Page 80 of Outcast
“But he’s twenty-nine,” I said. “There’s no way he’s still a virgin, right?”
Axel dropped into the seat across from me. “I’d like to say no, but man, I don’t know. You know how he is about being touched.”
“Yeah.” My heart twinged.
Holden was badly abused as a child, but it was easy to forget. He was so strong, so take-charge, so confident. Aside from that awful little detail, that touch aversion, we might not notice.
He had physical scars, of course. He had cigarette burns he’d covered with tattoos. Fine lines crisscrossed his back from whippings so bad that his skin split and re-healed dozens of times.
I pushed away my plate, my hunger suddenly gone. “Shit, man. We got lucky.”
Axel nodded. “We sure as hell did.”
My parents died when I was six, and as much as that hurt, I couldn’t even imagine the damage the hate and rage of Holden’s parents had done. Not just to his body but to his soul.
I cleaned up my trash and took a long, hot shower. By the time I climbed into bed, I was already half-asleep.
Then I got up and did it all over again the next day and the next, doing little more than showering, eating, working, and sleeping. I ordered parts, cleaned dirty carburetors, replaced spark plugs, put in new pistons, and rebuilt that damn Indian engine.
I was too busy to meet up with Emory, but we texted here and there.
He messaged me the morning after the bike job came in.
Emory:
Congrats! The paperwork is done. The loan is official. You saved your business.
Gray:
We couldn’t have done it without you.
He texted again the next day, and I didn’t find it until evening.
Emory:
You should let me make you dinner this weekend. To celebrate, I mean.
Gray:
I wish I could. Got a big bike job keeping me super busy. Sorry I missed your text earlier.
Emory:
It’s okay. Just let me know when you have time.
Gray:
It might be a while. I’m falling into bed each night exhausted. I’m sorry, golden boy.
Emory hadn’t answered for a few hours, and my stomach had turned with unease. What if he thought I was blowing him off? Worse, what if he thought I was too much trouble to bother with?
Finally, as I was getting into bed for the night, he responded.
Emory:
Don’t apologize. Making the shop a success is important.
So are you, I typed out. I hesitated, then deleted the text. It was probably too soon to tell him how important he was, but the thought of him moving on while I was buried in bike parts sucked balls.
