Page 64 of Catcher's Lock

I’m going to ruin him if I let him do this.

I lurch back against the door of the truck, tugging frantically at his head.No, no, no.

“Stop.”

Hurt and surprise cut a miserable slash across his face as my hard-on wilts in shame and he peels himself offme.

Shit, my dick picked a hell of a time to develop a conscience.

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” he breathes, before fumbling for the handle behind him and throwing himself free of the truck.

I shove my cock back in my pants and scramble out after him, my boots skidding on gravel as I round the bumper. He paces restlessly in the movie-projector glare of the headlights, tugging at his hair with both hands.

“Désolé. Je suis désolé.” The French spills from my mouth, dredged from childhood mishaps and two years of apologies in Montreal. “I’m so fucking sorry. You gotta know it’s not about you.” Instinctively, I reach for him but let my hand fall when he fixes me with a razored glare.

“Yeah, Gem. I’ve heard all your bullshit before. Usually, you wait until after the blow job to start angling to escape.”

“That’s not—don’t do that.” I wrap my arms around myself in a useless effort to still the earthquake in my chest. “You’re not some chick. You’reRocket. You’re the only good thing in my life, and I won’t fucking wreck you.”

He drops his hands to stare at me across the aching divide. “You can’t say things like that to me.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t mean them the way I want you to,” he cries, fury and agony stripping the words raw.

“You can’t tell me what I mean.”

“Of course I can. Because underneath all this pseudo-noble bullshit, it’s just another way for you to play the victim—Poor fucking Gem. ‘How can I possibly compete with perfect Josha when my mommy loves him more?’—it’s the same old fucking excuse, and I’m sick of it.”

Frustration stirs, waking to the sting of truth in his words.

“Fuck you, Rocket. This isn’t about my mom. Your fuckingmouth deserves better than to be used by me. I won’t let you waste it.”

“It’s my fucking choice! You don’t get to decide what I do with my body.”

“I know.” Butgod, do I want to.

And isn’t that the hellish fucking irony of the whole damn night. How can I keep taking advantage of his desire just to make myself feel less hollowed out, forever fearful of the day he figures out the truth? Better to cut him free now, while I can still live with myself.

Barely.

Slumping against the truck’s hood, the warm metal digging into my back, I offer up my final blow: “I’m not achoice, Rocket, I’m a mistake, and I can’t stand it anymore when you look at me like…”

“Like I love you?” Bitter resignation coats his voice.

“Like I’m someone I’m not. Someone who can give you what you want.”

“You’re right, Quill. Youcan’tgive me what I want. So maybe you should stop getting in the way of me finding someone who can.” The fire of his anger is gone, leaving a ghost ship on an arctic sea, sailing away. Without a backward glance, he heads off down the road, heedless of the looming woods and empty miles between here and the nearest form of civilization.

For a long minute, I wallow in my indecision, caught by the illusory injustice of the loss. I’ve been trying to push him away foryears.

Yeah, and every time he strays too far, I reel him back with wordless promises I don’t know how to keep. The leash is fucking tattooed to my wrist at this point. It was only a matter of time before he realized the collar unclasps. And isn’t that what I want for him? Isn’t it the reason for this whole miserable shit show?

Goddammit.

I sprint after him.

“C’mon, Rocket,” I call. “I can’t leave you here. You’ll get raped by a redneck or eaten by a mountain lion.”