Page 7 of Holiday Scars
I grab my duffel from where Dirk dropped it on a chair in the living room. Every other year, I bunked with him. In his king-size bed. We’ve known each other for ten years, and my sexuality never got in the way with my best friend. I thought it would be the same with Jett. I was wrong.
I wander down the short hall to his room. Correction...ourroom.
The wood floors creak beneath me, the same honey-stained planks that run through the whole cabin to Jett’s room on the other side of the house.
The doorknob feels cold in my hand when I turn it. Inside, the room smells like Jett’s musky cologne. The air is still and quiet. My eyes snag on the narrow double bed propped against the far wall with messed-up sheets and blankets.
Feeling heat behind me, I don’t turn around right away. Jett’s footsteps are soft and careful. It’s the same way he moves when we track the enemy and then strike. He’s so damn controlled.
When I do turn around, I see him just staring at me with his hands in his pockets.
“When were you here last?” I ask, wondering if he had a woman in that bed recently.
“Labor Day weekend,” he answers, and slips past me into the bedroom.
I drop my bag on the floor and keep my eyes on Jett as he goes to the dresser, arranging his watch, charger, and wallet in a neat row, all perfectly lined up. Like him.
“You okay with this?” I mutter to him without meeting his eyes. “Sharing a bed?”
Even if my cock was in someone else’s ass twelve hours ago, and you stayed to listen and watch?
I don’t voice that.
“No problem,” Jett says, low and flat. “No different from when we’re on the job.”
Fucking ouch.
From the other side of the cabin, I hear Dirk’s bed frame scraping on the floor planks and then the low, unmistakable sound of Hana’s voice breaking into a moan.
I close my eyes and drag a hand through my hair.Jesus.I didn’t think I could feel lonelier. I might as well have stayed home with a fucking bag over my head to not smell Stavros.
Jett moves into the doorway and leans against the frame with a detached look that guts me. Nothing gets under his skin. Not even me. Not after what he’s been through.
I hate that I know what he’s thinking, and we can’t talk about it. I hate how much I want to ask him if he really wants me the way I want him. Or was he just pissed off or drunk, or both?
“You gonna stand there all night?” he asks with that same indifference that drives me insane.
He’d rather swallow his emotions than spit one word that might break him open and tell me how he feels.
“Jett,” I say, stepping closer, the air between us tightening. “What’s your problem?”
He looks at me, eyes narrowed like I’m goading him. “I don’t have a problem.”
“Bullshit.” I laugh with a hollow gasp. “You’ve been off since Dirk picked me up. You barely look at me. Did I do something?”
His jaw flexes, mouth tipped open at the audacity I have. Of course, I did something. I hooked up with a stranger. He saw it. He listened to me. And then he texted his brother that he wished I was fuckinghim.
All he does is grind out a stubborn, “No.”
I take a step closer, studying him. There’s something he wants to say, but he’s keeping his feelings hidden. Keeping that stubborn look, jaw tight, eyes steady and burning until they drift away.
I want to yell. I want him to admit he feels something,anythingfor me, instead of standing there like a damn fence post. I want to know if all the looks I ignored these past few months weren’t just in my head.
I want to know if he misspoke in the text to his brother. Why isn’t he bringing it up? Has he not realized he didn’t send it to Dirk?
Crap... He doesn’t realize.
I can have a little fun with this now. “Tell you what,” I say, walking toward the bed. “If you’re not gonna talk, I’m gonna take a shower while there’s still hot water before Dirk fills up that damn clawfoot tub.”
