Page 43 of Quiet
“Briar? What’s wrong?”
Briar opened his mouth, but nothing came out. A flare of panic welled up in his chest, hot, bright, and sharp as a scalpel.
“Did you see something?” Isa’s lovely mouth twisted into a frown. “No, something else is wrong. Why are you upset?” He squinted at Briar like he was trying to read his subtitles.
The fear Briar had seen was gone, and in its place was genuine concern. It was enough to give Briar his words back. “Do you really want me to leave you alone?”
There. It was out. It was something he hadn’t wanted to ask because Briar had been afraid if he did, Isa would panic and lie. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“What?” The fear was back. But so was the longing.
Briar really hoped he wasn’t just seeing what he wanted.
“Isa . . .” Briar paused, trying to find the correct words. Unfortunately, the correct words were ones he really didn’t want to say. Because if he said them, Isa might actually tell him what he wanted, and even if they were words he didn’t want to hear, Briar would have to leave him alone. And he wasn’t sure he could do that.
If Briar hadn’t been gazing at Isa so intently, he would have missed it. There was something, a shimmer of otherness in the boy’s eyes that flared briefly before a look of comprehension came across Isa’s face.
What the . . .?
“I’m sorry,” Isa said softly and looked at his feet. “I’m confusing you.”
Briar took in how Isa somehow managed to lean toward Briar while also pulling away. Yes. Briar was definitely confused. So, he waited to see what else Isa had to say.
He had a long wait. He used the time to map the way the streetlamp overhead created the perfect shadow to highlight the curves of Isa’s face.
Eventually, Isa looked back up, making the tiniest bit of eye contact before nervously staring resolutely over Briar’s shoulder. “I don’t know what I want.” The fear returned to Isa’s features. And it had brought friends.
Briar stayed silent, hoping for more, but nothing came. He wanted to step forward, to take Isa’s face in his hands and smooth away the worry lines between his eyebrows. He could have done it before his realization.
Yes, Isa wanted him. Briar couldn’t have imagined that. There were too many times Isa had leaned into his touch, had made tiny, delicious sounds while Briar explored his body. But Isa was also scared. Something about Briar made him so scared he ran away every time his mind cleared enough to release himself from the trance of Briar’s touch.
Briar was different. Was he different enough for it to push Isa away?
Hurt bloomed in Briar’s chest, and he staggered back a step. The pain grew roots and began to spread lightning fast. The background noise, ever present in his mind, cranked up to unbearable levels. He took another step back and rubbed the side of his head, trying to soothe the cacophony created by outside stimuli and internal distress.
He’d thought—but maybe he’d only imagined it—Briar had thought Isa was different from most people. So many people saw Briar as nothing more than a curiosity to be trotted out, played with until they grew bored with his strangeness, and then tossed him away—like his father did.
Until Briar had been old enough to tell him to fuck off, his father had exercised his visitation rights to Briar only when it benefited him. He’d drag him to charity events so he could brag to his clients about his genius autistic son who was making waves in the art community. It would net the bastard new clients every time, while Briar was left feeling like a pet, or an object. After each event, his father would vanish from his life until it was time to show him off again.
And as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t refuse to go unless he wanted to cause trouble for his mom. Legally, his father had the right to have access to his son. As soon as Briar had turned eighteen, he’d written the man a letter and told him never to contact him again. It had been two years since he’d seen him, and Briar didn’t mourn the loss.
He didn’t think Isa was like his father. The boy never asked for anything from him. But it was possible Briar was too much for him. His dad had left him when he was very young because raising Briar had been too difficult for him to deal with. What if it was the same for Isa? What if Briar had misread him completely?
A tug at his chest stole his attention away from his internal landscape. He looked down when he felt Isa’s hand fisted in the material of his shirt, knuckles white from his grip.
There were tears at the corners of Isa’s eyes, and the fear was even more present. It had been joined by alarm and panic. “Don’t! Please, I could never think that way about you. Not for a second.” Isa searched Briar’s face anxiously before continuing. “Briar, I don’t understand anything about me right now. I’m scared and confused and . . . there are things you don’t know about. But I do know I don’t want you to go. I should want you to go,” Isa whispered.
Hurt flared again, now coupled with confusion. Briar tried to pull away, and Isa fisted another hand in Briar’s shirt. If he wanted to leave, he was going to have to do it without his shirt.
“But not because of you.” Isa gave a bitter, rueful laugh. “You’re too perfect—you know that, don’t you? Better than anything I have a right to. I should let you go, but—” Isa blinked quickly, but a tear escaped to trail down his cheek. His hands loosened and fell away from Briar’s chest. Now Isa was the one pulling away.
He turned to go.
Briar couldn’t let him. Not with that look on his face. It spoke of too many times spent alone, scared, and sad. He wrapped his arms around Isa’s shoulders and pulled him close, bringing Isa’s back against his chest.
Guilt crept in, replacing the hurt in Briar’s chest. He had been missing something about Isa, but it hadn’t had anything to do with Briar. Something, or someone, was hurting Isa.
Briar’s arms tightened around Isa as something dark stirred inside him. It was the same thing he’d felt when Will had said disgusting things about Isa. It was an urge to protect and avenge.
