I huff. Stubborn man. They all are. “Drink this,” I shove it into his hands. “You need it to stay awake and alert for Zeke.”
I said the magic words, because he takes the mug from me without a thanks. He just stares a penetratingly dark gaze with his otherwise blue eyes.
“You need to change too,” I say, holding out the clothes. If I hesitate, he might slap me for showing weakness.
“No.”
I take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to approach it. “When Zeke awakes, you’ll scare the shit out of him if he sees you coated in blood. He won’t know if it’s yours or his. Either way, it might put him into a shock. Change.”
“Fine,” he relents. He removes his shirt tossing it in my direction.
I try not to wince, but I can’t help it.
He smiles smugly at my reaction.
He starts undressing his pants, and I don’t react. I know what he’s trying to do—goad me into to telling him he shouldn’t undress in front of me. But I don’t care. I just want him to feel better.
He kicks his jeans off, then does his best to wipe the blood from his hand on the jeans before throwing them at me.
Langston is ripped. He has thick thighs, a slender waist, and muscular arms. His body is marked with scars, similar to Enzo. Similar to my own marks. He just has fewer than me.
He smirks. “Like what you see, baby? Does my body turn you on, while my friend is dying? You know a good fuck might be the only thing that could cheer me up.”
It’s clear he doesn’t want to fuck me, he’s just trying to find any way to hurt me. So I ignore his disgusting comment.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He huffs.
I nod toward his scars. “This life has hurt us both, remember?” I glance down at my own scars covering my arms from the cuts and gunshots. “You’ve just been given a chance to have control; I haven’t. I promise to you; I won’t mess up again. I may not be able to bring Zeke or any of the other men back. But I promise to you I will live my life carrying that pain as I do these scars. And I will do everything in my power to right my wrong. If that means throwing the games on purpose to let Enzo win, I will. I promise.”
Langston’s eyes harden, and I think he’s going to attack me. But then he exhales as if my words brought him some level of comfort.
I want to hug him, but I can’t handle touch. And he’s practically naked.
But I can see the pain. He needs comfort even if he won’t accept it. Even if he will throw me across the room for my effort.
I hesitantly start toward him, not initially letting my actions known. Then when I get close, I wrap my arms around him quickly.
It feels like fire in my lungs at the touch. Uncontrollable pain surges through me as I hug him, but I don’t let go.
Langston tries to fight me off, but I hold him tighter despite my own agony.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want or expect you to ever forgive me. But I promise I will spend my life making up for any death I caused.”
He tries again to free himself from my grip, and he could if he truly wanted to. Instead, I tighten, and he relents. He needs this hug.
I feel the heated tears on my shoulder. I feel his warm breath on my neck. Both should feel like comfort. Instead, they feel like tiny knives stabbing me over and over. But I don’t let go.
He cries hard into my shoulder, his arms finally wrapping around me as he breaks for his friend—grieving for what he might lose.
Forever passes. Or at least that’s how it feels to me. Like hell has engulfed me before Langston finally lets go.
His eyes are puffy and red, but he no longer looks at me like he wants to kill me—that’s a start.
I pick up the clothes and hand them to him. He slowly takes them and starts dressing silently. When he finishes, he says, “You really can’t stand being touched, can you?”
I open my eyes, realizing I haven’t been able to look at him since I hugged him. My body shakes, icy sweat has soaked my body, and I’m frozen from the cold chill that has formed a layer over my skin trying to protect me from the evil.