Page 71 of Stop and Seek
Noah dropped his hands to his lap. He turned his head to meet Theo’s eyes.
“You would’ve said no, so I… didn’t.”
There was no smug smirk, no sarcastic undertone.
There wasn’tanything.
He was dead serious.
Andthatwas fucked up.
Screw all of Theo’s weird kinks, shitty habits—allthe reckless crap he’d done. It paled in comparison.
Theo squinted. Waited for Noah to backtrack. Apologize. Maybe burst out laughing.
Nothing came.
Doing somethingknowingit would fuck with someone—and not giving a single shit? There weren’t harsh enough words, and he was having a hard time seeing straight.
Theo yanked open the car door, slamming it with so much force it echoed.
Trying to get the keys from his pocket was a fuckingwildride when he couldn’t stop shaking. His chest was too tight, and all he wanted was to go inside his apartment and lose himself in anything else.
Noah’s car door shut behind him.
Theo didn’t turn around.
Didn’t look.
Not until Noah’s hand clamped down on his elbow.
Something must have broke inside of his head. Maybe it was the last, struggling part of his damn sanity.
One minute, he was opening the front door to his building.
The next thing he knew, he was shoving Noah down the two steps that led up—and his fist was driving straight into Noah’s mouth.
It didn’t stop there.
Theo followed him down.
Tackled him.
Straddled Noah’s hips and hit him again.
And again.
The sound was disgusting—wet and heavy, knuckles splitting on bone, Noah’s head thudding against the pavement.
But he didn’t fight back. Not once.
Until, finally, Noah’s hands came up—not to punch, not to shove, but to catch Theo’s wrists.
He held them tight. Firm.
Theo’s chest heaved, sweat burning in his eyes, fists trembling and slick.
And Noah just laid there. Bleeding.
