it into my mouth. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

George chuckles. “I highly doubt that.”

The rest of the meal passes in silence, with George reading the news on his phone and me sipping OJ. He doesn’t even look up when I start picking crumbs off my plate, rolling them between my fingers and flicking them to the floor.

Well, then. This isn’t nearly as awkward as I thought it would be. It’s not like I’ll stick around here forever though.

I push myself to my feet and saunter into the hallway.

“Going out?” George asks.

“Just for a smoke.”

“Take this, it’s freezing outside.” He hands me a thick woolen coat with intricate stitched patterns. Looks like something a grandma would wear, but I refrain from making the comment.

As I get outside and inhale the frigid morning air, I wonder at my hesitation to quip back at George. It’s not as if I’ve suddenly started to like the guy. He’s still the same asshole he’s always been, with the same asshole father. I want this thing with Daniel to work out, though, and I suppose that overrides my desire to piss off George. Not that I’ll be some angel about it. On the other hand, when am I ever?

I lean against the porch railing and gaze out at the frost-covered lawn. A windless chill clings to the air, signaling winter’s arrival.

“There you are.”

I turn around. I didn’t even notice the door opening.

Daniel smiles, hands in his pockets. His hair is wet, and a shadow of worry from earlier this morning still lines his face. He walks over to me and lifts his hand, brushing his finger over my lower lip.

I freeze in place. What the hell’s up with me? Daniel’s touched me like this loads of times; I should be used to it by now.

“Did you have breakfast?” he asks, and I nod. He adjusts the lapels of my patterned woolen coat with a smirk. “Cute jacket.”

“George has shit fashion sense.”

“I think this was his grandma’s old coat actually. I bet you can keep it if you want.”

“Whatever,” I say with an eye roll, but I can’t help but smile.

This is where we met—on this porch, in that crazy thunderstorm all those weeks ago. Instead of slamming me to the wall and yelling in my face like he did back then, Daniel presses me softly against the railing, hands on my hips.

I breathe through the increasing beat of my heart. “He said he’d let me stay here.”

“George did?”

“Yeah. Just until you and I get a place of our own.”

“So you’re selling your mom’s house?”

I give a one-shouldered shrug. “Well, it’s either that or torch the place.”

He brushes my bangs out of my face. Tugs at the hair on my nape. My eyelids flutter closed with the treatment. I feel like a dog being petted. Feels nice. Warm and safe.

This seems so easy. Maybe Daniel’s right: Maybe we will figure this out after all. Maybe the universe will grant me this one wish. I pray I won’t fuck it up this time.

He glances down to my mouth, but before his lips touch mine, I pull back a bit.

“Don’t go all sappy on me now. I still want you to fuck my brains out, you know.”

His smile turns sly. “Don’t worry. I will.” He noses into my neck, breath hot against my ear. “But I want to make love to you too.”

I grimace. “Make love to me? Sounds—”

“Don’t say it sounds boring,” he warns.

I glance down, trying but failing to hide my blush. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I love you,” he says plainly. “Is it really that hard to believe?”

“No. I mean, I’ve never . . . done this before.” I gesture between the two of us. “All I ever wanted from guys was to get fucked, quick and dirty. And that’s all they ever wanted from me too.”

Daniel cups my chin, tilting my face up to make me meet his eyes. “Want to know what I think? I think you need more than that. You need someone who’ll take care of you and care for you. I’ll do it. If you’ll let me.”

“I don’t need . . . ,” I begin, but Daniel sends me a pointed look that makes me lose all train of thought. I whisper, “Okay.”

And it’s like a great weight lifts from my shoulders—immense from years past, through pain and through shadow. Whenever I’m vulnerable like this, the initial relief is usually followed by pain and, with it, a childlike urge to curl in on myself. To take back what I just lost.

The relief comes first: in the warmth that fills my chest as Daniel’s arms wrap around me and his hand rubs little circles at the back of my head.

I wait for the pain, but . . .

It never comes.