Page 86 of Seeing Grayscale

His shoulder brushes mine when he pockets the cellphone, the physical connection making my breaths falter. The last time we sat like this, I held him.

Does he want that?

Another glance through his dark lashes answers my question. I lift my arm and he comes easily, banding his arm across my middle and snuggling into my side. Gentle fingers grip my shirt while he wiggles in a futile attempt to get comfortable. I make a mental note to look into a better couch.

“I’ve got a felony and a few misdemeanors,” he whispers. “I guess I do deserve them. I was there and involved.”

“What happened?”

“Remember how I told you about the guys from my group home?”

“Yes.” I tighten my hold around his shoulders.

“I was seventeen and stupid. They might’ve been worse. A whole group of us decided to go steal some spray cans. We’d done it before and nothing bad happened, ya know?” He pauses so he can slip his hand under my shirt. The scorch of his palm against my skin sends unwarranted reactions throughout my body, but I ignore it.

“While deciding what colors I wanted in the back of the store, one of the guys, Vincent, was at the register. I don’t know what the fuck he was thinking, but he brought a gun. One minute, I was telling myself I only needed two cans. No one would notice just two. The next, Vincent screamed at the cashier to give him the money. It happened fast. The other guys who were with us all knew about the gun. I didn’t. So when I ran up to the front, trying to figure out what the fuck was happening and to tell Vincent we needed to go, the cashier pulled his own gun out. I guess he had it under the counter or whatever.”

“Gray…”

“Vincentthrewhis gun at me. I didn’t catch it, but it smacked me in the chest. The others were grabbing shit off the racks, telling Vincent it’sdone. I swear to god, I looked down at the gun between my feet, looked up again, and they allran.Just left me there. The cops showed up while I was held at gunpoint. I’m pretty sure I pissed myself. I couldn’t think, couldn’t talk to defend myself, and once I was in handcuffs, it fucking hit me.”

“What hit you, sweetheart?”

He shakes in my hold, squeezing my hip so tight I’m sure there’ll be bruises. “That the way it went down was always the plan. Take whatever they could grab while I took the fall. I would’ve never gone if I had known Vincent had that gun. I’m not that fucking dumb,” he growls.

No. He isn’t. The way his whole body reacts to his story, the tension in his limbs, the bite in his voice—I believe every word. An innocent act of petty theft turned into armed fucking robbery. I’m irateforhim. I want to know where Vincent is and make him pay for his crime.

Pressing my lips to his temple, I rub soothing strokes down his arm.

“The judge charged me as an adult, I was sent to jail, and after I got out, the group home wouldn’t let me stay. It wasdaysafter my eighteenth birthday. Literally days, and they kicked me out. I had nowhere to go, nobody to tell me what to do. I—” he stops, sighing heavily against my pec. “I don’t qualify for state assistance because of my record. Couldn’t even get food stamps—once I found out what those were.”

My heart bleeds for him, at the hand he was dealt and the wrongs done to him. A thousand things come to mind, things I want to say and do, but he keeps going.

“So it isn’t that I didn’t try, Hunter. I did. Nothing I did worked. Doors kept getting shut in my face even when they swore they wouldn’t. I did what I had to—got caught up introuble a couple more times, but not as bad. Mostly assault and loitering. Imagine just trying to survive and you get fucking punished for it.”

“I can’t, but I’m starting to.”

He lifts off my chest, finally releasing my skin, and looks at me. “I get it if you don’t want me here. No one else does.”

My head shakes vehemently. “Don’t think that. What happened doesn’t change anything for me, alright? Your worth isn’t measured by what you’ve had to do to survive.”

“You’d be surprised just how many people think the opposite.” He starts to move farther away, but I pull him back to me. “Hunter,” he rasps. “People fucking despise guys like me.”

“I’m not other people.” I wrap my arms around him completely.

Slowly, he returns the embrace. “You’re not,” he whispers. “And that’s what freaks me out. How do I know any of it is real and not my imagination?”

His sweet confession makes me smile. Finding his chin, I guide his face so he can see me when I tell him this. “If it were your imagination, I wouldn’t be able to do this—” My mouth is inching closer, his breaths catch in his throat, and just as I’m about to kiss him, a loud, abrupt knock bounces off my front door.

I freeze as my heart plummets into my stomach. “Go to the guest room and do not come out,” I whisper.

Gray scowls, confused and unwilling to let me go. “What?”

“Shhh,” I hiss. “Please. Please go to the guest room and stay there. I’ll get you in a minute.”

I pull his hands off me and jump to my feet as surge after surge of panic electrifies my system. Gray’s entire demeanor changes, anger radiates off him as he gets up and walks to the room. He turns at the last moment, about to say something, but I urge him with my stare to get inside. A flash of hurt meets my terrifiedeyes before he disappears into the room with a soft click. Raking at my hair, I approach the front door and peer through the peephole.

Brent.

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