I squeeze my eyes shut, and curl in tighter in myself. “If you don’t want to see me again, just say it.”
“Dammit, that’s not what I mean.” He grips my chin, lifts my face. “Call me, but not through the agency. I can’t take any more money from you. You’re not a client.”
“What am I then?”
His eyes are very bright when he says, “Mine. You said...that you were mine.”
I gulp. “I said that.”
“You did.”
I smile, and he smiles back, but it’s hesitant. “Well, then. There you go.”
“But Pax…” His smile morphs into a grimace. He looks away. “You know I can’t leave my job at the agency.”
My heart sinks. “Why?”
“Because.” He lets go of my chin, strokes his fingers down my neck, sending goosebumps skittering over my body. “What I told you about Markus is not all. There’s more.”
Caught between excitement and apprehension, I wait for him to tell me what that “more” is. And oh crap, I said I wouldn’t ask, and yet I did.
So I keep my mouth sealed and touch the line of his jaw, letting him know I’m here and listening.
“Markus,” he finally mutters, “had a girlfriend and a baby son. I told you, right?”
“Yeah.”
“His son, Kyle. He has a heart defect. Was born with it. Had multiple surgeries since he was born. I knew that, Pax. Markus was pouring every single penny he made into the medical debts. And you’d think he’d jump on an opportunity to take on The Bone Crusher, get a bigger payout if he won. But he knew that if anything happened to him, the boy’s mother and Kyle himself would be left to fend on their own. The house is mortgaged. They’d be on the street, and he’s not healthy. Maybe will never be.”
He rolls on his back, jaw clenched, and I try to absorb all this. “I’m sorry to hear about Kyle. And when Markus died, what happened to the boy and his mom?”
“I’m taking care of them. It was the least I could do since I got Kyle’s dad killed. He died because of my selfishness. He took on the Bone Crusher in my stead. So now I’m looking after them in his stead. Paying off debts and expenses. Making sure they keep their house.”
There’s a huge lump in my throat. God, this man...As the pieces of the puzzle come together, I’m glad he’s not looking at me, because my eyes burn with tears.
“That’s why you can’t leave the agency.”
He gives an angry, helpless shrug. “I don’t even have a school certificate. In what other job can I make enough to keep them afloat?”
I’m speechless. I want to hug him so hard.
And I also want to ugly cry and go lock myself up in the bathroom. How can I ask him to do that after knowing this? Leave the agency when that boy and his mom depend on him? What can I offer to make up for it? I have the money I was given in exchange for my silence, but I’ve already used most of it to pay for college. Too late to get it back.
“See,” he says, his voice a low rasp, “I’m the real deal. I pretend to fit in the student circles, the hotels and bars and restaurants where I meet my clients. But the agency told the truth. I’m bad. Real bad. You shouldn’t be with me.”
Yeah, I see that now. How wrong I was.
But not on the one thing that counts.
I draw a shuddering breath and try to think of something, anything to fix this. Offer a solution. Offer some comfort. Convince him he’s not bad.
Not bad at all. He’s the best guy I’ve ever known, and he doesn’t even realize. He sells his body, killing his soul little by little, to support his dead friend’s family. He’s been living in a crap apartment, in a dangerous neighborhood, saving money for them.
He’s lonely, and doesn’t think he deserves anything better.
God, I wish I could lie with him every night, hold him, show him he’s not alone. That I care for him.
I know I shouldn’t. I know it. He won’t leave his job at the agency. And I can’t share him anymore. Somehow, loving him will be the end of this. Of us.